The light this morning is amazing. It is golden and mellow and it's bouncing off the reds and golds of the trees and illuminating and enhancing thei already vivid colours. The bricks of the old houses next to the railway line look they have been drizzled in honey. Pheasants are glreaming, their plumage set on fire.
Every now and again there is a pocket of mist, the kind that clings the ground, the hedges and even the sheep. It adds an extra dimension to the landscape, a different atmosphere. I want to stride through it and make it swirl around like whirlpools in my wake. A good, dramatic, long cape would of course aid this but may well be verging on the melodramatic.
We pass through villages, beginning to stir. Lights on behind curtains, dogs being walked, children dragging satchels. Queues of cars, their occupants yawning and bleary eyed, wait at the level crossing. Everyone beetling off to do things for the day that no doubt seem terribly important, but when you really think about it, all these so called important things that we do every single day are of our own making. They don't change anything in the long run. The leaves still turn, the rain still falls, winters will come and go. It's comforting to know that the truly important things never change, but it makes me feel greedy. I want to see it more and more and be out in it all of the time. I begrudge the hours where I am confined to the indoors. I begrudge the constant constraint of bloody clocks more than anything. What would it be like to have no clocks badgering you to be here, be there, be at the next place? Hard to imagine, isn't it?
Sunday 25 November 2012
Friday 4 May 2012
Cornwall
Wow. It's been far too long since I have done one of these!
This week saw a trip to Cornwall. Penzance to be exact. Very close to where I was brought up in Camborne.
The drive down to Cornwall was an emotional one to say the least. The last time I drove down that road, I had my mother's ashes in the car with me and we were on the way to "set her free" on Gwithian beach. It was a totally bizarre day. It was raining like a beast with gale force winds all the way down. Carolynne, my sister, was with me and fortunately whenever we are faced with something difficult like this, our default position is to laugh at everything. We kept pointing out that it was brightening up on the skyline, but it never really was. It was also on that particular journey that she noticed some sheep in a field with coloured markings on their heads, instead of by their tails and commented that the ram had really got his act together with this lot...... think about it.
Anyway, due to how she died, I never had a conversation with my Mum about whether or not that was the right thing for us to do for her. I can only hope that we got it right, and that she is not up there somewhere with her lips going thin and a frown on her face.
There were so many other memories on that drive, all crowding in and popping up out of nowhere. Amazing what your brain stores for years and years that can suddenly surface when triggered. Things that I've not thought of for years and years. I went past a lay by near Okehampton and it brought to mind the time that a group of us that all used to drink together in the Royal Oak in Nadderwater went horse riding at Widecombe-on-the-Moor and my clutch on my little old Datsun Stanza gave up the ghost. This in turn reminded me of our good friend, Scooby, getting on a horse for the very first time and ending up upside down hanging off it's neck. None of us could ever work out quite how he managed it.
Every time I see signs for Polyphant and Ventongimps I remember camping trips with Caroline and Max and how much Ellie and I laughed at the place names on the way to the camp site. I think Ventongimps is our all time favourite. As well as the place names, there are other trigger points on the way down too. The group of trees on the top of the hill that are so beautiful, the cattle wagon always parked on the bridge over the A30 that the farmer put there to stop people going onto his land - all these things make me smile because I know when I see them I am back in Cornwall and I am home.
I took a bit of a drive around whilst I was down there last week - as I always do. One of the places I wanted to look at was Strawberry Gardens, the riding stables where Carolynne and I learned to ride. It still looked exactly the same. Same long drive with a path in the grass running parallel to it where the horses go; same little sand school ring at the top of the field; and the same silhouette of a witch on her broomstick on the end of the stable wall. It's so very comforting when these things remain the same. Like having a childhood hug. Woodcutter's Lane, where my Mum and I used to go walking, was also still there, running along the bottom of the fields, although like everything, it was so much smaller than I remembered.
Cornwall always instils an odd feeling in me. Something wierdly melancholy, and yet I love it there so much. I get properly morose about leaving. I don't know whether it is just nostalgia and knowing that you can't go back and do it all again. Sadness for people that were with you throughout that time that are now gone. It also makes me a little sad that Ellie hasn't been able to spend more time down there. She loved it when she was very small, playing "international snail rescue" down at Cape Cornwall [a game involving putting every single whelk in the whole place back into a rock pool in case they dried out].
I guess this is why we say that you only live once so you need to live your life the way that you truly want to. It's one shot only. You can't decide to have a do-over when you realise you've not quite done it the way that you would have most liked to.
This week saw a trip to Cornwall. Penzance to be exact. Very close to where I was brought up in Camborne.
The drive down to Cornwall was an emotional one to say the least. The last time I drove down that road, I had my mother's ashes in the car with me and we were on the way to "set her free" on Gwithian beach. It was a totally bizarre day. It was raining like a beast with gale force winds all the way down. Carolynne, my sister, was with me and fortunately whenever we are faced with something difficult like this, our default position is to laugh at everything. We kept pointing out that it was brightening up on the skyline, but it never really was. It was also on that particular journey that she noticed some sheep in a field with coloured markings on their heads, instead of by their tails and commented that the ram had really got his act together with this lot...... think about it.
Anyway, due to how she died, I never had a conversation with my Mum about whether or not that was the right thing for us to do for her. I can only hope that we got it right, and that she is not up there somewhere with her lips going thin and a frown on her face.
There were so many other memories on that drive, all crowding in and popping up out of nowhere. Amazing what your brain stores for years and years that can suddenly surface when triggered. Things that I've not thought of for years and years. I went past a lay by near Okehampton and it brought to mind the time that a group of us that all used to drink together in the Royal Oak in Nadderwater went horse riding at Widecombe-on-the-Moor and my clutch on my little old Datsun Stanza gave up the ghost. This in turn reminded me of our good friend, Scooby, getting on a horse for the very first time and ending up upside down hanging off it's neck. None of us could ever work out quite how he managed it.
Every time I see signs for Polyphant and Ventongimps I remember camping trips with Caroline and Max and how much Ellie and I laughed at the place names on the way to the camp site. I think Ventongimps is our all time favourite. As well as the place names, there are other trigger points on the way down too. The group of trees on the top of the hill that are so beautiful, the cattle wagon always parked on the bridge over the A30 that the farmer put there to stop people going onto his land - all these things make me smile because I know when I see them I am back in Cornwall and I am home.
I took a bit of a drive around whilst I was down there last week - as I always do. One of the places I wanted to look at was Strawberry Gardens, the riding stables where Carolynne and I learned to ride. It still looked exactly the same. Same long drive with a path in the grass running parallel to it where the horses go; same little sand school ring at the top of the field; and the same silhouette of a witch on her broomstick on the end of the stable wall. It's so very comforting when these things remain the same. Like having a childhood hug. Woodcutter's Lane, where my Mum and I used to go walking, was also still there, running along the bottom of the fields, although like everything, it was so much smaller than I remembered.
Cornwall always instils an odd feeling in me. Something wierdly melancholy, and yet I love it there so much. I get properly morose about leaving. I don't know whether it is just nostalgia and knowing that you can't go back and do it all again. Sadness for people that were with you throughout that time that are now gone. It also makes me a little sad that Ellie hasn't been able to spend more time down there. She loved it when she was very small, playing "international snail rescue" down at Cape Cornwall [a game involving putting every single whelk in the whole place back into a rock pool in case they dried out].
I guess this is why we say that you only live once so you need to live your life the way that you truly want to. It's one shot only. You can't decide to have a do-over when you realise you've not quite done it the way that you would have most liked to.
Thursday 14 October 2010
Sandy knickers
Despite my love of autumn and winter, I certainly didn't grow up thinking that summers were something to be glossed over and got through as quickly as possible. Living so close to Gwithian beach in Cornwall meant that a huge part of our lives revolved around the coast, all year round.
One of my favourite childhood memories is the feeling at the very end of a day on the beach, when you have packed up the towels, the picnic debris and so on, put on clothes over the top of slightly damp swimsuits and an enormous amount of sand and then all troupe your way up the winding path up the cliffs to head back to the car. Everyone's always absolutely dog-tired by this time and sleepy from a day spent in the sun. There would also be that slightly gritty, shivery, prickly feeling from a bit of sunburn too. Back in those days, suncream was something that you took on holidays abroad. And then when you were nearly back at the car, you'd all stop and turn to look back out over the sea and there would be the most amazing sunset setting the sea on fire and then melting into an enormous, languid pool of molten gold and pink. We used to always listen for the sizzle as the sun hit the sea at the horizon and when I was very small everyone else would pretend that they'd heard it and I'd missed it again. I was always so annoyed and could never work out how I'd managed to miss it yet again!
My mother loved sunsets, but most of all she loved "sparkly water" - when the light catches ruffled water and creates a path of glitter leading to the sun. I cannot ever see sparkly water without thinking of her. I hope that's the job that God's given her, spreading glitter on the water. [As always, I'm on the train writing this. Not the best place to have thoughts like that and make yourself do a proper full on well up just as the ticket stamping guy is coming along!]
Those days on the beach growing up formed the backbone of our lives in the summer. There were many times when we'd come out of school and Mum and Dad would be waiting in the car with all our swimming stuff and a cool box packed with sausages and rolls to cook hotdogs on the beach over a fire. It was the best childhood anyone could ask for really.
One of my favourite childhood memories is the feeling at the very end of a day on the beach, when you have packed up the towels, the picnic debris and so on, put on clothes over the top of slightly damp swimsuits and an enormous amount of sand and then all troupe your way up the winding path up the cliffs to head back to the car. Everyone's always absolutely dog-tired by this time and sleepy from a day spent in the sun. There would also be that slightly gritty, shivery, prickly feeling from a bit of sunburn too. Back in those days, suncream was something that you took on holidays abroad. And then when you were nearly back at the car, you'd all stop and turn to look back out over the sea and there would be the most amazing sunset setting the sea on fire and then melting into an enormous, languid pool of molten gold and pink. We used to always listen for the sizzle as the sun hit the sea at the horizon and when I was very small everyone else would pretend that they'd heard it and I'd missed it again. I was always so annoyed and could never work out how I'd managed to miss it yet again!
My mother loved sunsets, but most of all she loved "sparkly water" - when the light catches ruffled water and creates a path of glitter leading to the sun. I cannot ever see sparkly water without thinking of her. I hope that's the job that God's given her, spreading glitter on the water. [As always, I'm on the train writing this. Not the best place to have thoughts like that and make yourself do a proper full on well up just as the ticket stamping guy is coming along!]
Those days on the beach growing up formed the backbone of our lives in the summer. There were many times when we'd come out of school and Mum and Dad would be waiting in the car with all our swimming stuff and a cool box packed with sausages and rolls to cook hotdogs on the beach over a fire. It was the best childhood anyone could ask for really.
"THE DAY"
"THE DAY", for me, is one of the most exciting and exhilerating days of the year. THE DAY [ok, I'll stop putting it into capitals now, ok?] is the day, usually towards the end of August, beginning of September where you step out of your door in the morning and feel that tiny hint of something in the air, that infitesimal trace of coolness, that lets you know that autumn is on it's way, closely followed by winter.
I love that feeling of anticipation that it brings. The feeling that something amazing is just around the corner. Also for me, it heralds the possibility of cold, crisp, frosty mornings where the air burns your tubes and is so cold that you can feel it enter ever single fissure of your lungs. Frankly, I can think of no better way to start a day!
As a child, I always much preferred the winter months to the summer. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that my mother absolutely despised the heat of mid-summer and always looked foward to autumn with an eagerness usually reserved for small toddlers looking forward to the arival of santa.
The day signalled the end of summer, getting everything ready to go back to school, the promise of darker nights with bonfires and fireworks and Christmas. It was the changing of the trees and walking through heaps of crunchy leaves by the side of the road.
Once I was older and had left home, my mother and I would always phone each other. "Did you feel it? Did you feel that it's the day today?" and usually we'd both have been heading to the phone at the same time to call each other. I find the same thing with my own daughter now. I've educated her on recognising the day and she gets just as excited about it as I do, which is incredibly gratifying.
I love that feeling of anticipation that it brings. The feeling that something amazing is just around the corner. Also for me, it heralds the possibility of cold, crisp, frosty mornings where the air burns your tubes and is so cold that you can feel it enter ever single fissure of your lungs. Frankly, I can think of no better way to start a day!
As a child, I always much preferred the winter months to the summer. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that my mother absolutely despised the heat of mid-summer and always looked foward to autumn with an eagerness usually reserved for small toddlers looking forward to the arival of santa.
The day signalled the end of summer, getting everything ready to go back to school, the promise of darker nights with bonfires and fireworks and Christmas. It was the changing of the trees and walking through heaps of crunchy leaves by the side of the road.
Once I was older and had left home, my mother and I would always phone each other. "Did you feel it? Did you feel that it's the day today?" and usually we'd both have been heading to the phone at the same time to call each other. I find the same thing with my own daughter now. I've educated her on recognising the day and she gets just as excited about it as I do, which is incredibly gratifying.
Downright rude
I'm beginning to wonder if there's something in the water. Something that's making people generally more belligerant, rude, bad tempered and grumpy.
There have been a number of things lately that have led me to believe this.
Now, I'm generally the sort of person who says sorry when other people bump into them. I don't lose my temper often and I'm rarely really grumpy for no good reason. But, the other day I came home from dropping my step-daughter off at her school to find someone parked right across my gate so I couldn't drive into our driveway.
Most days I would plonk the car somewhere and then and then move it onto the drive later. Instead, I parked right in front of the offending car so that they wouldn't be able to drive off until I moved my car. [Typically, poo-pants from next door came along at this point with a smug look on her face].
I wandered off into my kitchen and put the kettle on and lay in wait until the owner of the vehicle returned. Shortly after, a guy of about 35 appeared, looking around to see who's car was blocking him in. I went down the garden and he shouted "Sorry!" and went to get in his car. Again, my normally non-confrontational disposition deserted me.
"It's very inconsiderate you know, to park right across the gateway like that. Normally I'm just leaving for work now and you'd have made me very late". All said in a fairly reasonable tone of voice.
"Fuck off", came the reply. "I've said sorry, so don't give me a hard time".
Well, I was a bit taken aback by this and not really sure how I should respond to be honest. I ended up with a rather lame, "It's just really inconsiderate, that's all".
"Well, I was late and there's no parking around here" he replied.
"Not my problem I'm afriad", I said.
"It fucking is now that I'm parked across your gateway, innit?" he said with a bit of a flourish.
I gave up at this point and got into my car giving him a look with lips so thin that they had practically disappeared [my mother would be so proud].
Since this particular instance I've noticed that on a couple of occasions where I've been piqued enough to actually bother to remonstrate with anyone on the road that's done anything particularly daft on the motorway, or, in this morning's case, pulled out right in front of me at a junction, instead of saying sorry and sticking their hand up, they tend to stick two fingers up instead. Or worse, have a full on ragey shout in my direction accompanied with various hand and arm gestures.
There's two things that arise from this. One, if I didn't make my displeasure felt in the first place, the other people wouldn't be rude back and two, why are people so rude at all instead of just saying sorry? There's a third point too actually, what's come over me that I'm actually remonstrating with these people at all in the first place when normally I'd be waving them through and taking the blame on their behalf?
Should I just stop ever confronting anyone and instead of thinking of myself as a doormat think of it as opting out of putting myself in the path of rudeness? Or, should I feel that I'm fed up with always just backing down and letting other people get away scot free?
If I continue to pull people up, will it honestly make any difference other than making ME feel bad when people are rude? Do we think that those people will be sitting in their cars thinking, "Ooooh, wish I hadn't let off steam at that woman I cut up on the roundabout. Poor girl, wasn't her fault at all that I've had an utterly shit morning".
I think that I'll do myself a favour and opt out of confrontation and thereby avoid the rudeness and carry on living in my own happy little smiley world of pleasantness.
There have been a number of things lately that have led me to believe this.
Now, I'm generally the sort of person who says sorry when other people bump into them. I don't lose my temper often and I'm rarely really grumpy for no good reason. But, the other day I came home from dropping my step-daughter off at her school to find someone parked right across my gate so I couldn't drive into our driveway.
Most days I would plonk the car somewhere and then and then move it onto the drive later. Instead, I parked right in front of the offending car so that they wouldn't be able to drive off until I moved my car. [Typically, poo-pants from next door came along at this point with a smug look on her face].
I wandered off into my kitchen and put the kettle on and lay in wait until the owner of the vehicle returned. Shortly after, a guy of about 35 appeared, looking around to see who's car was blocking him in. I went down the garden and he shouted "Sorry!" and went to get in his car. Again, my normally non-confrontational disposition deserted me.
"It's very inconsiderate you know, to park right across the gateway like that. Normally I'm just leaving for work now and you'd have made me very late". All said in a fairly reasonable tone of voice.
"Fuck off", came the reply. "I've said sorry, so don't give me a hard time".
Well, I was a bit taken aback by this and not really sure how I should respond to be honest. I ended up with a rather lame, "It's just really inconsiderate, that's all".
"Well, I was late and there's no parking around here" he replied.
"Not my problem I'm afriad", I said.
"It fucking is now that I'm parked across your gateway, innit?" he said with a bit of a flourish.
I gave up at this point and got into my car giving him a look with lips so thin that they had practically disappeared [my mother would be so proud].
Since this particular instance I've noticed that on a couple of occasions where I've been piqued enough to actually bother to remonstrate with anyone on the road that's done anything particularly daft on the motorway, or, in this morning's case, pulled out right in front of me at a junction, instead of saying sorry and sticking their hand up, they tend to stick two fingers up instead. Or worse, have a full on ragey shout in my direction accompanied with various hand and arm gestures.
There's two things that arise from this. One, if I didn't make my displeasure felt in the first place, the other people wouldn't be rude back and two, why are people so rude at all instead of just saying sorry? There's a third point too actually, what's come over me that I'm actually remonstrating with these people at all in the first place when normally I'd be waving them through and taking the blame on their behalf?
Should I just stop ever confronting anyone and instead of thinking of myself as a doormat think of it as opting out of putting myself in the path of rudeness? Or, should I feel that I'm fed up with always just backing down and letting other people get away scot free?
If I continue to pull people up, will it honestly make any difference other than making ME feel bad when people are rude? Do we think that those people will be sitting in their cars thinking, "Ooooh, wish I hadn't let off steam at that woman I cut up on the roundabout. Poor girl, wasn't her fault at all that I've had an utterly shit morning".
I think that I'll do myself a favour and opt out of confrontation and thereby avoid the rudeness and carry on living in my own happy little smiley world of pleasantness.
Monday 6 September 2010
Why do this?
I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time, usually on the train, scribbling away with my fountain pen writing all the stuff that pops into my head; memories from childhood, people I'm observing on the journey, things of importance that happen, and I thought it might be better to put them all on here instead of having masses of notebooks.
You might find some of it amusing, or you might find it as dull as ditch water - who knows. So, feel free to read away and comment if it strikes a chord with you. It will be sporadic, I should imagine. It's not like I have nothing else to do, afterall.........
You might find some of it amusing, or you might find it as dull as ditch water - who knows. So, feel free to read away and comment if it strikes a chord with you. It will be sporadic, I should imagine. It's not like I have nothing else to do, afterall.........
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