And This Young Man Looks Fine, As Well.

I should like to pose the question: do we really have to be made-up and clad in skirts, if we are to be recognised as women? For that matter, why can't men wear skirts and flaunt eyeshadow without being seen as overly feminine?

I could rant at length, but I won't...

What is it with people and their stereotypes? Bah!

Friendship...

Sounds like complete silence as you stand atop a hill - serene and beautiful.

Feels like a picnic on a summer's day, sprawled on the grass with the breeze and sunshine competing for Best In Show against your skin; a duvet on a frosty morning; creamy cocoa as it slides across your tongue.

Smells like marshmallows toasted on a bonfire in the crisp night air.

Tastes like strawberries, with a sprig of mint apiece.

Looks like an oak tree, earthy and familiar, yet full of life.

(Your turn!)

Hereford Bound (well, almost).

Or, no I did not say Cornwall!
(I completely forgot about posting this earlier!)

Snapshots of a journey by rail.

Rooftop after rooftop flits by, marred only by the scratchy blur of naked trees.
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A burnt-out, rusty orange car (V.W Bug, I think) lies precariously on a hill - almost lost amongst the sun-drenched orange of autumnal bracken - its bonnet permanently forced into a gaping smile.
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The young signaller at Westgate, who could be sixteen as easily as late-twenties, seems remarkably responsible in his long jacket and peaked hat as he stands to attention and the train flies by, the powerful smile of a caretaker behind his eyes.
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Endless track streams in front and behind, so full of possibility.
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As the trees bow to the wind, one lone woman battles across shadow-cast fields, her collar high as she recalls a curious dog to her side.
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B'ham New Street:
(let it be noted: Horseradish and Sour cream crisps are bizarrely delightful)

Woman with her hair in tight-pulled, fading bun, watches me with interest as we await our trains, until I look back and try to lend a smile. She quickly looks away, resolute and stern.
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A gentleman turns head as he charges for a train, in his trendy woolen business coat and matching flat cap. I wonder how the style came back into fashion, and how it works on one so young.
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Hereford route:
2 small children imitate the train as it flees from their excitement. I can almost hear their their 'whistling', even through the toughened glass.

The Sanctuary of Friends.

Just a quick post to let the whole world know that Anna has started a blog. Check it out!!

Look Behind You, Pumpkin!

Alex and I have returned from picturesque Colwall, where I stayed, I kid you not, in Wood Cottage:


with my Fairy Godmother; a woman with an incredible energy, and an obsession for words which almost rivals mine.

We spent 48 hours (not nearly long enough) reading each others work and writing beside a proper fire:

and catching up on 13 years of socialising using means far greater than the telephone. It has to be said that, whilst I am jealous of the fact that she owns a real fireplace - the ultimate in homely touches - she also owns the worlds coolest kitchen!

In fact the whole place has the same magical zany energy as she does. And it's exactly as I remembered it; the stream, the trees, the pictures and paintings and things everywhere you look. I want somewhere just like it of my very own, one day.

Knowing how absorbing words can be, anyone who knows either Mim or I, would be extremely proud to know that we found the time to stop for drinks at the beautiful Malvern station, and visit the most photographed lane in Britain

for lunch at THE MACIHOUSE. And we went to the pantomime performance of Robin Hood and The Babes in the Wood, which sincerely rocked, and set both of our performance-loving-streaks on edge.

If only this story hadn't had an ending!

Fumbling with stories.

In Part 4, there is a story telling session. The question is, do I tell the stories, or does Alex just skim across them in retrospect? This'll shape the rest of the chapters, as I cannot easily include stories told in far-away places if we do not share the ones of home... but those which came from published sources may prove to be a problem.

Suggestions please.

Travelling Words.

My father gave me an old copy of The Great Railway Bazaar as a pre-adventure read, minus the final pages. It’s brilliant, even without conclusion. No doubt I will be quoting it for quite a while.

Enormous thanks must go out to knights in shining-literary-armour Heather and Kim, for not only suggesting an incredible book, but for filling my rucksack with books to inspire and aid the trip. Once again, I find myself baffled by the amazing collection of people around me.
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In pre-travel adventure, I visit the Fairy Godmother tomorrow, an amazing kindred spirit. I would love to post an epic on her, but it's late, and I have an early train to catch, so I shall do it in retrospect. I must remember to pack my words-wand :-D
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'That cold made leaving even easier..."Have you tried aspirin?" "No, I think I'll go to India."' Paul Theroux. Inspiration for any would-be traveller who doesn’t know where to start.

Progress.

This is, in part, a repeat post. Those of you who read both sites will have to excuse it.

I went to my penultimate creative writing group last night. Things are progressing there too, with talk of more meetings, and a fairly stable group of regulars once more. Some of the people there have offered valuable support and advice for almost 6 years; they’ve known my writing since its adolescent phase, and never held it against me. They, unknowingly, have helped me work through the most difficult of times. Other, newer members of the group are not discounted from this appreciative post. I feel beyond lucky to have met this strange gaggle of wonderfully talented artists.

I’ll be sorry to leave them behind, if only for a while.

(14 days to go, and a hundred things to do.)

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Alex is progressing nicely, and I can't wait to find out whether the three fantasmo-rad kids who've spared some time to test it out feel the same way.

I am slightly worried, however, about whether it'll be so great, without continual prodding from close-at-hand fellow writers. And whether the computer-cafes in far flung places will cope with me using them as a work-base from time to time.
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* I’m searching for a book to take along, which doesn’t take up half my bag, but I won’t have finished by the time I land on foreign ground. It has to be inoffensive, just in case it is discovered, and perhaps, ultimately swappable. I mean, it’s not going to last the whole trip now, is it?! Any suggestions, anyone?

I want to live on Fibber Island!

I this album had been made when I was younger, I would have tamed it, and kept it in the wardrobe as a pet! It's mad, it's wonderful! And I just had to share.

What's the Time, Mr. Wolf?

I'd like to point out that I think my body-clock, nay, my brain, is wired all wrong.

Despite having a tiredness-headache, despite that weird twitchy tired eye thing, despite the coffee machine needing far more attention in the dark-hours, I am still far more productive between the hours of twelve and four AM.

In fiction, this often results in the best of my writing (most of it completely unremembered as I read over it). We shall see, tonight, if this transfers as well to fact-based grammar definitions and the like.

If it's all pre-determined, why wasn't I notified?

Coming to a new point in life, I found myself wondering what all my old (from pre-Leeds, pre-high-school days) close friends were up to. And with little chance to catch up, I decided to try to hunt them out. Remembering surnames from the past is HARD, man!

Mostly it's not got me anywhere - Claire, Will Roach, Daisy Brown, Amy Phipps, if you're out there, hollar!

What's really bloody weird though, is that one guy, whom I saw last when I was 7 or 8, turns out (if indeed it's him - it looks like him, it *sounds* like him) to be in long-standing friend Rachel's class at Cambridge. What are the odds of that?!

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This might be my new favourite album. It's lovely.

Preparations

The world is not working to my blueprint. There are no people in offices to talk to at 2am. People do not respond to e-mails within 24 hours. There is no gorgeous girl supplying me with coffee and kisses every hour. And there are not enough minutes in the day to get things done.

All of these things is a minor problem in my world, and each could escalate to catastrophe at any given point.

I have 18 (almost 17) days left to get everything sorted. I'm tired, but I daren't go to bed; there's far too much to do. It's Valentine's this week; as depressing as it could be.

The only e-mails/ texts I have received today, have been people excusing themselves from my pre-travel gathering. I am slightly mortified that one of my closest friends, far too long unseen, is stuck in London, thus condemning us to a further 2 years+ of e-mail relationship.

On a happier note, Preparations of a different kind are complete, in the form of Alex. Part 3. Actually, most of part 4 is taken from an early draft of 3, so that won't be far behind - other things permitting.

Absence makes the Heart...

I know, I know... life just keeps getting in the way of posting. And writing. And, well, stuff!But I have been busy, look.I'm not going to link back here from there. Global Scribe is safe, whereas, anyone who's been here, knows that sometimes, here is not.

Tolerant Annoyance.

Or, My Family.

I love my family, I really, really do. And it's sad they live so far away. But it's odd how some of them always seem to see bad in everything.

Some of said family, during my weekend in the Depths of the World (um, Southampton) were as amazing as ever. Highlights included a walk on the Common with my incredible, globe-trotting grandfather, and planning a family-history trip together whilst I am in India, and playing stupid games with my amazingly sensible 15 year old cousin until 2am.

Some, however, seem to think I'm still eight years old, and that everything I do is wrong.Lowlights include being told repeatedly of all the things that will go wrong whilst I'm away, and told, in an offended, upset tone 'Well, we never had to do this when I was your age!' and informed that I should not be travelling at all, let alone by myself, to places so 'wild'. Bah!

I was also, in the same dejected yet pitying tone, given the 'I do so wish that you'd find Jesus...' speech. It's strange that she's never asked me what I believe, but proceeds to lecture me anyway. I only wish I'd thought to reply, 'well perhaps I'll find him in the desert."

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** I had no idea how much I despise the word 'worship' before last weekend!

In other, happy news: I've appeared in The Little Hedonist's Best Of The Rest list :-) It's nice to know there's really people out there.