Why are some people so bloody stupid? Those who know the Northumberland coast will also know that there is an island a few miles off the coast called Lindisfarne, reached by a causeway that is only accessible at certain times of the day. The reason for this is because of the tide. The north sea takes no prisoners; it is a ferocious span of extremely cold and dangerous water that should be treated with respect. Tide times vary day to day, and it is stressed so clearly how quickly the tide comes in, thus covering the causeway and making Lindisfarne an "island", rather than an island-connected-to-the-mainland-via-a-causeway. It isn't difficult to read a time table, to work out that if safe crossing times are (for example) between 7.30am and 12.30pm, that it gives the visitor five hours to get onto the island, look around, then get back to the mainland before the tide starts to come in at 12.30pm. The times are very clearly stated at both ends of the causeway. They are there for a very simple reason; to keep you safe.
Why then, do we keep watching the RAF rescue helicopter going towards stranded passengers who have taken no notice of the signs and have crossed the causeway two, and sometimes three hours outside the safe crossing times? What are these people trying to prove? They disgust me, for several reasons:-
1. The majority of the stranded vehicles are carrying children. Irresponsible adults make me sick.
2. An elderly couple have recently been stranded and gave a barrage of abuse to their rescuers. WTF.
3. The County Council are doing a job; they are protecting visitors for their own safety. That's a decent thing to do.
4. Rescuers, including RAF and Lifeboats are volunteers. They are putting their own lives at risk in order to rescue utter idiots from a situation they shouldn't even be in.
5. The ignorant fools who get stranded don't get fined or prosecuted (which I think they should) and so assume they've got away with it. Yet they don't seem to give a flying fig about the safety of their rescuers, their other passengers, or indeed themselves. Don't they value their lives?
6. The north sea is a treacherous place. The tide comes in extremely fast and far too many people have found themselves stranded. The majority of these people then have to declare their vehicle as 'written off' due to the salt that has got into the engine. These people then expect to be carried to safety and need assistance to get home. As the majority are tourists from afar, this means their holiday is ruined and their children are most likely distressed by the whole experience.
It isn't difficult to read a sign. It isn't difficult to respect the sea. And it isn't difficult to realise that crossing the causeway hours after the safe crossing time is going to mean a rescue operation, a written-off vehicle, stressed kids and a ruined holiday. Being rescued isn't fun. It is an inconvenience, a danger and a very expensive operation.
This week alone the RAF helicopter has had to deal with two separate incidences where tourists thought they could "make it" 2 hours after the safe crossing time. One elderly man was abusive to his rescuer, I have no idea why. The driver of the other vehicle made an attempt to cross while the emergency services were rescuing the abusive pensioner! He was forced back to land, but how utterly stupid can people be? Does going on holiday make our brains turn to mush? If not, then the north sea sure will.
Friday, 31 August 2012
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
Honest Blogging
I've always made a point of being completely honest on my blog. Right from day one, post one, I made sure what I wrote was the truth. That still stands and after five and a half years of blogging I want you to be truthful with me. I've no intention of giving up on the blog, nor have I thought about taking a break, but I'm starting to get a little disheartened by the fact that I don't feel as motivated to blog anymore. I read and comment on so many blogs but recently life has simply got in the way. People say don't give up, take a break, and I tell myself often that blogging isn't the bee-all and end-all to my life's interests, not to mention that it's nowhere near as personal as it once was. Perhaps I want it to go back to how it used to be, the days before Twitter links and Facebook promotions, advertising yourself at every available opportunity, feeling a need to have your blog in ranks, lists, retweeted, linked to, included in the Top this and Top that. It all gets very tiring. There are so many interactive platforms around today that it's impossible to keep up. And if there's one circle of blogging pals in particular that are all involved with a certain platform, like Google+ for example, a platform I really don't understand or can fathom out, then this is bound to mean you're missing out.
Building a blog from scratch takes hard work, back-breakingly hard work actually. It takes months and sometimes years to establish a blog in a community and with the amount of blogs around today it's inevitable that some blogs won't get a look in. I've enjoyed five years of interaction and in that time I've joined Twitter, Facebook, Google+ and several other platforms. But I'm really not sure it's made a difference. I'm proud to be included in lists, that means I've achieved something. I'm also proud to be a part of online communities, mainly because I've met some very nice people. Still, part of me often wants to turn the blogging clock back to the days when blogging was simpler. I've been competitive in my life but even I, as naive as I am, do realise that if the competition is vast enough, the chances of staying in the big pond become remote. I'm not going to stop swimming. But please join me for a front crawl now and then, back stroke really isn't my thing.
Building a blog from scratch takes hard work, back-breakingly hard work actually. It takes months and sometimes years to establish a blog in a community and with the amount of blogs around today it's inevitable that some blogs won't get a look in. I've enjoyed five years of interaction and in that time I've joined Twitter, Facebook, Google+ and several other platforms. But I'm really not sure it's made a difference. I'm proud to be included in lists, that means I've achieved something. I'm also proud to be a part of online communities, mainly because I've met some very nice people. Still, part of me often wants to turn the blogging clock back to the days when blogging was simpler. I've been competitive in my life but even I, as naive as I am, do realise that if the competition is vast enough, the chances of staying in the big pond become remote. I'm not going to stop swimming. But please join me for a front crawl now and then, back stroke really isn't my thing.
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Some Good, Some Bad.
It's been a busy summer holidays and I don't feel I've had enough time to catch up with blogging. I knew it was going to be hectic as I'd planned such a lot, mainly to keep Amy occupied, but other things have happened and subsequently eaten into my time. Not a bad thing, but occasionally life does get in the way. I've had computer problems (which I still seem to be having), and have spent far too long on the phone to various government departments concerning entitlements, not to mention the annual finalising of the accounts. All very time-consuming (and a little bit boring, if I'm honest).
Amy and I had a weekend at my mum's recently where we met up with family and had a very enjoyable evening. We also met up with friends and had a trip to Camelot, a theme park based on King Arthur, that consists of adrenalin rides, roller coasters etc, all very much up Amy's street! I was, as always however, relieved to be home and Sunday night in my own bed was absolute bliss. My mum is considering buying a laptop at the moment. Her and her partner feel they need to bring themselves up to date with technology and invest in some Internet activities. I can't see her on Twitter or Facebook, but to think she might start reading my blog regularly does fill me with dread a little. My rants leave a lot to be desired, as does the language I sometimes use, so for fear of turning this blog into a fluffy bunny, everything's hunky-dory type of witterings, I'm going to have to bite the bullet and just go for it. Maybe she'll see me in a different light; could be a bit dimmer, but nevertheless, it could be entertaining.
The one drawback we currently face is that our impending trip to Scotland in October might need to be cancelled due to the weather we've had during the summer. Farming relies heavily on the weather and unfortunately this year has proved absolutely, bloody awful. It's possible we won't get the yield in order to make a decent profit and as we still have many fields to cut yet (with the combine) it now means that harvest for us could be rather disappointing as far as the accounts are concerned. Each crop, in our case wheat, barley and oil seed rape, needs to be a certain moisture before it's good to cut, otherwise it will need a substantial amount of time and money spent on it in order to have it dried before it can be sold. Therefore, it's in the farmer's best interests to cut it at the right moisture. The barley and wheat is starting to suffer due to the excessive rain, though we have cut the oil seed rape which seems to be okay. Once the fields have been cut, the straw left after the combine has spat it out is to be baled. The bales are then brought into the shed before the land can be worked, i.e. ploughed, prepared and sown with a new crop. This all takes time as you can imagine and The Farmer won't go away when there's still work to be done involving harvest. It's difficult because I'd quite happily pay a contractor to come and do it for us but he won't hear of it. He's worked the land for over four decades and I'm not going to change him now. So if you can, save a little prayer for the farmers this year, and remember that they work so very hard in order to put bread on your table.
Amy and I had a weekend at my mum's recently where we met up with family and had a very enjoyable evening. We also met up with friends and had a trip to Camelot, a theme park based on King Arthur, that consists of adrenalin rides, roller coasters etc, all very much up Amy's street! I was, as always however, relieved to be home and Sunday night in my own bed was absolute bliss. My mum is considering buying a laptop at the moment. Her and her partner feel they need to bring themselves up to date with technology and invest in some Internet activities. I can't see her on Twitter or Facebook, but to think she might start reading my blog regularly does fill me with dread a little. My rants leave a lot to be desired, as does the language I sometimes use, so for fear of turning this blog into a fluffy bunny, everything's hunky-dory type of witterings, I'm going to have to bite the bullet and just go for it. Maybe she'll see me in a different light; could be a bit dimmer, but nevertheless, it could be entertaining.
The one drawback we currently face is that our impending trip to Scotland in October might need to be cancelled due to the weather we've had during the summer. Farming relies heavily on the weather and unfortunately this year has proved absolutely, bloody awful. It's possible we won't get the yield in order to make a decent profit and as we still have many fields to cut yet (with the combine) it now means that harvest for us could be rather disappointing as far as the accounts are concerned. Each crop, in our case wheat, barley and oil seed rape, needs to be a certain moisture before it's good to cut, otherwise it will need a substantial amount of time and money spent on it in order to have it dried before it can be sold. Therefore, it's in the farmer's best interests to cut it at the right moisture. The barley and wheat is starting to suffer due to the excessive rain, though we have cut the oil seed rape which seems to be okay. Once the fields have been cut, the straw left after the combine has spat it out is to be baled. The bales are then brought into the shed before the land can be worked, i.e. ploughed, prepared and sown with a new crop. This all takes time as you can imagine and The Farmer won't go away when there's still work to be done involving harvest. It's difficult because I'd quite happily pay a contractor to come and do it for us but he won't hear of it. He's worked the land for over four decades and I'm not going to change him now. So if you can, save a little prayer for the farmers this year, and remember that they work so very hard in order to put bread on your table.
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
Hauntingly Possessed
A few years ago I used to watch, religiously, a program called Most Haunted. As you know, I'm fascinated with all things spiritual and have had many paranormal experiences that have both enlightened and frightened me. I used to curl up in bed, lights off, and watch the presenters of the show do their stuff; and some of it was actually quite believable. (stay with me) Some of the mediums they had on seemed genuine and I could quite relate to their senses as they accurately described what they felt, saw and heard. But as the program got more popular, so did the presenters and guest mediums, several of whom were beginning to make the show look a little false. I have most of the dvd's in boxsets and have watched each one. And then one day I realised that something ridiculous kept happening: each time alleged poltergeist activity took place, the camera was never pointing in that particular direction. It was however, always pointing at someone's face, showing the audience a reaction of complete surprise, shock, fright and, for want of a better word, acting. I have to admit that I really started to like some of the presenters, the main ones in particular, but when I flicked through some Sky channels the other day and saw Most Haunted was featured, I decided to watch, see which one it was, remember the many hours of entertainment our astral cousins would give me.
Derek Acorah was the first face I saw. I sat and stared open mouthed at the television before cursing myself for actually believing in the crap that was being portrayed before my very eyes. He had allegedly been possessed by a man who had been murdered a couple of hundred years ago. DA staggered in front of the camera, talking to Yvette in a most bizarre fashion, using words that would once have been spoken in the 1800's, like "wench". After a few minutes of parading like a lunatic on my screen, me continuing to stare like a guppy fish, DA fell to the floor as the camera followed his slow descent, perfectly orchestrated so as not to hurt himself. My beliefs in all things paranormal, especially that of ghostly presences, are strong, and once I'd stopped laughing I thought about the way mediums and those involved with the unexplained are mocked and made fun of, most probably because of the unbelievable antics of these theatrics.
The experiences that have happened to me have been very real. I've written about many of them in earlier posts before including them in my book. If mediums are possessed then that's great, or not so if it's not your thing. But I'll never forget a medium I once went to see about 6 years ago who told me, without knowing anything about me, that I must be very careful when meditating because of my epilepsy. I wish programs would be made that wouldn't make us laugh at staged mediums. Some are incredibly talented and I know a few personally. I might stick my Most Haunted dvd's on Ebay; make myself a few bob and give someone else a good laugh in the bargain.
Derek Acorah was the first face I saw. I sat and stared open mouthed at the television before cursing myself for actually believing in the crap that was being portrayed before my very eyes. He had allegedly been possessed by a man who had been murdered a couple of hundred years ago. DA staggered in front of the camera, talking to Yvette in a most bizarre fashion, using words that would once have been spoken in the 1800's, like "wench". After a few minutes of parading like a lunatic on my screen, me continuing to stare like a guppy fish, DA fell to the floor as the camera followed his slow descent, perfectly orchestrated so as not to hurt himself. My beliefs in all things paranormal, especially that of ghostly presences, are strong, and once I'd stopped laughing I thought about the way mediums and those involved with the unexplained are mocked and made fun of, most probably because of the unbelievable antics of these theatrics.
The experiences that have happened to me have been very real. I've written about many of them in earlier posts before including them in my book. If mediums are possessed then that's great, or not so if it's not your thing. But I'll never forget a medium I once went to see about 6 years ago who told me, without knowing anything about me, that I must be very careful when meditating because of my epilepsy. I wish programs would be made that wouldn't make us laugh at staged mediums. Some are incredibly talented and I know a few personally. I might stick my Most Haunted dvd's on Ebay; make myself a few bob and give someone else a good laugh in the bargain.
Monday, 20 August 2012
Making the Most of our Holiday
We had another lovely week at Center Parcs in Cumbria, otherwise known as Whinfell Forest. Did the usual activities like horse riding, zip wire, tree trekking, archery, painting pottery and lots and lots of swimming. The staff once again were exceptional, polite, helpful and making sure we were always comfortable. The accommodation we hire is an apartment facing the lake, just a couple of minutes walk to where everything happens. We love this location, it's so central with a gorgeous view of the lake, and ducks in abundance that come to your door to be fed. This year however, I had a few niggles, two of which were aimed at other guests and one which really annoyed me on our last day. More of them after I've shared some photos:-
I'm not sure why I've never noticed my niggles before, this is the third time we've been to Center Parcs and I'm sure this happened on our previous visits. The pool is huge with many different sections to either swim, play or shoot down slides, all very clean and great fun. There are lots of plastic tables and chairs dotted about the pool area and there is also a cafe in one section, people tend to buy something to eat then sit down at one of these tables. But I was getting a bit irritated at seeing so many chairs with towels slung over them yet never anybody sat in them. There's a row of chairs set out facing the pool and every single one was empty, but for a towel. I stood for quite some time on Wednesday afternoon watching and waiting for Amy as I didn't feel like going in the pool myself, and those chairs were left unattended for at least an hour. It was starting to feel like that old adage of reserving sunbeds by the pool when you're abroad, getting up at the crack of dawn to make sure you get the best spot, then deserting said sunbed until midday when some poor buggers have nowhere to sit. By Thursday, our last full day, I gave up and moved someone's towel. I sat in that chair for three quarters of an hour at least and no one came to it.
Another niggle was the bike situation; during your stay you have to park your car in the main car park and are not allowed to use them on the parc itself. Many people hire bikes to get around, but I noticed this year that a lot of people seemed to be walking, too. We don't hire bikes because Amy has little road sense so walking is a better option for us. But it was becoming a real issue when idiots were tearing up and down the roads (no helmet, I might add), and if we didn't move out of the way then I'm quite sure they'd have plowed into us. Bells were ringing everywhere to tell pedestrians to move, and adults and kids were riding at ridiculous speeds towards prams, wheelchairs and those preferring to have a leisurely walk, i.e. us. I noticed Amy said sorry to a few cyclists and I told her to stop. I don't usually encourage her not to be polite but I was getting really sick of being made to feel like we didn't have as much right to use the roads as the cyclists did, when cars are banned. I think Center Parcs need to address this issue personally, and especially on arrival and departure days when cars are driving about yet folk are still tearing round corners with no helmets.
And my final niggle was something that happened on Friday morning, our day of departure. The room is paid for until 10am. I'd been to the car park and brought the car to the apartment block and by quarter to ten had loaded it up and was just going to use the bathroom before we left. Cue the cleaner. A man. Amy and I were in our apartment, fifteen minutes left to our cut off time, and this guy waltzed in without knocking. "Just want to empty your bin, love," he said, very politely. I didn't object. But then he suggested leaving our door open so he could come back and start cleaning. I told him we weren't quite ready to leave. He went into the hallway. Literally, 30 seconds later he walked in again. I had just sat down on the toilet! Luckily the bathroom door was closed but Amy was in the room on her own and I heard him say to her, "I'll start cleaning now if you don't mind." That was when I saw red. I shouted, perhaps a little abruptly, "go away and come back at 10am. Please." He replied with a tune in his voice, singing, "right you are, love." As there were many guests nowhere near ready to leave, I felt like we were being thrown out 15 minutes early so they could 'get on'. If they are short staffed or haven't enough time to clean all apartments thoroughly, that really isn't my problem.
Putting the above niggles aside, we did have a lovely week away, though I doubt we'll be going next year as I've already booked to go abroad. My official review is on Trip Advisor if you fancy a read...HERE
Edit: I have spoken to a very nice lady at Center Parcs Guest Services after she kindly read my blog post plus the review on Trip Advisor. She has sent me £50 discount to be used towards our next visit to Whinfell. The efficiency and excellent customer service is second to none, and even though compensation isn't something I expected, I am most grateful for their offer.
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| On the Zip Wire |
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| Target Archery |
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| Regular visitors! |
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| Tree Trekking |
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| Woodland Carriage Ride around the Parc, driven by Clydesdale, Monty. |
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| Riding Merlot |
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| Peaceful Sunday morning on the Parc |
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| Ready for a meal out! |
I'm not sure why I've never noticed my niggles before, this is the third time we've been to Center Parcs and I'm sure this happened on our previous visits. The pool is huge with many different sections to either swim, play or shoot down slides, all very clean and great fun. There are lots of plastic tables and chairs dotted about the pool area and there is also a cafe in one section, people tend to buy something to eat then sit down at one of these tables. But I was getting a bit irritated at seeing so many chairs with towels slung over them yet never anybody sat in them. There's a row of chairs set out facing the pool and every single one was empty, but for a towel. I stood for quite some time on Wednesday afternoon watching and waiting for Amy as I didn't feel like going in the pool myself, and those chairs were left unattended for at least an hour. It was starting to feel like that old adage of reserving sunbeds by the pool when you're abroad, getting up at the crack of dawn to make sure you get the best spot, then deserting said sunbed until midday when some poor buggers have nowhere to sit. By Thursday, our last full day, I gave up and moved someone's towel. I sat in that chair for three quarters of an hour at least and no one came to it.
Another niggle was the bike situation; during your stay you have to park your car in the main car park and are not allowed to use them on the parc itself. Many people hire bikes to get around, but I noticed this year that a lot of people seemed to be walking, too. We don't hire bikes because Amy has little road sense so walking is a better option for us. But it was becoming a real issue when idiots were tearing up and down the roads (no helmet, I might add), and if we didn't move out of the way then I'm quite sure they'd have plowed into us. Bells were ringing everywhere to tell pedestrians to move, and adults and kids were riding at ridiculous speeds towards prams, wheelchairs and those preferring to have a leisurely walk, i.e. us. I noticed Amy said sorry to a few cyclists and I told her to stop. I don't usually encourage her not to be polite but I was getting really sick of being made to feel like we didn't have as much right to use the roads as the cyclists did, when cars are banned. I think Center Parcs need to address this issue personally, and especially on arrival and departure days when cars are driving about yet folk are still tearing round corners with no helmets.
And my final niggle was something that happened on Friday morning, our day of departure. The room is paid for until 10am. I'd been to the car park and brought the car to the apartment block and by quarter to ten had loaded it up and was just going to use the bathroom before we left. Cue the cleaner. A man. Amy and I were in our apartment, fifteen minutes left to our cut off time, and this guy waltzed in without knocking. "Just want to empty your bin, love," he said, very politely. I didn't object. But then he suggested leaving our door open so he could come back and start cleaning. I told him we weren't quite ready to leave. He went into the hallway. Literally, 30 seconds later he walked in again. I had just sat down on the toilet! Luckily the bathroom door was closed but Amy was in the room on her own and I heard him say to her, "I'll start cleaning now if you don't mind." That was when I saw red. I shouted, perhaps a little abruptly, "go away and come back at 10am. Please." He replied with a tune in his voice, singing, "right you are, love." As there were many guests nowhere near ready to leave, I felt like we were being thrown out 15 minutes early so they could 'get on'. If they are short staffed or haven't enough time to clean all apartments thoroughly, that really isn't my problem.
Putting the above niggles aside, we did have a lovely week away, though I doubt we'll be going next year as I've already booked to go abroad. My official review is on Trip Advisor if you fancy a read...HERE
Edit: I have spoken to a very nice lady at Center Parcs Guest Services after she kindly read my blog post plus the review on Trip Advisor. She has sent me £50 discount to be used towards our next visit to Whinfell. The efficiency and excellent customer service is second to none, and even though compensation isn't something I expected, I am most grateful for their offer.
Friday, 10 August 2012
Holiday Spirit
I'm off on my jollies to Center Parcs today, just Amy and me, and we plan on having a great time. Got tons of activities planned, not to mention the fabulous swimming pool known as Subtropical Paradise. I'll see you in a week but will be around on Facebook and Twitter occasionally, depending on whether I can get a signal of course. So be good while I'm gone, and if you can't be good, be careful.
Bye for now
CJ x
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
Novel Idea
Since I decided on an extended sabbatical from writing, I've been obsessively downloading books onto my Kindle and having a great time finding some new authors and well-written novels. I'm getting through about three a week currently, mainly of the chick-lit and romantic comedy variety. A few people have expressed how writing is a passion and one we can't just switch on and off; how right they are. I've enjoyed keeping my blog up to date and really, I think I've given myself some inspiration to perhaps find my creative writing gene once more. I do have a book finished, though not edited, that is sitting in a file on my shelves. I'm not sure at this stage whether I'll do anything with that one but what I am getting just a teeny bit excited about is an idea I have for another book. Briefly, because I haven't got the finer details as yet, it's a paranormal romance though not nearly as heavy as Discovery at Rosehill (which, incidentally, is available on Kindle at Amazon for £1.02 *wink wink*). (Shameless plug there, tsk.) Anyway, I'm nowhere near thinking of a title for it but my main character who's female and I think will be called Rachel, had an affair many years ago with Steven - he was married, she was single. Steven's wife discovered his infidelity and gave him an ultimatum - stay and we'll work it out, or go. He chose to stay, thus leaving Rachel on her own.
Fast forward...say...fifteen years, and Rachel, having moved to her favourite village in Scotland, is walking through her nearest town when she spots a man clearly resembling Steven. He's on the opposite side of the road but turns to face her, which is when she gets a good view of him and is sure it's him. Cue a lorry passing that blocks her view and once it's gone by, low and behold, Steven has gone. Rachel can't wait to tell her best friend, Tony, who also happens to be the local bobby, and is somewhat shocked when Tony informs her that Steven and his wife were killed six years ago at sea. However, the wife's body was found washed up to shore but Steven's body was never found, though he was declared dead twelve months later and his brother Adrian, benefited hugely from the will. Naturally confused, Rachel decides to go back to town and wait on the same side of the road where she saw Steven hovering near a shop doorway. After hanging around for half an hour, she sees him again, this time he's on the opposite side of the road where she first saw him. But by the time she can get across, he's gone again.
Rachel tells Tony that again she spotted Steven but this time Tony decides there could be something odd about it and tells her to be careful. Suspecting that Steven has faked his own death, he makes Rachel question fully whether or not she really did see him. But Rachel's still in love with Steven and has no intention of getting him into trouble with the police, so therefore decides it might be best to admit defeat and assume it wasn't Steven after all. But was it....? And more importantly, does she really believe that it was him...?
Got a long, long way to go of course, but thought you might like to hear my ideas as they whir around my thoughts. I'm getting to know Steven quite well and I'm also having great fun at building Rachel's character. I'll see how it goes.
Fast forward...say...fifteen years, and Rachel, having moved to her favourite village in Scotland, is walking through her nearest town when she spots a man clearly resembling Steven. He's on the opposite side of the road but turns to face her, which is when she gets a good view of him and is sure it's him. Cue a lorry passing that blocks her view and once it's gone by, low and behold, Steven has gone. Rachel can't wait to tell her best friend, Tony, who also happens to be the local bobby, and is somewhat shocked when Tony informs her that Steven and his wife were killed six years ago at sea. However, the wife's body was found washed up to shore but Steven's body was never found, though he was declared dead twelve months later and his brother Adrian, benefited hugely from the will. Naturally confused, Rachel decides to go back to town and wait on the same side of the road where she saw Steven hovering near a shop doorway. After hanging around for half an hour, she sees him again, this time he's on the opposite side of the road where she first saw him. But by the time she can get across, he's gone again.
Rachel tells Tony that again she spotted Steven but this time Tony decides there could be something odd about it and tells her to be careful. Suspecting that Steven has faked his own death, he makes Rachel question fully whether or not she really did see him. But Rachel's still in love with Steven and has no intention of getting him into trouble with the police, so therefore decides it might be best to admit defeat and assume it wasn't Steven after all. But was it....? And more importantly, does she really believe that it was him...?
Got a long, long way to go of course, but thought you might like to hear my ideas as they whir around my thoughts. I'm getting to know Steven quite well and I'm also having great fun at building Rachel's character. I'll see how it goes.
Monday, 6 August 2012
Let a Child be a Child
I think back to being twelve years old and the endless summer days I spent outside with a group of friends. If we weren't on our bikes we were walking about, or simply standing on the cul-de-sac corner chatting and discussing everything from school to holidays, clothes to sport - anything to pass the time away. We didn't say "fuck" and we didn't hang around with bottles of cider. We just kept it simple; enjoying a carefree upbringing where our parents knew of our whereabouts, but also knew we were safe. I was lucky when I was growing up because we lived in a small cul-de-sac of about 20 houses where most of them contained kids the same age. My best friend lived next door to me; a beautiful blond girl the same age, who sadly passed away a few years ago. There were more boys than girls but that didn't matter. We treated each other as equals. We played cricket and football, played rounders and had running races and cycling races. On wet days we would go inside each other's houses and watch a VHS or listen to music. Back then, we still had Betamax Video Recorders as well, but they were starting to fizzle out. My friend next door had a pool table in their spare room and we would all congregate in there, about 12 of us. Her mum used to bring us drinks and snacks and leave us to it. We never caused a scrap of trouble because we were too busy enjoying ourselves.
I saw a program the other day, one of those house-buying shows where the buyers are given four houses to look at. One of the houses was beautiful (in my eyes) and had a stunning back garden with a little stream running through it. The couple had a young boy and that garden would have been perfect for him. It even had a tree house that the previous occupants had built for their kids. But the mother dismissed the house because she felt it would be too risky for her son. "That stream looks dangerous," she said. It was a stream for heaven's sake, with about an inch of water and probably about ten inches wide. "Too many steps, he might fall." Oh, please, I thought, he's an eight year old little boy and will want his mates to come round so they can camp in the garden and do little boy things. Over-protective? Or just caring? Remembering what we got up to when we were kids, I know what I think...
What did you used to do in the holidays to entertain yourself? And do you think we don't give our children enough freedom these days to be "children"?
I saw a program the other day, one of those house-buying shows where the buyers are given four houses to look at. One of the houses was beautiful (in my eyes) and had a stunning back garden with a little stream running through it. The couple had a young boy and that garden would have been perfect for him. It even had a tree house that the previous occupants had built for their kids. But the mother dismissed the house because she felt it would be too risky for her son. "That stream looks dangerous," she said. It was a stream for heaven's sake, with about an inch of water and probably about ten inches wide. "Too many steps, he might fall." Oh, please, I thought, he's an eight year old little boy and will want his mates to come round so they can camp in the garden and do little boy things. Over-protective? Or just caring? Remembering what we got up to when we were kids, I know what I think...
What did you used to do in the holidays to entertain yourself? And do you think we don't give our children enough freedom these days to be "children"?
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Recession My Arse
Took Amy clothes shopping the other day, we went to one of the retail parks that contains a variety of fashion shops, mainly for the younger customer, ie teenagers and 20-something's. I struggled to find anything for myself in the "trendy" shops but did seek out a couple pairs of jeans in M&S, always an old favourite of mine. I was quite surprised though at the price tags on some of these garments in the "trendy" shops. Amy picked up a baseball cap that was white with a silver beak and it said "New York" on the front. It was a massive £13.00. We bought one each at a country show not long ago for a quid, I was astonished at the price of the one in the shop. Thirteen pounds. Thirteen British pounds, for a very average cap with a label. Ridiculous. Then she tried a couple pairs of skinny jeans on, or do they call them jeggins? Looked nice on the rack but poor Amy couldn't get them up her leg. They're definitely for slim legs and do look good on some girls, but obviously not for us.
One of Amy's favourite shops is New Look and she never fails to get fixed up with tops, jeans, shorts. They have a lovely selection for teens and youngsters, and even I managed to get myself a nice thin cotton cardi that I'd been needing. Their prices aren't bad either. Makes me wonder how all these "trendy" shops keep going. Aren't we supposed to be in a recession?
Unfortunately, we ate in Pizza Hut. Amy was dying to go in so I decided to take her as a treat. It was like eating greasy cardboard, bloody disgusting, tasteless shite. I was seriously unimpressed. The stuffed crust was vile and even though Amy seemed to be enjoying it at the time (she was hungry!) she admitted afterwards that she isn't going back! And when the bill came I was shocked to see £22.75 printed on it. We shared a large pizza, Amy had a side order of wedges, and we had a drink each. What an absolute rip off. Scandalous. This particular Pizza Hut is next to the cinema and I imagine people make a night of it. I also reckon they wouldn't get much change from £60 for their night out. Aren't we supposed to be in a recession?
*shakes head and crawls back to the 1950's*
One of Amy's favourite shops is New Look and she never fails to get fixed up with tops, jeans, shorts. They have a lovely selection for teens and youngsters, and even I managed to get myself a nice thin cotton cardi that I'd been needing. Their prices aren't bad either. Makes me wonder how all these "trendy" shops keep going. Aren't we supposed to be in a recession?
Unfortunately, we ate in Pizza Hut. Amy was dying to go in so I decided to take her as a treat. It was like eating greasy cardboard, bloody disgusting, tasteless shite. I was seriously unimpressed. The stuffed crust was vile and even though Amy seemed to be enjoying it at the time (she was hungry!) she admitted afterwards that she isn't going back! And when the bill came I was shocked to see £22.75 printed on it. We shared a large pizza, Amy had a side order of wedges, and we had a drink each. What an absolute rip off. Scandalous. This particular Pizza Hut is next to the cinema and I imagine people make a night of it. I also reckon they wouldn't get much change from £60 for their night out. Aren't we supposed to be in a recession?
*shakes head and crawls back to the 1950's*
Friday, 3 August 2012
Love Life. Love Blogging
Who was it that said "one of the rules in blogging is don't blog about blogging"? I honestly can't remember. But whoever it was I'm sure they don't read this blog. If I were a painter I'd blog about painting. If I were a gymnast I'd blog about gymnastics. Get my drift? Therefore, I will blog about blogging. Who was it that said "my blog, my rules"? Oh yes, that was me. And a million other bloggers, no doubt.
Blogging in the holidays is quite hard work, especially for parents. I used to hate taking blogging breaks and would find myself worried that I'd lose all my readers if I didn't publish a post every other day. Then I relaxed a little, realised I was being ridiculous. The loyal readers will always come back. The occasional ones will try to keep up. And the rare ones will pop in from time to time, making themselves known and acknowledging your post with interest. Blogging is an interactive activity, and one to enjoy, not worry over. I learnt my lesson a while back when I went through all that awful plagiarising shit - remember? I still read about people's hard work being copied and used elsewhere and it still infuriates me that this goes on.
I'm interested in knowing why you read the blogs you do; is it because you like the blogger, because you like the writing style, because you have always read that blog and couldn't imagine not ever reading it? I read many blogs throughout the week that I've been reading for several years, all because I enjoy them. What do you want from a blog? What do you expect to see when you click on a blog? Spontaneity, continuity, humour, poetry, pictures, well-written content? I see it all. And I love it all. I hope I am able to vary the style of my blog as I'm not just blogging to promote my writing anymore - that was my aim in the early days when I was researching and writing Discovery at Rosehill and I used to tell you about my paranormal experiences - now I aim to tell you about all sorts, a variety that I hope will tempt you back again. Love Life. Love Blogging.
Blogging in the holidays is quite hard work, especially for parents. I used to hate taking blogging breaks and would find myself worried that I'd lose all my readers if I didn't publish a post every other day. Then I relaxed a little, realised I was being ridiculous. The loyal readers will always come back. The occasional ones will try to keep up. And the rare ones will pop in from time to time, making themselves known and acknowledging your post with interest. Blogging is an interactive activity, and one to enjoy, not worry over. I learnt my lesson a while back when I went through all that awful plagiarising shit - remember? I still read about people's hard work being copied and used elsewhere and it still infuriates me that this goes on.
I'm interested in knowing why you read the blogs you do; is it because you like the blogger, because you like the writing style, because you have always read that blog and couldn't imagine not ever reading it? I read many blogs throughout the week that I've been reading for several years, all because I enjoy them. What do you want from a blog? What do you expect to see when you click on a blog? Spontaneity, continuity, humour, poetry, pictures, well-written content? I see it all. And I love it all. I hope I am able to vary the style of my blog as I'm not just blogging to promote my writing anymore - that was my aim in the early days when I was researching and writing Discovery at Rosehill and I used to tell you about my paranormal experiences - now I aim to tell you about all sorts, a variety that I hope will tempt you back again. Love Life. Love Blogging.
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