Haz's blog

fordingbridge fantasia of march hares...

2009-03-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

I was hoping to upload a blog post in February... as my mum would say, the way to hell is paved with good intentions... It may be that I'm trotting happily along that particular yellow brick road (as if indeed I believe in the concept of hell, which I don't - though the jury's out on the yellow brick road...)
or maybe I'm allowed to be more forgiving of my 'non-achieving'; think of it instead as travelling towards a completed first novel draft - this time last year I had about 3,000 words, & now I have over 31,000. Another 9,000 and I'm around half-way...
It's tortuously slow - but the tortoise still beat the hare....

My solitary life does have distinct disadvantages. You miss decent conversation, for a start... but I've been blessed with several house guests recently, and last weekend I was a houseguest myself, for my friend Fiona's 60th birthday bash. She filled the Granary at Fordingbridge with friends and family (link to check it out: http://www.newforestcottages.com/granary_barn.htm - a real home-from-home for me, being a giant version of where I'm living). Four Pisceans celebrated birthdays over the course of a fantasic weekend... an abundance of excellent food, fine wine...
and wonderful conversation.
Now, work calls - invoices to prepare for services, MOT repairs, oil changes...
A very different world to my (temporary) weekend one!

belated catch up on the christmas break

2009-02-05T03:58:00.000-08:00

Byron’s lines ‘All who joy would win/must share it, -/Happiness was born a Twin’ express a motivation as good as any for seeking the company of others, from soulmates to passing souls.

After a dark, depressed December, my break at the cusp of the year restored my resilience in spades. (At least until after the first few days back at work!)

from my journal 23rd December 2008:
I’m on the road, and a grin spreads. The day is dull, a dull December day, threatening drizzle most of the way up the M6 (which doesn’t actually kick in until the Lakes – and even then only very half-heartedly).
I feel free. Free and definitely up to this journey. In spite of a month of no exercise or fresh air, no resources for self-care – and ever diminishing spirits. I feared getting ill after my last day at work - schoolteacher syndrome - but I’m OK.

OK, and enjoying the drive. Four to five hours is manageable - just.
The day before Christmas Eve, and I’m heading via Cumbria to my metaphorical ‘home’, my birthplace, yet again. Drawing close to Keswick, The Beautiful South sing Rotterdam on Radio 2, and I agree with Aled - it doesn’t get much better than this.
Half an hour on, I catch sight of the red sun sliding through cloud towards the Solway Firth. Just when you think it won’t get better than this… It does.

Christmas Day. Mum and I drove to North Berwick to walk along the bay. Once the link of love and blood is made, it can never be fully broken.

29th December, Sheena & I went up Harlaw.

These pictures remind me of what a spectacular place the Pentlands can be....

I didn't fully appreciate the wondrous scenery when I lived there!

3rd January 2009, I had my annual New Year coast pilgrimage – a meander along the Solway Firth, snapping happily at a sunwashed Criffel (above) – & I just missed a perfect photo of the flock’s mirror image in the sea… (below)

Lots of playing with arty beach photos... but I'll limit to these!

This trip home, I meet another two people who have just been diagnosed hep C positive. And only one cleared of those I'd already met. Our numbers grow… and grow, unfortunately.

I came across Raymond Carver’s lines from ‘What the Doctor Said’, where the doctor asks ‘are you a religious man...’ delighting in natural joys and wisdom. Like Carver, I’m not quite living that – yet. But I, too, intend to start today.

5th January 2009, my return to the world of work, & I have a prang in the car. I drive 500 plus miles – and crash within walking distance of my work. At least nobody bled!

December Days...

2009-02-05T03:43:00.000-08:00

Seeds in the sun (the same day as the ice sculptures in the puddles) & the Malverns in the mist...
Just wanted to get the pix up... more to follow.

October slides past in sunshine

2008-10-11T03:48:00.000-07:00

I missed a blog post in September... Looking back over previous posts, those with pix always look more interesting, so I've included some on this - however out of date they are, having been taken on our annual camping trip.
We had three sunny days - mostly, it was dull (as the pic of Corfe shows) or raining.

We did have some lovely days - just not enough for me to feel that sense of wellbeing I've come to expect at the end of a camping trip!
I didn't take any photos on the Coleridge trek at the start of September - the weather was changeable then, too (although it did stay largely dry for walking), but the physical challenge meant my concentration was focussed on getting through it... I (re)discovered that training in one activity is non-transferable... running is no preparation for trekking over rough terrain for miles!
Lucy came up for the weekend, and we ran together. I was thrilled to find out that if I slow my pace right down, I can easily run much longer... So I'm back to running, 3 or 4 times a week if I can.

October is always a significant month for me.

21 years ago this month, I was the startled and dazed mother of a newborn... I remember that October as crisp and cold, but sunny - much like that we're having (so far) this year. My 21 year old son is due to be a father in March... So, in the month I gave birth, I discover I will be a grandma.

The novel is now 17000 words in... only another 52 weekends of a similar output to complete a first draft...

My blogging may be minimal these days, but maybe it has to be to allow that novel narrative to progress...

emulating literary heros

2008-08-05T10:23:00.001-07:00

I write in various notebooks right now, each with different functions - makes me think of Lessing’s The Golden Notebook…
No blog entry at all last month - I spiralled towards midsummer and beyond with no time for personal access on the internet… Looking at my scanty (or non-existent) blogging, I think what do I do with my life ? (apart from work horrendously long hours…).
Then I check back through my diary, and the mystery is solved. The current incarnation of my novel is now over 10,000, that takes time (one three hour session produced only 600 words, but it‘s not always as tortuous as that - especially as Mike managed to convert my floppy disc files so I could open them on the laptop; and I now also have print versions to work with!).
I may be writing less poetry these days - my choices for my slot in Rosie Finnegan’s Soap Box Poets (part of Frome Festival) were mostly from old material - but the connection is still there. The soapbox event was great fun to take part in as well as a fine addition to the literary programme - Crysse‘s blog covered the festival comprehensively weeks ago, so I won‘t attempt a paltry contribution here so long after the event. Suffice to say, I’ll be watching the festival space, to see what the committee come up with next…
Live n’ lippy had an outing at Bath Poetry Café in the Mission Theatre on 20th July - with, I might add, new material (in spite of saying I haven't written much new...) The evening’s line-up offered great diversity from poets on the MA in Creative Writing at Bath Spa and further afield; a pleasure and a privilege to be part of it - plus the feedback was our most encouraging yet.

I’ve had two weekend visitors since the last post - and thoroughly enjoyed both events. Such a delight to enjoy hours of companionship with dearly loved friends. I’ve also gone to stay with friends - so much social activity a reminder of the dearth of social contact outside work I have here (unless I ’import’ them for the weekend!) Its rarity makes it so much more precious. The Race for Life in Cumbria was an amazing event to be part of - over 5,000 women apparently took part. Not something I’d dream of doing on my own, so rather special to take part with Karen and Denise. I didn’t run the whole 5k, but I tried to persuade the others that we should aim for it next year… Incentive for me to try to keep the training going, as I know it really helps me stay healthy in my crazy work lifestyle… Though if you check out this fantastic panorama, it's hardly hardship to pound around these fields...
Crysse kindly forwarded these jpegs taken on her visit; a decadent supper on Friday night at the Oak was followed by walking the crinkles from our psyches in the Malverns on Saturday, sustained by Long Hop ale and excellent fish and chips afterwards…
The pic taken in the woods on the Malverns seems to characterize my life situation at the moment somehow.

The Coleridge walk is now all booked up for September, but in the meantime, I’m off camping for our annual pilgrimage to Durdledoor - let’s hope the rain showers are less torrential than of late - a bit of Saturday's clemency will do just fine…

a few more words than usual...

2008-06-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

Spiralling towards midsummer already… with weather to match - three days of it, at least.
Life goes on here at a very gentle pace at either end of the mayhem that is my working day, recently picking up the pace at weekends to include travelling to reconnect with friends and family.
I have at last joined Pershore library, which is open late on Fridays… unlimited supplies of fiction being a mixed blessing - I’m always at risk of succumbing to immersing myself in the fiction of others rather than my own. My last novel narrative session? The last Bank Holiday in May… my timetabled session to work up that rough draft into the main narrative scuppered by my borrowed laptop crashing on me, subsequently resisting all efforts to resurrect it.
Back to the drawing board (or the handwritten notebook); my fictional world is (temporarily) stalled again. As I’ve borrowed yet another laptop - this one with the facility for a memory stick - hopefully I’ll see an actual printed manuscript growing in the very near future… The typing has to begin from the very beginning, as I have no means of converting from floppy to CD/USB compatible memory stick… I’m looking forward to developing the existing narrative this time round, though.
We were left with no power following the strong winds last Bank Holiday; reminder of how reliant on electricity we are... I missed proper breakfast ( no cooker or microwave), my morning cuppa (no kettle), being able to phone/receive calls in the evening (no landline without the base station), and music. The fridge had a boost from my landlord’s spare generator - passed between me and my fellow tenants in the adjoining cottage. Such a boon to have a wind-up torch… unlimited reading without chewing through batteries!
My writing life mostly has a different configuration in Wych Avon to the Frome incarnation, but there are points of overlap. Crysse and I are still working together with ideas for our live n’ lippy poetry duo, including a performance at Fromeside as part of a Stepping Out Theatre Company/Dreamweavers collaborative project. We booked the media arts centre for Annabelle to give us direction and feedback; a very useful session (and great fun, which is what it’s all about anyway). Crysse is doing the bulk of the Dreamweavers project co-ordination and preparation with Steve - the Coleridge Walk dates are set for September, with a follow-up before the project’s conclusion in November.
A full day off for my six-monthly scrape and polish at the dentist allowed a day of dossing about drinking cappucino with other writers. David Johnson of Paralalia in Bristol came through to speak to the Frome Library group and perform at the Poetry Café; he joined Crysse and Ali and I at Diva’s Café between commitments. This is the bit I miss most about being so far from all familiar haunts and contacts; writerly conversations and contacts.
Driving home after the Poetry Café, full of fizzing ideas, I’d add and performances. The Garden Café is a lovely venue for poetry events, and the audience is always receptive and appreciative, but they seemed particularly so that night… Or maybe I just soaked it up more greedily than usual, given the scarcity of such opportunities in Wych Avon.
Last weekend, Atholl, Jemma and I were invited to Isla’s first communion. Two days in London, surrounded by a multicultural ambience… The music of French and Dida in the air, Russian, African and French accents… elegant woman, handsome men and energetic children of all ages - all collected together by a Catholic ceremony. In church, the bridal iconography a little unsettling - so many frills and fripperies decked with a ton of bling… An Irish priest to rival Father Ted’s finest… and no camera, battery flat as a pancake. Best just sup the champagne, then…
Which brings me to my referral to the Liver Clinic in Birmingham (I should be a radio 2 DJ with these suspect links); not sure quite what to expect… I’ll cross that one when I come to it. Better to approach it with no preconceptions…

May - month of the blossom moon...

2008-05-21T10:31:00.000-07:00

My last blog entry was at the beginning of April. It's now nearly the end of May... My lifestyle here in Wych Avon is so completely different... my days are workaholically busy - reminiscent of my days with the retail company - and yet my time away from work is very 'stripped back' by comparison with my Frome incarnation... Much more solitary. Well, totally solitary - two weekend guests in a row have had to cancel!
I'm lucky to be able to connect so closely to nature - if I don't get out for a walk or (short!) run before work, it's unusual. And sometimes I manage a walk at sunset, too.
Time to notice things like...
the pointillist effects of blackthorn in bloom... I can tell the difference between hawthorn blossom and blackthorn now...
Of course, I know bluebells when I see them - my landlord told me there are wild orchids here too, and yesterday morning, I think I spotted them...

The cars are stars, too, given the job I'm doing (with Kit on holiday this week, I'm in charge, however unlikely that feels - me, running a repair garage? Whatever next...)

The towns nearby are wonderfully picturesque - quintessentially English. Not that I seek populated places much - these river scenes at Evesham were snapped on a foray to get proper running shoes (before I totally knackered my knees...)
I've found a fantastic massage therapist; so any damage the race for life training does, she offsets...
The first time I hit ten whole minutes of running, I was ecstatic... but progress is slow and erratic; plus I'm sporadically liverish at the moment.

My screen is telling me saving and publishing may fail. Time to give up and go home...

another month flown by...

2008-04-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

Life has been eventful since my last post (when is it ever anything else?)
- time spiralling away into spring…
At the start of March, I spent a week with Morph at Monkton Wyld Court (main house above) as a volunteer - a very interesting experience. It's always a treat to spend time with friends, and any new experiences are opportunities to learn - or be reminded of things you knew, but had forgotten! I was disappointed not to have more time to write; maybe I'm too conscientious. Next time I take a busman's holiday I'll remember it needs to be when there are enough daylight hours so that I can bookend the day with walking...
We managed a couple of visits to Lyme, though, which is always a treat. My day off was probably the ONLY sunny day that week... But it was spectacular.
Retreading a favourite training walk from the trek year - above, the approach to Golden Cap - was utterly fantastic. Bitter cold, but brilliant sun. Most of my photos have a skew-whiff horizon - either because it was so blustery, or because I still haven't adapted to using the digi-screen blind (i.e. in bright sun) instead of a viewfinder.
One of the best things about our Dorset/Devon trip was spending time with Ath on the way there and on the way back. Time to meet the new member of the family... big soppy softy.
Last weekend Ath's girlfriend Jemma let me ride her horse through the Longleat Estate. Here's Jon, standing beautifully for his picture - shame we cut his feet off, or it would be a perfect pic (aside from his scruffy rider, of course). I've only ever walked or driven through Longleat before, the extra elevation gave me a whole different perspective on the landscape. Amazing what a change in perspective can do. Such a thrill to be on horseback again... Next visit, I'll take my jodpurs and riding boots - just in case.

The woodland paths along from my house have been too waterlogged for my woods circuit walk for a week or two, but the bluebells are on their way - it'll be a riot of blue...
I would have expected that frosty morning walks (as above) belonged to memory by April... but not this year. The clocks going forward created a blip in my early rising pattern - as did picking up a virus in my joints just after I signed up to 'training' (aka trying to prepare for running with Karen in the Race for Life), but I'm adjusting again slowly. A couple of late night creative sessions threw a spanner in the waking works this week, but I think I'm rested again...
Stumbling downstairs on Sunday morning, half-asleep, the picture above shook me into full wakefulness - snow!!!

Too good a picture opportunity to miss...
The novel is 'rolling' again - 3,000 words at the weekend. I'm chuffed to bits. Twelve hours work, with another thirteen hours preparatory work to make those productive twelve possible.
Doing the numbers game;
168 hours in a week.
- 56 hours for sleep
- 50 hours for work
- 10 hours travelling to work
leaves 52 hours.
32 of those are at the weekend, leaving 4 hours a day for shopping, cooking, washing up, laundry, walking, admin, etc.
So to manage 25 hours out of those 52 for writing last week was miraculous. Sustainable? I wasn't walking much - still recovering from that virus, so we shall see...
My GP got my LFTs back, and didn't think they were mine - they were easily in the normal range. So I'm doing something right, at least - in spite of that 50 hour plus week - because my ALT levels were pretty high just before I moved here...
Lucy's 40th at the weekend will probably push them up again...

pic-fest after famine

2008-03-05T05:15:00.000-08:00

A few days away from my (ahem!)th birthday, it's lovely to have a CD with my pix to 29th Feb, access to a computer with internet connection and time to firkle around with a blog post all at the same time...
Mad March catch-up coming up then...
These days my writing time is limited mainly to personal process/journal stuff. After a promising start on the novel early in the New Year, I've ground to a halt again - rewriting by hand is a real drag, and I discovered Mon-Thurs is the minimum commitment to keep it rolling. Which, at the moment, with work and other distractions, hasn't been realistic to sustain.
I have managed a little collaborative stuff with Crysse - live n' lippy will hopefully have new material next time we perform... and the Dreamweavers project is hopefully on track, albeit without much input from me. I am, however, as enamoured with digital image as ever... which I hope is good for the blog if nothing else.

So, some of the best pix from the last couple of months:

Wych Avon could become renowned for its water gardens if weather trends continue; I don't know what this garden was like before the rain, but I rather liked its underwater incarnation...
Not all the cars I spend my days with are like these. I could have kicked myself for missing the Rolls Royce Wraith - but it was raining, so the images wouldn't have been as good as these of the 1950s Austin Devon and the 1930s Bentley. They just don't make them like that any more... I got some good engine shots, too - but I won't bore you with those.

Weston-super-Mud is not my usual choice for coastal photography - but a bit of sun does wonders for us all! After this Sunday afternoon on the front (in January - my reward for completing my tax return), I feel much more affection for the place - it looks rather more splendid than my previous experience of it.

The English-Welsh border offered even more opportunities for happy snapping. The last time I visited Llantony Priory, favourite haunt of a dear friend, I was in the throes of a tanking hangover following a writers' weekend in Wales; sunburned, sleep deprived, and improperly shod, I simply drove most of the way through the valley - with writing stops.

I wasn't hungover this time, and being properly equipped for hill-walking makes a massive difference. Fewer writing stops this time (none), but I did take my notebook from that period, and re-read my musings high on the hillside... a very interesting experience...

I was somewhat less chipper ten hours after the photo above as we staggered down a long and winding road to the pub to cadge a lift back to Llantony (five minutes or so before closing - time enough for a swift half, though)... having managed (somehow - disorientated in the dark) to come down on the wrong side of the valley...

We wouldn't have planned to be wandering Welsh/English hills after dark - it was simply a miscalculation of time/our abilities. Equipped with a torch, extra provsions and plenty layers, it could have been much worse. The last time I was on a hill (mountain) close under the stars was in the Himalayas... so there were certainly pleasant associations to dispel any anxiety... A perfect sliver of a crescent moon appeared at dusk into dark; so romantic... The plummet in temperature about ten o'clock as the frost descended was rather less pleasant, though. Thank heavens for car heating systems!

On the theme of frost, I can't quite assimilate some of the radical changes I've made in my life - like getting up at 6.30am (OK, it's nearer 7am most days) on cold February/March mornings to take advantage of the light mornings to slot in a quick walk before work - which is morphing into a combination walk/jog to let me cover more distance in less time, and lets me have a quick scribble over my coffee while I cool down before jumping in the shower. The motivation to drag my carcass out of bed before I absolutely have to would be much harder if I lived in a town. I'm even beginning to leap out of bed (can you believe it?), eager for my circuit round the fields - and there's a dear little copse about ten minutes away. Several times my footfalls have disturbed the heron that lives there...

I haven't had many guests, but my dear friends Karen and Mike stayed a couple of weekends ago. I think Mike's snap of Karen and I attacking chocolate mousse is a great deal more flattering than the video he shot of us the following day...

To conclude this pic-fest post, a glorious sunrise on the 29th of February - the picture doesn't quite do it justice, of course...

continued frustrations

2008-02-10T05:14:00.000-08:00

A couple of weekends ago, I had access to a computer for a couple of hours - but the mouse developed major behavioural problems I couldn't circumvent... At least I managed to get this draft post begun with some images, although I've lost all the immediacy that the process of snapping and blogging is intended to capture.

At home (unusually) for the weekend - after the rain that waterlogged fields and gardens and the snow that hit Winchcombe and the Malverns - I went for a stroll locally. Somehow, it became a three-hour hike - maybe I'm becoming slightly compulsive about this walking thing... There were lots of cracking photo opportunities, though.

On the Sunday, we "picnicked" in the Malverns (OK, it was more of a fuel stop in a sheltered gully - see below).

The following weekend, it was on to the coast and the Seaton-Lyme stretch - in the opposite direction from my usual. Which meant we caught the sunset from the Cobb (above); a glorious end to a fantastic walk and a beautiful day walking. Positively summery - until the sun went down, and then I was glad of my thermals!

Pix of Weston seafront & the marathon challenge in the Black Mountains to come (one day...) To finish this post, a last pic; pretty in pink - although photographing people isn't really my thing, some pix are irresisible. Besides which, Wilf asked me to post this one up!

News of the Dreamweavers project still to come...

a parking lot in paradise?

2008-02-04T09:23:00.000-08:00

Joni sings so sweetly about not appreciating what you've got til it's gone...
Right now, for me it's the luxury of unpressured computer time (OK, unpressured time generally).
Over the last few years, I have seldom been without unlimited computer and internet access.
I'm now facing my fourth month with no home computer or internet access, and now that the novelty of living in a totally different place, working in a new job, has become more of a commonplace, the upheaval of Christmas is over (yes, OK, I did sidestep that - but in a hugely exhiliarating way - thank you Crysse!) and the hangover from New Year has at last subsided (though my liver function tests might never be the same again), the inconvenience of being sans technology is beginning to bite - hard.
I have pix from weekend walks right through January to load... and have begun the process several times; no less than three image CDs await computer access. Last weekend, I was sure I would be able to at least begin updating the blog - but even access to a borrowed computer failed; after my tax return was complete (thank goodness for that blessed relief at least!) my friend's computer decided work was over for the day...
It's enough to drive anyone to drink...
Normal service will probably never be resumed, so I'm making no such rash promises... Some kind of service should be available if I ever get another computer...
Being shackled to the office five days a week between the hours of 8.30am and 7pm isn't very conducive to writing anyway - I have an hour available between supper and bed...
However, keeping the walking commitment (albeit weekend only) is equally important, for maximising health and liver function - and for the Dreamweavers project. More of that later...

City of Wonders

2007-12-31T07:46:00.000-08:00

For me, one of the coolest things ever has to be a US immigration stamp in my passport, dated 25th December, 2007. (a momentary flare of anxiety as they imprint our index fingers to run through the database - and then I think, hang on; I've never actually been fingerprinted at any time!)

I can't think of a better way to spent a Christmas day than sipping champagne on a long haul flight to New York with Crysse. Apologies to global warming campaigners etc. - but my carbon footprint is otherwise smaller than probably most people living in the west (not currently running a fridge has to count for some green brownie points) and after all, it was a once-in-a-lifetime special treat...

(Yes, I know I'd love to go back - but will I?)

Much of our journey from Newark to the New Yorker Hotel seems not a million miles away from London's Vauxhall Bridge underpass; at this level the scruffiness surprises us, used to airbrushed Hollywood New York. Likewise the hotel - the stately lobby (below) gives way to tatty corridors in want of a good clean, let alone several coats of paint, little touches like our richly tiled bathroom floor and art deco bathroom suite briefly reviving the sense of opulence that must have pervaded it once. It's like sitting with an ageing actress in her dressingroom after watching a mediocre performance with flashes of former brilliance - there's more compassion than contempt.

It's not until the following day that I step outside our hotel and get the buzz... the buzz I didn't pick up at all our first night, my senses too dulled by exhaustion.

It's as if we've stepped into the film set of New York, the glamour burned away by the reality of the sidewalks under our feet, leaving the real romance of the city to be ingested greedily...

This is our first writing trip where we both focus on digital image nearly as much as writing - Crysse always takes a camera, but pictures have been more a kind of holiday snaps backdrop. Now, blogging has upped the ante on images to complement writing. That doesn't stop me being as self-indulgent with pix as I am with writing (see below left - and actually, I don't care, I think I was right, it is an interesting image, snapped en route to the Poetry cafe in Greenwich village.)

On our last day, considering skating in Bryant Park (the only place in New York where skating is free) I catch a cop (above right) in Bryant Square without thinking to ask his permission - less posed for the tourists and more laconically bored than in Crysse's, I think...

Christmas trees everywhere - hotel lobbies, Bryant Park (below left), the square at the Rockefeller Center (below right), Macy's and Bloomingdales frothy decadence, with shoppers speedy as commuters chasing trains...
New York does Christmas in style. Sure, it's OTT and flamboyant, but there are no tacky plastic cartoon characters (OK, a Shrek above Macy's main entrance, which we didn't see until our last day) or competitions between inhabitants to see who can out-Christmas their neighbour. Maybe it's because New York, and Manhattan in particular, is less residential - in Queen's, returning to JFK airport in a luxury black Lincoln, I did see one plastic bonanza...

The hip-hop (body-popping?) troupe (below) we come across in search of a coffee bar seems to emphasise that the life of New York happens on the sidewalk as you go nowhere in particular, just as it does the world over.

The most precious thing we have is time - and the leisure to absorb these little gems...

We decide not to tour United Nations, but it was worth going there just for the pic below of the knotted gun.

Numerous pictures taken that I now have no idea where I took it, or what exactly it is - I'm pretty sure this one (left) isn't the Seagram Building, which doesn't exactly narrow it down hugely. The architecture of New York is absolutely amazing - and I don't mean just the sky-reaching towers of glass. Little (by comparison) gothic and art deco delights hunker down between the monoliths, even a Gaudi-esque surprise or two...

Grand Central Station, Times Square, the Chrysler Building, the Rockefeller Centre, the Empire State Building... Madison Avenue, Broadway, Central Park, Fifth Avenue...

Being in New York is like visiting a place you've been in a vivid dream, a sense of almost deja vue as we cover familiar landmarks, sampling a culture so close to our our own - and yet so different...

festivity avoidance

2007-12-23T10:14:00.000-08:00

This may be my last posting of the year... and given that the weeks since I moved have had very scanty coverage, then a kind of year round-up is really not going to happen... A swift

precis of the last few weeks is the most I can manage!

My new living space is gorgeous. A fantastic creative space....
Through the gap between buildings, you can see the Malverns from my spare room (below left).

My second foray to the top of Bredon Hill was accidentally extended to include sunset (above right) - a treat which meant reorienting to find the way down relied heavily on my sense of direction (not always a good move, but aside from a bit of stumbling about in the dark, on this occasion proved uneventful).
Crysse came to stay and sample my hospitality - subsidised by the pub down the road (the food is excellent; lets me off the hook from catering - a bonus as I don't have a fridge yet, with only the very basics in my kitchen!) Shopping in Evesham, ostensibly for suitable thermal clothing for our New York trip, provided this cool jacket (above left) on time for our live n' lippy performance as part of Howard's 'resonate' evening.

Life is full of upheavals and reversals as life spirals around... I wrote a piece for Anita Mason's Frome Hundred anthology called 'Aversion to Sunrise'; it feels as though that is undergoing a reversal... Winter sunrises do help greatly - in that they don't happen that early in the morning... above right is the morning vista from Crysse's conservatory-cum-spare room, a view of Frome which was an unexpected delight when I stayed with her a couple of weeks ago.

The digital camera can't quite do justice to the subtleties of either a sunrise or a sunset, but maybe this shot taken as I pulled out of the Byre and headed down the lane to drive to work gives a flavour; such spectacular glory it inspired me to haul my carcass out of bed at 6.30 on a Saturday to go chase the sunrise from Bredon Hill...

Extensive cloud cover muted most of the effect... Except the sustenance for the soul. Tramping around in solitary splendour, I startled a herd of fifteen deer, the largest gathering I've seen anywhere other than Rum. I met a runner from Eckington who comes up every Saturday; maybe we'll meet again.
Definitely a day of celebration and thanks for the joy in my life.

Today, the trekking theme continued; not such an early start, but a similar distance. Up through woods on the ridge between Weston and Sand Bay and along the promontory. Such a gift to spend so much of a December weekend out of doors; funny the changes hep C has wrought in my life...
The mist wreathing mutated and gyrated over sea and horizon, offering sometimes clear vistas and sometimes the murk of nothingness as if we stepped on the edge of the world...

The theme of stepping through gateways to alternative realities continued; passing through a doorway at Woodspring Priory we passed from the bare (if impressive) fan vaulting into the elegant festive splendour of the reading room.

If this is an alternative Christmas, give me more!

potential indefinite intermission

2007-12-08T04:36:00.000-08:00

I rather like the unexpected strangeness of these two images together... linking two very different hikes on Bredon Hill.

Internet use at work takes intricate organisation, so I had decided to flag up an indefinite intermission. However, Crysse showed me how to begin and save posts to publish once they're crafted, so that could help solve the problem... as well as being reminded how to edit existing posts - I thought they couldn't be changed after a certain number of days...
Just getting the photos above posted was a saga and a half - we downloaded from my camera onto Crysse's computer and she emailed them to me... (blogger was having a funny five minutes, so I couldn't get logged on from her computer).

On the plus side... well, I wrote in my notebook:

Every day on my way to work my heart takes flight... and every night on my return, I'm equally enchanted by the night landscape.
I'm 'exploring in the margins' - in the margins of the working week, in the margins of the routes between home(s) and work, in the margins of solitude around working and mainly living in Kit's space...
this period of adjustment feels as if I'm a constantly shaken kaliedescope.

I live in Worcester and work in Gloucestershire (a little unnerving to see so much rain raising water levels again last week... being constantly 'between homes' means I'm well prepared for floods, with extra warm clothes etc. in my car at all times - and my riding boots have taken up residence there, too).
my own lovely (large!) haven is close by Bredon Hill... on the outskirts of a tiny village with no shops (but three pubs; hmmm! - which I can't take full advantage of; treatment hasn't cleared the virus).
I was in shock for several hours after that news, but there is so much magic in my life at the moment that I don't feel too down-in-the-mouth about such sore disappointment. Earlier the same day, I had news that a friend had died suddenly the night before; at the time, as well as a terrible shock, it felt like an ominous omen.
An omen perhaps, but also a reminder that worse things happen than a tough old virus refusing to let go of its haven in my bloodstream. David's life's work on mythologies across the globe is now forever incomplete after over twenty years work, and we will never hear his melodious voice relating his lovely stories in clipped, precise words from an incredibly neat typescript... except in our hearts and memories.
Like the stubborn virus that lurks in my bloodstream, I'm tough. Tougher than I ever believed... and it took finding out I had this surreptitious organism undermining my health to delve into the inner resources that have resculpted my inner and outer landscapes.
Maybe hello to an old friend is more appropriate than formulating new battle plans...

Last, but by no means least, live n' lippy have another outing on Sunday, part of the media arts showcase organised by Howard.
A bit tricky to rehearse without access to the dvd... but it should be fun all the same.

pre-written posting...

2007-11-20T05:14:00.000-08:00

November 17th 2007

Everything is in flux...
It's a strange but fascinating space to be...
I want to write about it, but I haven't had much opportunity yet - I'm still in that negotiating phase, being in someone else's space.
Having 'no fixed abode' is unsettling, but not half as much as I would have expected - considering I've spent such a lot of my life doing my utmost to avoid it... There's something liberating in having cut loose from one life in order to forge ahead with new projects... and of course, being Kit's guest equates far more to living the life of Riley than most semi-nomadic people experience!
I'm a slow typist on a laptop keyboard. Still, it's a delight to have the work laptop at home (?) at all (even if it is justified because I need the practice!)
Only having access to the internet at work is... well, actually, it's surprisingly OK. I thought I'd chafe at being unable to email or post on my blog in my free time, but instead it feels like an integral part of the life changes and reassessments I'm undergoing.
Today is my first day off in Wych Avon. Being Saturday, Trudi comes to do Kit's cleaning, so motivated by the desire to make myself scarce, I take myself off for a hike. (Not exactly a hardship...)
The top of Bredon Hill gives fabulous views of the surrounding countryside... and feels particularly apt as a metaphor; rising above my internal and external chaos to walk the landscape of my new life...

chilly beginnings

2007-11-20T05:04:00.000-08:00

from my notebook:

driving away from Frome, I feel light, unfettered...
I wake to a frosted winter wonderland, the sun a white disc shining through mist... papery leaves rustling through twigs louder than even distant traffic noise...

elastic time

2007-11-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

Life never goes quite according to plan... (something that maybe politicians would do well to remember?)
The change in some of the variables governing moving, intersecting with practicalities (always a weak point with yours truly, as certain of my friends will testify with vehemence), have extended my new start date from 1st Nov as it was originally, to 5th, 6th, and now 14/15th.
The impatient part of me wanted change as soon as the decision was made, and has lamented loud at my protracted notice period. But the ditzy impractical part is heaving sighs of relief!
Logistics stretched the time it took me just to clear the books culled from my collection - but yesterday, the last of sixteen boxes travelled to just outside Westbury...
Additional time has provided the luxury of unexpected pleasure with friends (Crysse took these
pics yesterday at Longleat, a real gem of a writing/walking date - can't believe I forgot my camera!). I've also had some solitary writing time (an experimental piece for Frome fm) - and the opportunity to sift through my stacks of writing files methodically.
I've found lots of shite, lots of duplicated hard copies that I now have on cd - I do so like to work with the physical manifestation of writing... A couple of my published pieces were literally cut and pasted; I found the original typescripts (and duly dumped them).
I've also found some projects that I look forward to developing once the deadwood is cut away...
There have been some surprises, too - Ath's version of our Dublin trip, and the transcript of his fevered ramblings when he had tonsillitis!

Having frittered much of this sunsplashed autumnal 'shooting' time, I did take my camera out this morning...

Last year around the beginning of October, Crysse, Peter and I went walking round Longleat in autumnal colours - so the season is late this year. I thought perhaps I just hadn't been paying close enough attention to my surroundings - a dog is surprisingly distracting; a bit like a toddler, really.
Ath is taking over the dog's care until the owner's release date on Dec 15th, so I'll be leaving my fosterdog as well as my boy... They'll rub along together OK, I think.
When I stayed over in Bristol last week, I missed my canine companion at the foot of the bed...
Time I started on the 'to do' list again...

another madabout words event

2007-10-31T05:45:00.000-07:00

The third 'madabout words' that Crysse has organised for the Merlin was held on Friday night -undoubtedly, the best yet (see Crysse's blog for her comments on http://crysse.blogspot.com/). Live n' lippy (aka me and Crysse) opened and closed the evening's line-up, which consisted of songs from Howard (so good we bought the cd - well worth a listen), brilliant stories from Niamh and Rosie, a witty dialogue from Ali (read/performed byAli and Willow, with a cameo appearance from Van the Man, aka Howard), poetry from Tracey, Gordon and Dave, and a fantastic debut appearance from musical duo Jill and Mick. There were sample tracks from the dvd - poetry from live n' lippy and visuals from Howard. This will be my last event as a Frome resident; a privilege to be part of such a great evening's entertainment.

Above, Ali, Willow, and Van...

I hope I can maintain the connection to the buzz of creative energy in and around Frome...

Above; Rosie - below; Jill.

This may be my last post for a while - things have been chaotic for a few weeks, which is likely to intensify over the next few days - and then I won't have easy access to the internet (or a computer!) for a while...
But I hope to do more writing than I've managed to fit in recently - tonight, I've promised to record a session for Frome fm with Mike.
Best I get onto that now... or there won't be any words to record...

endings and new beginnings

2007-10-30T04:06:00.001-07:00

My last day coincides with our 'Make a Difference' day (another 'MAD' day) which falls during energy saving week...

My time is spent trying to be in three places at once (no change there, then) but I manage to plant a gooseberry bush and oversee the veggie prep for our rocket stove meal (which turns out to be edible, surprisingly enough).
As last days go, it's rather special... largely down to Laura (see above). After thirteen months of sharing office space (and shoring up my role as well as her own), that says volumes for her patience and tolerance (in her shoes, I might well feel somewhat differently... not sure I'd like me as a colleague...)

Thrilled with my pressies, not just their actuality, but the thought and care devoted to choosing them (Laura again) - beautiful spectrolite pendant and earrings set, two bags of continental chocs (yum!), a book on Cotswold walks (yippee!) and a BBC 'Nature's Calendar' book with spectacular photographs.

and then on for (er, rather a lot of) drinkies at the microbrewery...
I really enjoyed myself, and I hope everyone else did too! It may be goodbye to the 'team' as workmates, but as friends... I like to think I'll take on the gift of friendship from this phase in my life. I love Sarah's idea of meeting up twice a year (she's on the left, then Maggie, Gary and Laura). Fingers crossed we can organise it - synchronising even two diaries can be a toughie!

rolling away inertia

2007-10-19T11:10:00.000-07:00

My first (and last) Frome writers session last night... A high standard of writing - and great to have feedback on the (current) beginning of the novel, part of my attempt to reconnect to my fictional world. It fired the curiosity of the group, so that (should) get rid of the fear that this incarnation is another exercise in self-indulgent tosh. It might still be self-indulgent tosh - but at least it's interesting enough to engage six writers... and the other snippet made them laugh; slightly pretentious ('show-off-y' Rosie's word) it might be, but with enough humour in, maybe I can carry it off...
every goodbye should have a new beginning, so Crysse and I were today trying to think of ways I can continue to be part of the group - at a distance.

Fantastic to catch-up properly with Crysse - at LAST!!!! A bit of a blow-out seems to have broken my inertia; this morning I began sorting out stuff for the tip, and the books I'll be passing on, before meeting Crysse to sort our live n' lippy set for madaboutwords. Some interesting writing; on not writing... (after the flippant 'I killed too many brain cells with too much wine last night' - actually, it may have been flippant, but it's also true, if only for today!)

What better way to alleviate the excesses of the night before than with walking and poetry... in the process keeping that scary inertia at bay!

more sunshine and showers

2007-10-15T14:13:00.000-07:00

On our last day on Rum, we manage a last wander around the loch side without getting too wet, and leave the dampest of our clothes to dry off a bit while we take the castle tour.
Stately home meets museum meets decaying mansion...
Definitely one not to be missed.

We sail for Mallaig once more.
In the morning, the mist has descended so that Eigg and Skye are the only clear outlines on the horizon, with just tantalising hints where the contours of Rum should be - as if we dreamt our visit...

A few weeks on, and already it feels like a lucid dream in another lifetime...

solitary splendour

2007-10-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

Our last full day; Lucy opts for the shores of Loch Scresort to spot more seals and possibly the elusive otters, while I decide to see if I can make it to Harris on the other side of Rum.
I think it's approximately 8 miles to Harris - it's certainly further than the 5 miles between Kinloch and Kilmory. In spite of 'writing in a get-out clause' - I'll turn back if I get too knackered, too wet, whatever - secretly, I'm determined to reach the bay (and if you'd read Magnus' description of the road to Harris, you'd have embraced the challenge too).
I have an awesome day.
And awful!
I get drenched in squall after squall; it's cold and dank... but it's also majestic and incredibly beautiful. The wind may have an uncomfortable chill factor, but it also dries me out as the rain moves on to adjacent mountains. For mile upon mile, hour upon hour, I tramp through this wild and wonderful landscape with not another living soul in sight.
Just me and the wildlife on God's own isle, thinking our thoughts together.
The intense peacefulness in these miles of uninhabited space is almost impossible to describe. It's too cold and wet for my notebook, so my mobile doubles as dictaphone - unfortunately inaccessible until I get a new charger, having lost mine on my travels!
Utterly elated at reaching my goal, I sit under the door lintel on the steps of the little cottage at Harris, out the vicious wind, to eat my packed lunch.
I've found a very unexpected paradise.
The last few miles I walk like a Chinese woman with bound feet. Each time my weary legs stumble on the rocky trail, fountains of pain cascade through my feet. My right knee thinks I've belted it with a 20-pound lumphammer, and my hips are harmonising quietly with the choir of complaint. I wish fervently for something to distract me from the pain... and the rain starts again. Icy water down the backs of my legs; the Cosmic Joker is always listening.
It may be a bit soon to risk alcohol - but I deserve a Black Cuillin beer!
And the Joker throws in an expert massage just to round off an amazing day, courtesy of Trish, the stand-in chef, who has a massage practice on the mainland.
Into another kind of paradise...

miscellaneous

2007-10-07T09:16:00.000-07:00

Adverse weather rolls in over the hills very quickly - but can evaporate just as quickly.

Smokers may be slightly chillier than elsewhere in the country, but the castle courtyard is a very convivial place to savour a post-prandial cigarette.

And there's a charming replica bird-table outside the bistro window - giving diners something to occupy them while browsing the menu. The service is so good, you don't have much (if any) time to contemplate the bird-table and its visitors...
We intend to slot the castle tour in between two short walks today - tours are timed to coincide with the ferry timetables. As Lucy and I go in search of seals and maybe otters on the shores of Loch Scresort, a ferryload of geriatrics hobble along castle-ward - each clot with a self-appointed spokesperson echoing the plea 'How far is it to the castle now?' We can't quite stomach sharing our magical place with this flotilla of ageing toddlers (one of whom addresses us as 'boys' - questionable how much of the sights she's going to appreciate!), so we move to plan B.
After spotting just a solitary seal, we settle for a picnic in our room with Magnus Magnusson's authoritative little book on Rum, followed by another baby walk along the river. Bizarrely, there's a park bench on the other side - we're tempted to ford the shallowest bit, so we can read the plaque, but decide we'd rather not have sopping wet socks and boots for the rest of our stay. We opt for perambulating the perimeters of the castle - and posing on the rebuilt Japanese style bridge which once adorned the owner's ornamental gardens.
At supper, we sit beside the Central Administrator for the Western Isles, and discover that there's an admin job coming up on the island...
I make a point of NOT checking out the cottage that the contractors have come to decorate in readiness for the new employee...

walking in wild landscapes

2007-10-07T06:32:00.000-07:00

Three full days of walking. Three days full of bliss...
The woods around Loch Scresort give way to heathered moorland and spectacular waterfalls as the rocky 'road' rises into the hills.
Given that Rum was once compulsorily vacated to make way for 8,000 sheep (we met a chap from Nova Scotia who'd traced his roots to one of those evicted families), I didn't pick up the same grim atmosphere which characterises some areas of the Highlands - Glencoe, for example. Though that, admittedly, was the scene of a massacre - displacement doesn't equal those echoes.
Obviously, ordinary life here has never exactly been a breeze, but maybe the spirituality of the early Christian hermits, or the fun enjoyed by Edwardian playboys balanced that legacy with a lighter energy. (At the start of the 20th century, the castle's owner had 3 racing cars - there were men working full-time on maintaining the roads then, though. The tracks now are, in some places, a challenge even for the 4x4s... )
On our first full day, as we approach Kilmory, we can see the Skye Cuillins across the sea. Kilmory used to be the site of the laundry for the castle - a mere five miles away! - but now has a deer research outpost. We meet several others; the young couple from Penrith spending some time on the Islands as part of their Scottish road trip, Mr Nova Scotia, the hikers who have been castle-bound for the last two days because of rain (? the walking equivalent of fair-weather bikers?) and the teachers accompanying the troupe of teenagers wild-camping their way to their gold Duke of Edinburgh awards. We pass the ghillie's white Toyota pick-up, mercifully minus deer carcases - even when it overtakes us later, a few miles from Kinloch.

from my journal
The hostel rooms are in the old servants quarters on the third floor. Lucy and I are squeezed into a tiny room under the eaves, with space for our beds and a wardrobe and very little else. We have a skylight window that doesn't shut properly, but an old radiator that does, pumping more than enough heat into the space to make it cosy - adequate to dry the clothes we can't shoehorn into the drying room with the other hostellers' gear.
From our window (if we stand up) we can see looming hills and waving treetops.
Our ten-mile hike is such delight. At Kilmory, we find a curve of rock close to the water which shelters us from the biting wind as we feast on our packed lunches.
I take picture after picture, and we breathe lungfuls of fresh island air as the clouds swathe the hills around us. We're lucky, only getting slightly damp in the changeable conditions - and that as much as from internal conditions as external; walking in this landscape is hot work!

It's an artificial community, comprised of Scottish Natural Heritage employees. Although there are specific roles, everyone fulfills a multitude of tasks - the manager of the hostel and hotel took a crash course in hydroelectrics when the island mechanic left recently, and currently operates the islands generators. He and his wife and baby son have been on Rum for 18 months now; his previous post was in the Cairngorms.
'I don't do city jobs,' he tells me when I ask what motivates people to come and work here.

I know what he means.

It's wild out there now - blowing a gale and pouring with rain, the lullaby to sing me to sleep excess water rushing down drain pipes and overspilling other water channels... then the wind dies, and it's just the music of a channel somewhere runnelling off excess water.

hostelling in style

2007-09-29T14:27:00.000-07:00

Kinloch Castle surveys Loch Scresort, with (on clear days) views of Skye and the mainland.
The castle manager loads our luggage in the Range Rover (the Americans in combats get a lift with their ghillie in a white Toyota pick-up), and we walk around the shore with our assorted ferrymates through woodland both imported and indigenous.

It's idyllic.

And the castle has a bistro...

Arriving merits an easeful day. A quick recce round the castle, a toastie at the tea shop and a brief rest before supper...

inauspicous start

2007-09-29T14:04:00.000-07:00

The rain sleets across Mallaig as we leave the B&B. Within seconds, in spite of our layers and waterproofs, we're dank and miserable. This is not the gentle 'smirr in the wind' rain recalled with fondness from childhood summers, while lurking with Lucy on Sheena's porch, smoking. This is the serious rain that keeps me from risking a visit to Scotland.

The cosiness of the Faulty Tower-esque B&B is a much more attractive prospect than struggling down to the ferry terminal with our laden rucksacks.

Then, it seems the grim weather might jeopardise our crossing. Not the rain so much as the wind that's its bosom buddy. Hanging about in the cold, waiting for the Skye ferry (which has been cancelled) to shift its mooring and allow our little Island hopper in, we get chilled to the bone.

There's been a weird kind of transference; Lucy is now anxious about sailing, while I'm impatient to get to Rum.
The contrariness of the weather is also its advantage; in the hour or so it takes us to reach Eigg, the skies have cleared and the sun warms us through the seawind chill.
Our sea leg every bit as exquisite as the train yesterday.
This stretch of water was crossed by little puffer steamers - which transported the red stone to build the castle, aka industrial monies elaborate PR job and playground.

on the road to the Forbidden Isle

2007-09-28T11:29:00.001-07:00

We set out on a cool, bright morning, a beautiful sunrise sky as we wait for our train (which is, predictably, an hour late - good old Virgin!) Luce upgrades us to First Class - few significant perks other than far greater travelling space, but on a long (and often tedious) journey that is benefit enough. The complimentary snack pack has little actual nutritional value, although heavy on the calories and a veritable E-fest...
Early Saturday morning to Sunday evening - bizarrely enough, our journey thus far almost comparable in duration to that to Nepal. Train from Bristol to Edinburgh, overnight stop there with Sheena before our next 'rail leg'; Edinburgh via Glasgow to Mallaig.
Luce proves even more delightful as a travelling companion than my expectation - her delight as we cross the border is infectious, and she's enthralled by Edinburgh's splendour, the imposing nature of its Gothic architecture. A whistlestop tour of the Royal Mile, then Sheena's whizz around the Queen's Park in the car reminds me of the beauty of my birthplace, and gives me the opportunity to see it afresh, through a stranger's eyes.

Spending the evening with Sheena is lovely - more reconnections... If I've felt an uncomfortable distance in our friendship of recent years, the reasons that situation has developed are now clear, and my paranoia allayed. As Sheena is one of my oldest friends (in the sense that we have known each other a long time, rather than that she's of ages with Methuselah), I should know better than to allow my imagination to fill in the gaps - but on the other hand, that's what I do as a writer; make imaginative leaps to make sense of my warped perceptions... as ever Sheena is funny, perceptive, intelligent, sensitive and above all interesting - such a jewel of a friend; how could I believe there was a conscious withdrawal?It's good to see how the gaps in the interaction of our separate realities have occurred.

Lucy and I are both utterly blown away by the spectacular panoramas between Glasgow and Mallaig. Knocks the Lake District into a cocked hat - even though I adore the lakes.

We watch the sun set over Rum, full of excitement for the following morning when the ferry will take us to the once Forbidden Isle...

from my journal:

these are my words, they comfort and encumber me, the stories I frame about my journeys both help assimilate experiences and limit who I can be; I offer glimpses of myself to others through the words I use to express who I am - and then sometimes become entrapped by a faux role, or reduced potential, by my own stereotyping...

mist magic

2007-09-28T11:22:00.001-07:00

a different kind of dawn wonderland... with the sun rising behind the lightning tree, a time to be glad of 'fosterdog' and his necessitating early jaunts to the fields - which I wouldn't otherwise have ventured on - too conscious of time constraints...
I took several shots in my attempt to capture some of the beautiful spiderwork of that morning - unfortunately this is the only one that survived the cull necessary to make way for Rum landscapes...
maybe a little of the magic comes across...

circles and spirals

2007-09-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

reconnections;
with the Bristol (and wider) poetry circuit - Rosemary Dun's Big Mouth Cabaret last night with Crysse. Great line-up, Elvis McGonagle on devilishly good form - but hey, read about the gig on Crysse's blog (http://crysse.blogspot.com/), her coverage is far more erudite than mine would be! But before you read about them, see what the live n' lippy's alphabetti dvd clip looks like on Youtube (cheers, Howard, you've done a grand job on the recording and visuals!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQouZIBS9NY

(so that covers reconnections with artistic collaborators).

with frustration at just being at work following cancellation of my training day (redeeming highlights; dawn walk with Joe beforehand, lunch with Ro during, afterwards supper with Sam and Crysse, writing and laughter at the Harbourside ... so the highlights involve reconnections).

disconnections:
Drafted my resignation today.

Another leap of faith anticipated - that conjures images of 'fosterdog' bouncing through the knee-high clover fields, canine joy incarnate...
A good image.
Much I will be sad to leave, though - those clover fields, for a start.
Mayblossom outside my window in the Spring.

Frome will remain a heart-home, it won't be a total severance - there are friends in all my heart-homes, and blood ties to keep a connection alive... writing, music and images make connections to my memories, the pearls strung on life's narrative.

So from disconnection we're back at reconnection...

reversals and life as a 4-dimensional Escher puzzle

2007-09-10T15:00:00.000-07:00

A wonderful warm September day; since the twin towers tragedy I've noticed September is a personal chronological signifier of seismic internal and external change. This year is no exception.

At 7am today, I was in the cusp of the morning, watching the sun rise into soft clouds (later burned off by its heat). At the other end of the day, I walked in dusky fields soft-lit by the roseate afterglow.

The hectic pace in between safely buffered by green space and blue skies.

By October, the days will be too short to drain stresses into daylight, so this September time is precious.

The template of life change is like that of a 4-dimensional Escher puzzle; I've been given the corner pieces, and now the infinite pattern begins to reveal itself. There will be repetitions - the sun always rises and sets, the seasons morph into one another, albeit with changing characters. The ebb and flow of events will continue to play itself through time and space; my part is to work on perception and novel ways of seeing.

And stories, always stories, connections, Dreaming with the Driftwood Mirror and poetry.

One September I was blessed with an enchanted morning garbed in silver misted cobwebs. I've dusted off the poem that birthed - it needs some more crafting...
This September there is more writing ahead; writing alone, with Crysse, with other talented Frome writers... and hopefully Pilton writers, too. Maybe even writers I haven't yet met.
We shape the dimensions of our puzzles, our lives, with our individual and collective imaginative explorations...

No wonder I won't stand for writing time to be squeezed flat and lifeless. It needs space to breathe and stretch...

quick catch up

2007-09-09T06:26:00.000-07:00

Nearly a month since my last posting on here... I'm not sure if that's a good sign or a bad sign! The upside is that it's not lack of inclination, rather the dearth of time to do so - the down side is that all writing time has been squeezed to snatched moments here and there.
There have been many long walks, though. The photo above is taken from the Crow's Nest, which is on the way to Tintern Abbey. The 365 steps up to the Crow's Nest through the trees made me think of wooded Nepalese slopes - and Fangorn Forest! A little unsettling as I was reading Stephen King's 'Lisey's Story' at the time...
An overactive imagination is both a blessing and a curse.
I have an ambivalent relationship to all the significant things in my life, though - which I've no doubt mentioned before.

More sedately - this shot was taken from the highest point of the Malverns; a leisurely upward stroll with Kit to work off our Sunday lunch...

Deciding to commit to a spot of 'dog fostering' is probably the main reason I've been pushed for blogging time. Ath would love to have a dog - so I thought, what better way to give him an inkling of what looking after a dog really entails than to look after one for a while...
Great idea in principle.
In practice?
Well - funnily enough, so far, I've been doing the majority of the walking...

Jack Russells are not my canine of choice, so I hadn't anticipated becoming so enamoured with our guest.
He's not only extremely cute, but highly intelligent and very entertaining - an irresisible mix! (in spite of the risk of the canine equivalent of the pub brawl if we meet a dog who's bigger than he is - little dogs are prone to 'little dog syndrome' just as much as their human counterparts succumb to 'size irritability').
There isn't much that can get me out of bed earlier than usual (not even the prospect of a longer writing session). But for this little chap, I'm up and out along the fields with no complaint at all.
Admittedly, the weather has changed dramatically - we've had no rain since he arrived, so it will be interesting to see how we feel on grey, wet days.
On these misty September morning and sundrenched evenings, his joy as he bounces ecstatically through the second growth of clover makes my smile a mile wide.

Lucy and I have now finalised most of the 'bookable details' of our sojourn to Rum. Travel and accommodation all sorted - at last! Something really worth blogging about coming up...

Life changes afoot, too - and that, too, is responsible for my virtual absence; lots to process privately.
The dog needs a walk, so I'm going to head off into the soft September afternoon.

coastal camping idyll

2007-08-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

No matter how long you spend in a place, or how often you visit, there is always more to explore, more nooks and crannies to unearth... such as Warbarrow Bay, reached via Tyneham, the village evacuated when the War Office took it over. The residents never returned. It's unutterably sad, as if the echoes of those lives cling to the crumbling remnants of the hamlet; the world has moved on, but Tyneham school house is preserved as if in aspic.

Fifteen minutes walk away, rockpooling hasn't changed much...

although the photo opportunities are more selfconscious!

Kites get more sophisticated every year - check out this fabulous multi-coloured galleon riding the wind...

The moving image the over-riding influence everywhere now - in Lulworth Cove, Isla was thrilled to watch SMART setting up a sequence around a ship constructed from beachcombed detritus...

while we adults were tickled by the warning sign in the village by Corfe Castle.

from my journal:
the elements so skin-close as to talk to your soul...
the last three dry days have toasted the moisture to a greying icing on the grass...
across Lulworth Cove, tinies and toddlers with sun hats and buckets, poking around rocky shallows, pudgy middle-aged couples clambering up the slopes, parents with babies rucksacked on their backs, white t-shirted pre-pubescent Eastern Europeans...
flies casting dancing shadows on my skin...

memories from this year:
a full moon on Monday night illuminating my compartment in our tent
porridge for breakfast (the only cooking I did)
walking, walking... and more walking!
oodles of writing time
Carlo bringing his ipod - cracking tunes! (including some of his)
a very early walk to the beach (6.30am - what was I doing up?)
seeing my second adder (if I hadn't scared it, I would have been able to photograph it)
maybugs and glow worms
that sense of wellbeing... more intense than on any of our previous trips
having a solitary last day, writing in the sun, walking and taking snaps

five go mad in Dorset

2007-08-05T14:26:00.000-07:00

The five happy campers this year - myself, and left to right, Carlo, Isla, Carole and Steve. Rather a bumpy start to this year's break - no Ath and crew. Ath couldn't get time off work. Rats.

Still, for the sixth summer running, the weather smiled indulgently on us... the Simpson skies above featured most days - or wispy tendrils hazing the horizon.

Only one day of grey clouds, very full clouds which chucked water at us - for all of half a day!

Isla shared (some of) the chores. Although Carole and I took the boat down most of the way to the beach...

You wouldn't think you could run up this slope... Well, I couldn't.
Atholl did, one year.
But this shot was probably the only moping I had time for...
And, with a long list of chores to tackle, work to get to in the morning - this is all I have time for.

reasons to be cheerful - part 2,073

2007-07-27T02:54:00.000-07:00

So - what are my reasons to be cheerful today? It's not raining. For five minutes at least.

I got the train to work on Monday (my car got sick on the way to the Urusen gig on Friday - the gig was brilliant) and so my day was bookended by walks to and from Frome station and Temple Meads. Which, although raining that day - rather a lot - was delightful. I wish I had the time and money to take that option more often.
Crysse's birthday this week - see pic with Annie and (Niamh? sorry if I can't spell that properly) at the dinner party last night to celebrate the birthdays of all three - mucho Leo energy around, with Karen's birthday coming up. Last night's celebration another reason to be cheerful - a veritable smorgasbord of delights for our delectation. Including songs from Annabelle - such a multi-talented group!

Sunday saw Crysse and I fetching the car (the RAC a little less beleaguered by then, but still giving us an hour or so writing time while we waited) and enough sunshine to take a long walk in vest tops... before Crysse's anthology launch.

A
A brilliant evening, with a live n'lippy poem squeezed in with Crysse's anthology readings. Such delight to see in print so many poems whose birth I have attended, so to speak... but even more pleasurable to see so many people supporting the publication of the anthology. For Crysse's take on this and Frome Festival (among other writerly things), see http://crysse.blogspot.com/

The writer-in-residence 'award ceremony' following on the heels of the 'Are we nearly there yet?' launch meant it felt like Christie's was becoming my second home... Judge Helena Drysdale asked if I was an actress; I was thrilled to think the narrator of my story sounded so authentic - got something right! A challenge to read such erotic material in public (especially looking like a drowned rat, having arrived straight from the station - hence no pix!).
My car is now fixed, so that's another reason to be cheerful.

The rest of the week has been work and rain, rain and work... though by comparison with some areas, we're getting off lightly...
I have a week's holiday now. So even if it does keep raining, I'll have some writing time, some exercise - and some rest!
If my skin condition is at all related to stress, then the next week should see some improvement.
All in all, many reasons to be cheerful...

English summer days

2007-07-17T13:04:00.000-07:00

Today's weather has continually changed character, raining one moment, sun shining the next - and sometimes raining through sunny spells. The cloudscapes have been utterly amazing; skies I would never tire of painting if I were an artist (although I might die of frustration at not being able to capture them adequately!)
In the run up to the Jools gig at the Larmer Tree Festival, I wouldn't have put money on our chances of staying dry - but we were blessed with a bright, breezy afternoon and evening.
Such fabulous grounds - this 'grande arch' not the only interesting piece of whimsy. In one folly, full-size figures modelled and dressed as an elderly vicar and his wife, clutching festival programmes in their fabric fists. Amid the trees, multi-coloured hammocks strung in quiet clearings. Along pathways, mini-avenues of roomy tents with a plethora of healing practitioners enticing festival-goers into their opulent interiors.
An alternative marketplace with stalls selling the usual fare, an artists' corner, beer tents and a separate 'snacksville' area. Brightly coloured lanterns promised a magical effect after dusk - although it was magical in dappled sunlight,too.
In daylight, the main stage somehow benignly innocent of the energy about to erupt... which I only managed to fix digitally as blurry dark shots whose foregrounds are filled with people's backs...
Jools always puts on a brilliant performance. There are many things in this world which transport me to another dimension, and a Jools gig is one of them (though, to be fair, two and a half hours of dancing is likely to create altered perception without Mr Holland et al). Interestingly, the opportunity to see him often coincides with important transitions in my life - which will add to the intensity of the experience...
But it's not simply the music - which is always superb - or the line up (guests included Lulu and Ruby Turner this time), but the passion and verve with which he inhabits showmanship as well as music.
At the Larmer Tree gig, mirror balls in the trees played with the light beams to decorate the leaf canopy, and peacocks called through the night...
Wonderful.
Home about 2am, and since then, time feels like sand in my fingers, as if I overspent from my pleasure bank and am somehow repaying with interest...

getting back in the swing...

2007-07-07T14:15:00.000-07:00

Or going with the flow?
An eclectic mix for live n'lippy - aka me & Crysse - to perform to at Bath Poetrycan on Monday, (pic taken by ace haiku poet, Alan Summers - thank you!).

It's not often I'm in town at 9.30am on a Saturday morning, it's NEVER. The first full day of Frome Festival dawned bright and sunny... A batch of 14 writers despatched around shops in Frome...
I wasn't so early in town today that I could grab Alan for a photoshoot with us, though! (He was one of the 14, just not in the pic).
So, back to today... What window would I draw from the hosting shops? (In 2005, I got a real jammy spot, La Strada!)

Up the hill this time, Catherine Hill, to the amazing 'Poot'. As the external shot doesn't do it justice, let me just quote their sign; 'Handmade original delights, clothing and Fox's furniture at "Poot" Catherine Hill'.
No shortage of inspiration, then - though I wasn't at all concerned, trigger writing is never a problem - the quality is something else... I woke on Thursday with the seeds of a poem; such joy is rare, but boded well for this morning.
Back on the hill. Time is doing that loopy business again... whoever said time is chronological is talking through the sphincter which doesn't often see the light...
The narrator in my story just had to be an actor, in these fabulous surroundings... A narrator who decides, in the face of huge temptation, that her chosen career takes precedence over any sexual temptations... Hmmm! Prophetic perhaps... I didn't take an image of the 'prop' I used - maybe I'll go back next week and see if it's still in the cabinet. It would be lovely to post the story with that image...
here I am, nearing the conclusion (cheers, Crysse!) Shame I missed lunch and laughter with Crysse and Ali Clink - oh, the grind of the writer's life! (It gets better...)
Home to check my email (alerted by Mike that he'd sent one) and a veritable mountain cascades into my in-box- but some from my writer friends, which is always a pleasure.
Time for a walk in the sun...
Several years ago, I searched for a suitable place outside my study to motivate me through the novel - if I had to 'go out' to work, as I do for other employment, I figured I could be more productive. Look what I found -the world and all that's in it! (I'll get that novel written yet - I love it when I hear of fantastic writers who work for years on books. After all, I only want to write one novel, if it takes me twenty years I'll have a long and happy life - and also write other stuff; poetry, essays, process books, journals...)
A leg stretching hike to get to this particular branch of Hazel Stewart Inc...
this one with the added bonus of 'private solarium'.Just what the doctor would order (if he could) for my poor skin. So I sat in this field, on a glorious English summer day, and wrote about the fun I'd had with my character. And the people I'd talked to... I wrote about an issue that's getting under my skin a lot these days... and about the wonderful week I've had. How full of wonder, indeed - wonder, poetry, magic and mischief. The midsummer sprites are out in force! And then I walked some more, took some more photos...
My neighbours roses are a delight. Those nodding over the end of my road here are the ones which enchant me with their delicate perfume at the end of every lanes walk variation I meander along.

I went down for a J2O at the street party. Forgot my camera - because I didn't want to take my rucksack. The whole of Frome in carnival mode; a live music stage at the market cross and a seventies rocker outside the Blue Boar, food marquees on one side, tables and chairs on the other, the road thronged with happy people - even a Griffin beer tent! I saw loads of people I haven't seen for ages (some since before Ath was born!). I caught up with Vicky from my Selwood Hospital days, spoke briefly to Lindsay Clarke and his wife Phoebe, to Will Angeloro, to fellow Liquid Jammer (can I say that if I only play with words?) Laurie Parnell, got hugs from Peter Mac and Emily Gerrard, said hi to Kate (who beat me to the job on the media team - no regrets, it was hers!) so I'm glad I went...
and now I'm off to read today's paper.
Bliss is the writer's life!

trek article

2007-06-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Go to http://www.liverhealthtoday.org/ to read the article on our trek in 'Liver Health Today'.

tranquil interludes

2007-06-17T04:46:00.000-07:00

In lieu of words, some images of a beautiful morning. The words are flowing elsewhere at the moment... If blogging is more about pictures sometimes, that's fine by me. (If only I could line them up properly....)

if you go down to the woods today...

2007-06-09T15:10:00.000-07:00

the surprise is... summer magic!
I love this picture.
Luce was happy to pose with Lucky - but it wasn't till we got home that we could see the unexpected lighting and reflections in the background... Kind of a metaphor for the gift of our evening and day together. So much unexpected depth...

Our intention today was a long, gentle ramble in Longleat Forest. After an hour and a half of the gentle stuff, life became somewhat trickier...

The last time I tackled a cross-country adventure like today's was with Mr Super-hero and the tribe of three about ten years ago - so Luce and I probably had to trailblaze through ten years of rhodedendron growth! Strangely, it didn't seem to put her off the idea of a few days walking in Scotland... so we've set a provisional date...
Wonderfully tasty baguettes at the Bath Arms in Crockerton... deliciously decadent (although I passed on the spritzer), followed by a swift pilgrimage to Siegfried's grave. Drove Luce and Lucks back to Bristol; my turn to crow over a book collection and read selected poems seized on with delight - Siegfried's mate Wilf, Liz Jennings, TS Eliot...

approximately four weeks since I last had TIME for a blog post. I've been writing, walking, working and healing... tinkering with and workshopping a new story, working on a 'live n'lippy' set with Crysse. Several 'boogie nights' - John's RAOB investiture, karaoke at Croyde, Barton Hill Settlement's Community Jam last night... Ath went to Sri Lanka to be his dad's best man (took some cracking pix AND wrote while he was there!). The chakra healing group have met again, and I've done some long overdue 'spring cleaning' of my living space and my psyche.
My initial PCR came back negative!!!!! Fingers, toes, arms, legs and ankles crossed for the one in six months...
I made 'green soup' from leaves gathered on a walk with Crysse and Peter (I can't recall the name of the plant, but the soup was scrumptious).
I managed (somehow) to prepare the funder's report for work before the training weekend...
and then there was the training weekend.
Exhausting yet exhiliarating... battles with the surf such an amazing buzz (Gar, Sar, Dave Mac and me), yet fabulous de-stressor. Taking the karaoke mike without alcohol (there's novel...)
Home again, salads, fruit and good grub galore, long light nights, flying high as the proverbial kite - it sure is summer all right... (unbelievably trite, but rather fun all the same).
Watched the slow flight of an owl as I drove home from Bristol tonight...

MEDICATIONS COMPLETE!!!!

2007-05-11T13:35:00.000-07:00

and back in the landscape again...

Neutrophils and haemoglobin down again last week, but as my last injection was a reduced dose, we went for it anyway. Well, I did, with my specialist nurse's permission. For the first time, Ath was around and in 'my space' for the procedure (he's usually in bed before his 2am shift at Sainsburys); actually absolutely the right time to be around - to 'celebrate' the last one!

Friday, I went to the eye clinic (lovely personable specialist, really interested in tx and its side-effects, having known someone in whom it triggered psychosis) to be told that my symptoms are migraine minus the headache... Actually, maybe they've not been minus the headache sometimes; I stopped taking much notice of those as they seemed such a regular feature... Pupils massively dilated from the eye exam, I wasn't allowed to drive for 4-5 hours. Bit of a bummer.

Still, it gave me the rest of the day off work, even if skulking around Bath in dark glasses on a dull day made me feel like a coked-up minor celebrity... Hanging round a very draughty and cold bus station for a bus home exacerbated the chills, so I decamped to bed for the rest of the day... and missed a trip to the Rondo in the evening (bit of communication breakdown there). The rest was appreciated, though.

On Saturday I met up with Emily and Crysse for a walk on Marston estate lanes (see photo - em, as usual, just landscape even though I did have friends with me!). It was a glorious day, and we walked for a good few miles... such joy! also the opportunity to delve into collective female wisdom on an issue that's been bugging me for some time... Lots of reading, lots of writing... an excellent weekend!

Followed by a Bank Holiday, with a Pilton writers meeting. Chuffed to bits to get a new story completed for our internal competition... I can't remember the last time I wrote a complete piece of short fiction - as opposed to a mere fragment.

Work late on Tuesday, and another bloody migraine episode - short enough not to be a real problem, but a nuisance all the same. The team let me away early from the trainers' meeting, so I only did half a day in the end. Wednesday, back to the GP to get advice on the lesion on my wrist (classic insect bite in someone immuno-suppressed, apparently) and how to prevent the extensive bruising on my legs from scratching (stop the itching with an anti-histamine - except it doesn't, I feel like a bitch with fleas...) Lazy evening - watched Ralph Fiennes in the frothy Maid in Manhattan. For me, he's never matched his Almasy...

Thursday was my first day free of ribivirin! Shiatsu with Carla, and some success in encouraging the fluid from my ear to drain (been deaf in my right ear for five weeks now). The pressure in my skull lessened, anyway. Crysse and I met up to write in Christies, plus a wee stroll in the rain (and I know why I don't normally bother with an umbrella - but at least it kept the worst of the rain off!) Hopefully a couple of new poems for live n' lippy, but more crucially, a good session tinkering with potential entries for the New Ventures competition. I'm crap at rewrites, and tend to put it off... indefinitely! So poem seeds often sit abandoned for years... like neglected children, how can they flourish and develop their potential if their mother ignores them? (I'm right - people like me shouldn't breed, they just don't do the motherhood thing well at all...) Blood counts better - except my white cells. Full range next week, and a proper appointment with my nurse - it's been a weekly phone check-in for weeks and weeks...

Our team's development day today. Aside from an early start (awake at 5.30am) to get there on time, a lovely easy day - wall-to-wall meetings or workshops are so much easier than dealing with service users!

But the main reason I began this (probably over-detailed) account of my last days of tx is that I went for a walk after work today. The rain went off, and there was at least an hour or so of daylight... So I donned those seven-league boots, and went for a proper tramp in the lanes. The skyscapes were incredible, and such colours... the landscape has gulped at the rain, resulting in such intensity of fragrances and colour to rival that in the sky... the birdsong always seems particularly musical after rain, as if the birds are celebrating a break in the weather... SUCH a gift. I've missed (proper) walking so much!

literary associations

2007-05-05T03:30:00.000-07:00

Not a particularly good shot, I'm afraid, but Kipling Avenue is clearly visible in the background... Part of this building used to house the school Kipling went to, and it's featured in 'Stalky & Co' (which Crysse has lent me).
Mike and Fiona lived in numbers 4 and 7...
And then there's the fact that the place itself is named after Kingsley's novel...
All good auspicious and synchronicitous stuff for the reinvigoration of writerly creativity!

dawn watch

2007-05-05T03:22:00.000-07:00

A sleepless night courtesy my beloved son (acutely distressed following being jumped by four lads in Frome town) gave me the gift of watching the dawn from the seashore.

In my haste to capture more of this, I jammed the charged batteries in the camera - curses! Back to the old notebook and pen, then...

Westward Ho!

2007-05-05T03:12:00.000-07:00

Four days in Westward Ho! - wonderful symbolism... Mike, Fiona and Dick below, outside our chalet. I could see the sea from my bed... What a treat! Good company, good food, lots of gentle walking, meals out (even a live band). Lots of writing, lots of fun - definitely my most joyous time on treatment.

A real delight.

more temporal changes - another break from the trek narrative

2007-05-05T02:50:00.000-07:00

goodbye blossom...

The frothy blossom filled my windows as predicted (I didn't need to be clairvoyant to get that one right!) On the 13th April, this tree looked 'twiggy', with tiny buds of promise. I'm glad I snapped this through my study window, as now there is merely a shrivelled brown residue amid the green. Still, I can always have a screensaver image to remind me of the promise of Spring...

rendezvous with our transport

2007-04-17T13:29:00.000-07:00

Not exactly your standard stroll to the bus stop...

But still the closest thing to a proper road that we've seen since disembarking from the bus at Phaliya Sangu. We're all charmed to bits with the tinies trotting off to school in their immaculate uniforms (how do these people keep themselves and their clothes so pristine? They put me to shame...)

As Jeff said, 'Chicken in a basket'...

We follow the course of the Marsyangdi River...
And guess what? Yours truly gets separated from the rest... Jeff & Serge are up front; I can't keep their pace. The others have stopped for a comfort break.
Both 'sections' are out of sight.
On the road, our porters don't need to keep an eye on us.
I suddenly feel more vulnerable than at any point on the trek so far. I'm isolated from my companions, and our 'caretakers' are now concentrating on transporting our luggage. The road is the closest thing to 'busy' we've encountered since leaving Kathmandu, I'm wandering about in my usual dwam (easy target...) and I don't speak the language...
Plonker or what?
There's peaceful solitude and there's bloody stupidity.
Chastened, I close the gap.

striking our last camp

2007-04-17T13:06:00.000-07:00

Like the cake from the previous night, our days of mountain trekking exist now only in memory and digital image...
Striking camp for the last time is bittersweet, flavoured with the triumph of what we all achieved with the help of Jeff and our wonderful porters, and with the sweet sorrow that today we leave these glorious mountains behind to return to Kathmandu.

I squeeze in another dawn dance meditation session before my fellow trekkers are up (I'd have to forgo sleep altogether to beat our porters!).
A permanent loo cubicle should feel like luxury - but it's made even less attractive than our travelling loo tent by the news that the shower cubicle abutting it has a resident scorpion. (I thought there were no nasty creepy-crawlies in Nepal, Jeff?)

Last breakfast 'in the field'.
Not much beats alfresco eating - except actually taking time to appreciate it...

Bhule Bhule - last camp

2007-04-16T05:30:00.000-07:00

We are a source of amusement to the local population as we descend the last stretch of our 100km trek to our camp by the river side at Bhule Bhule.
Down, and down, and down, and down...
I have to say, the Heaven Guest House looks anything but heavenly! - no hardship to be under canvas again...

Our inexhaustible beer supply now comes into its own... With a chilled bottle of Everest beer clutched in my sweaty fist, I clamber down the river bank to ease my throbbing feet into the glacial water and sing my heart out into the roar of the racing torrent...

There's a real celebratory atmosphere at our last camp - not least because our porters bake us a congratulatory CAKE! As everyone turns in for the night, Sergio wants to check out any potential for nightlife at this popular spot for trekkers. I too, am curious.

We find a sort of tea-house-cum-bar close to the Heavenly Guest House. Dawa is ensconced with the Tibetan refugee women who were selling jewellery earlier; one, Tiri, treats me to a cup of tea. The ambience is the same as in hostelries the world over - this one may cling precariously to its foundations, and resemble a dilapidated front room - including cable tv in the corner - but only the music of the language pinpoints place.

goat bells, butterflies and helping hands

2007-04-16T05:11:00.000-07:00

There are grazing animals on the slopes now, their tinkling bells our accompaniment as we stop for a breather. A butterfly lands on the stone of the resting stage; the team burst into song, the Nepali song which the schoolchildren sang to us. Jeff translates; my heart is fluttering like silk on the wind, I don't know whether to sit on top of the mountain or fly...

The terrain gets steeper again; testing achy knees.

Our path disappears - landslide. Our porters are unfazed; but most of us need extra help. I'm lucky to have Karna's strong clasp to guides me over the trickiest parts. His quiet strength seems to flow direct to my soul through the contact.

The slopes are changing; crop terraces once more in evidence.

continuing the descent

2007-04-16T04:49:00.000-07:00

Group shots are taken to celebrate our successful wander up to the gateway of heaven.
If we were intrepid orchid hunters, we'd be richly rewarded...

The rainforest looks rather beautiful - but turns out to be an unexpected war-zone as leeches drop from the trees, slither up our poles, sneak through laceholes into our boots... The battle spoils enjoyment of this ancient landscape. By the time we reach a leech-free clearing to regroup and check the status of the battle lines, my levels of revulsion are so intense that I have to ask Tanka to help me eject the unwanted passengers curling around in my boots.

But the views remain unsurpassable, whatever challenges are thrown our way.

eventful camp

2007-04-16T03:57:00.000-07:00

My first encounter with leeches... a lesson not to sit on the ground! The readily available beer supplies are once again too tempting to resist - and may help me sleep...

They don't.

Wakefulness provides the opportunity for reflective writing, awkward though that is in the tent (trying to read is challenge enough). My breathing is still a bit peculiar, but after Ventolin shakes at the start of our descent - which no doubt increased the physical tension magnifying knee troubles - I decide going without an inhaler is my best bet.

An early morning reiki session produces some very interesting visions. I feel I can no longer tolerate confinement in our tent, and wander to the outskirts of camp (um, it would seem that some lessons I can be a bit reluctant to take on board...)

Being a perennial rulebreaker may make me a pain in the arse at times - but it also bestows precious gifts. I find a space where I can see icecaps and the rolling foothils back towards Kathmadu. Going through the stretches of a dance meditation in the light of sunrise on the slopes of the Himalayas, having survived the challenge of climbing to a lake on the roof of the world... priceless.

If refusing to follow conventions (even when they're there for good reason) is such a bad thing, why is it so frequently intensely rewarding?

reunited with the group

2007-04-16T03:40:00.000-07:00

Everyone is fine - just seething that I went AWOL, necessitating Jeff going back to camp to look for me.

It wasn't deliberate.

But I guess my earlier physical struggle is no longer evident, healed by bliss (albeit somewhat dissipated by anxiety at extended separation from the others).

The level of autonomy which is an integral part of my coping strategies translates to lack of consideration for the group.

Setting up an early camp today gives me some opportunity to smooth over the rifts.

at last - the descent from Bhara Pokari

2007-04-16T03:03:00.000-07:00

The layers which are barely adequate to keep the cold out 'at rest' prove a trial as we begin the descent (which, predictably enough, involves an initial ascent). Breathless and sweating, I have to stop to remove various articles of extraneous clothing. My heart sinks as I watch the others disappear from sight - how will I keep up this pace?

Scrambling down the rocks that were such a challenge on the way up, trying to close the gap, the tension and fear in my body worsens the pain in my knees; I need to stop to swallow a couple of paracetamol. The panorama from this section goes as unnoticed as it was on the way up - all my concentration is in my feet as I slither over boulders, instructed by a slightly impatient Dawa, anxious that I am too slow. To combat being emotionally hassled by my limitations, Karna's quiet steady presence behind me is calming and reassuring.

The incline becomes less steep, moving onto wooded slopes, paths knarled with tree roots.

I can't explain what happens, but as I focus on following in surefooted Dawa's steps exactly, it's as if I literally slip into his wake. My tenseness disappears, I feel energised and light. Euphoric, in fact.

We reach the resting stage, site of my emotional overspill the previous day. Today, our porters are all here - but no sign of my fellow trekkers.

I worry that they may be looking for me, but Karna is dismissive. Just wait. They will catch up.

So we wait.

and wait...

Maybe someone has had an accident...

Shearwater

2007-04-14T14:39:00.000-07:00

So many times over the last twenty years I've walked round this lake, picnicked by its shores... idyllic, studying romantic poetry in these spectacular surroundings...
Busy today; the banks populated with fishermen and their sprawling kits, the water host to flotillas of sailing dinghies, cars dotted around the perimeter, clumps of people strolling or picnicking...
A couple of very unexpected delights; pristine classics, a Hillman Minx and an Austin Seven - poetry comes in many guises!
There are times when solitude is not the ideal, but rather company you can relax in. Even a closet (!) fascist like me can admit it's good to share - with the right people. Having very spikily (and to my shame, somewhat spitefully at that) ascertained that there is in fact no agenda to Mike's generosity, I'm starting to relax and enjoy our friendship.

Sharing Shearwater, shortly followed by a shearing...
I finally acknowledged that yes, I do need to get what's left of my hair cut before it drives me completely balmy. Having made the decision - well, Ath's clippers were just too tempting...
Instant gratification has many payoffs as well as pitfalls. I feel lighter and freer.
Besides, it was such fun hacking off handfuls of unhealthy hair - sure beats binning nests of it at regular intervals throughout the day!

Heaven's Gate

2007-04-14T14:27:00.000-07:00

Heaven's Gate.
The rhodedendrons are in bloom...
Heaven indeed to take a gentle stroll through the trees... The only downside the 'chattering classes' at the viewpoint over the Longleat estate - why are people unable to disengage their tongues for a few moments, and let their souls do the listening?

back to source...

2007-04-14T13:59:00.000-07:00

Perception is all...
Four days of pampering - massages (no shopping, cooking or washing up - bliss!), gentle walks to soak up ocean views (strictly speaking, estuary views) and play with my camera, first daylight sighting of a fox, lazing around watching tv and chatting to mum... A spectacular sunset on the way home. Ocean, art, nature and a plethora of healing practices...
More abundance from the universe (enabled by Mr Witt)...
I guess if you're not on chemo, it could feel like we did 'nothing' - especially if hep C tx is one of those things nobody must ever know about... (bit risky with a gobshite like me involved, then).

major restorations

2007-04-13T12:54:00.000-07:00

The blossom is unfolding on the tree outside the flat. Soon, its light froth will fill the kitchen window, obscuring the houses opposite. A perfect writer's retreat... and these last few days, I've been able to write again - at last!

Of course, now that I've had nearly three weeks of intensive nurturing and healing, I can see where the problem has been - not just a major scarcity of physical resources and time, but continuing to batter myself through work and treatment has resulted in soul deprivation. Not starvation (as the previous posts and the above sparkles from Lyme Bay testify to, thank you Mike!), but a shrivelling and dessication which has taken its inevitable toll on my health.
Now, all I have to do is continue the trend of restoration...

tranquil scenes to sustain the soul

2007-03-24T06:28:00.000-07:00

I think the images speak for themselves....

trekking on through tx

2007-03-24T06:18:00.000-07:00

I may not be covering these English miles on foot... but the endurance required in this space feels equivalent to the effort expended in Nepal...

Pilton writers

2007-03-01T11:36:00.000-08:00

The last time I made it to our Pilton writers group was before the trek... Lovely to see familiar faces after such a gap!

Our focus for the evening was encapsulating the essence of a place. Very apt...

Here's my piece (justification - at least in part - that John would like a copy and our emails refuse to talk to each other...)

The atmosphere of a place resides in – what? The landscape? The people? The customs and culture?
And how do you encapsulate the essence of a location?

It’s a fascinating conundrum. For many people, the nature and character of a place is deployed in facts, legions of numbers marching across a page – populations per square mile, ratios of professionals and tradespeople, pollution levels, rail, road, ferry and airport links, main sources of employment, proportions of women to men, birth rates, marriage rates, divorce rates, levels of crime and drug use, analyses of how the industrial bisects with both urban and rural environments.

And that’s before we begin delving into history, where numbers start to breed rather alarmingly out of control.

It also depends who is attempting to represent the place under examination. Are they anthropologist, sociologist, economist, statistician, historian, linguist, cultural commentator, traveller, artist, poet or musician? Are they male or female, what is their age and ethnicity?

My personal opinion is that it’s usually the creatives who capture the essence of place – the poets, writers, artists, musicians. Ian Rankin is unsurpassed on Edinburgh – yet I’d be hard pressed to detail exactly how and why I find his novels the most impressive evocation of place I’ve encountered.

Photographers and film-makers, too, manage to fix something ephemeral about place – what such media miss is the taste and smell of a place, its dust in your nostrils, its fragrances and taints seeping into your lungs. Who can visit Kathmandu without experiencing mixed feelings about the phantasmagoria of smells, from the pyre smoke drifting across from the Hindu temple in unholy alliance with thick, choking incense and the oil-soaked cotton wicking burned as a sacrificial offering to the gods, to the filthy fumes of gridlocked rush hour traffic? Or watch the scavengers, blasé through poverty, wading in the shallows down from the pyres, eyes darting over stones for the glint of a gold tooth, and not feel both fascinated and repelled?

Is it time spent in a place with the aim of cataloguing its character for posterity, or inhabiting somewhere in order to integrate into the community, that qualifies an individual as expert commentator? Or focussing in on particular details, incising the heart of a place apart like a forensic surgeon’s scalpel?

Examining the underbelly of a place can reveal much, but is likely to miss the positive, as will news media coverage (how often does good news make headlines?)

How do you define the culture of a particular place – a facet which surely cannot be easily fixed, but remains in flux as do humans themselves?

Maybe the closest we can get is to recognise that a place is as multifarious as a patient with multiple personality syndrome, as particular as the traveller, critic or commentator assessing its merits and flaws. Place can deck itself in as many outfits as Imelda Marcos had shoes, and still find room for another pair of wild and wacky Camper specials or Prada pumps.

dreaming of misted mountains...

2007-02-21T14:57:00.000-08:00

I laced up my freshly polished boots on Sunday, and meandering along the back lanes, it occurred to me that these boots walked 100km in Nepal...

Then I realised I was wearing the proofed fleece, gloves and hat I was so grateful for at 3,500m...

So although this body (now) struggles with traversing 100 yards briskly, this will change.

Who knows where my boots will take me in the months to come?

Bestare, bestare... (Slowly, slowly...)

strange and personal inspirations

2007-02-18T03:30:00.000-08:00

'Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour. Let no night
Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
Till to delight
Thou have paid thy utmost blessing...'
from 'Farewell', Walter de la Mare

A visit to the North Devon coast to check out a potential venue for our volunteers' training weekend was real soul sustenance...

I had to clamber up a sand dune to get this pic. (Where has my physical strength gone? And so lucky the Himalayas aren't as sandy as this - it's bloody hard work walking in soft, thick sand!)

Yesterday, I polished my walking boots - which I've been meaning to do since I got back from Nepal, but they got muddy on my last long walk round Longleat (pre tx).

But now they're ready for the off again!
And so is my work space. I wish I could keep my desk as clear as this...

I've still made a massive improvement on both desks and my bookcase (though I won't post pix of those as well, there is a limit to self-indulgence, even on a blog!)

Hep C Update

2007-02-18T03:28:00.000-08:00

Great to see Anita Roddick is campaigning for greater hep C awareness and has become a patron of the Trust – not so good to discover she has the virus; nor that, in her 60s, she’s had the virus for 30 years, and already has cirrhosis. But I can’t tell you how inspirational I found some of the excerpts from her various media interviews… thank you, Anita! (and thank you, Sam, for drawing my attention to the fact the links were on the Trust website).

My personal hep C (or treatment) update is good and bad.
I’ll start with the bad, because it’s brief and I then end on a positive note!
The bloods taken before Barcelona were so low as to prompt yet another med reduction; this time the peginterferon. I missed a message from Sarah to organise collecting my meds and go for more blood-letting; necessitating an unexpected charge back from a work reconnaisance trip - from Bristol to the North Dorset coast and back (via Charterhouse in the Mendips) - to give me time to dive in my car and hurtle off to Bath…
But this week’s bloods were better, and I feel pretty good – which I can only ascribe to the joy of travel and the positive effect of gentle but stamina-testing exercise over four days (of which, at least three are usually required rest days!)
I couldn’t have managed the Barcelona jaunt without Carole, and I’m so glad I went (though I so nearly cancelled through anxiety about whether I was overstretching myself).

Staying positive is hugely enabling – but that is a real challenge to maintain while you feel like a bag of shit. I understand now Jeff’s obvious concern about my support network when we spoke on the trek about my imminent tx (I’m getting fed up writing the long version!).
Work colleagues and acquaintances who know are supportive, but unless they know quite a bit about hep C and tx, it’s difficult for them to fully understand the impact of this experience on an individual.
I understand Petra’s insistence that to get through, the Hep C Trust helpline is a lifesaver (it is - Sam’s regular reminders to give them a call if I needed to eventually motivated action there!)
My specialist nurse is lovely – knowledgeable and receptive, she doesn’t rush me. I know how busy she is, and really appreciate her time, practical advice, insight and encouragement.
I get great support from CAAAD – which includes Anne’s weekly full body acupuncture treatments (making a real difference to symptoms) and a weekly check-in with Nigel (which makes a huge difference to managing symptoms alongside life commitments and stress).

Again and again, I’m reminded that when you commit fully to something you have faith in, the universe moves to support that, as Goethe so lyrically stated. A multiplicity of connections around me to concentrate and support the healing process!

I'm very thankful for the support I've already been blessed with and continue to be given an abundance of along my life journey...

Listening to Satchmo’s ‘Wonderful World’ to close…

Re-stocking the well

2007-02-18T03:11:00.000-08:00

In addition to the wonderful visual stimulus of recent weeks (plus the auditory and neurochemical stimulus which I’ve written less about!), there has been more ‘re-stocking of the well,’ as Julia Cameron might put it. I'm reading - which often feels like addictive escapism (and like TV, often is!) but is also an essential to continue polishing the wordsmith's craft.
Even (quality) TV can help nourish process - 'Prison Break', for example, has such an intricately crafted narrative (as well as Wentworth Miller's intricately crafted tat to ogle! as I write, the repeat due any minute…) that you can't fail to admire the writer's skill and inspiration, and wish to produce something a fraction as good... I'm getting a fantasy buzz with the wacky slapstick 'Bonkers' and the time travelling 'Life on Mars' (which I missed first time round - but remember scriptwriter Matthew saying that at the end of the first series, they still hadn't decided where they were going to go with the explanation, a faith in organic process which I loved).

And of course, there's poetry... Karen gave me a poetry calendar for Christmas, so it was inevitable I'd make this the year that I tried to read daily poems.
And, so far, I have.
Haiku and free verse, sonnets and (probably sestinas, if I could remember what they are - which blogger's 'ABC' function is oblivious of, so I feel a little less thick!), quotes about the absolute necessity for poetry in a poet's life, experimental forms, classics and contemporaries, new names and interesting biographical details.
I've missed the day's poetry quota (from the calendar and 'Poem for the Day' volumes I & II) for a variety of reasons, but I've made sure I've 'caught up' as soon as I can.
Personal poetry links have been stacking up; Crysse’s blog with treasures - an update on the Frome Poetry Café (which of course I missed, having driven from Bristol to London that day), her chosen quotes and a link to Howard’s posting of ‘onamatopoeia’ on YouTube – check it out! It’s one of their live and Lippy multi-media collaborations.
Hell has signposted me to other poets, Sam at the Trust forwarded the article on MacNeice from the Inde to me…
Tracking this process against what else has been happening for me in my life is illuminating.
I feel as if I'm beginning to connect more fully to the healing process alongside the commitment of working through treatment.
And I'm very thankful for the support I'm being given along the way.

my funny valentine

2007-02-16T11:41:00.000-08:00

I jump in the car on Valentine's Day, and Annie Lennox begins belting out 'Right by Your Side' (good choice, Tel...)

The feelings of elation I experienced when I first 'connected' to that song are always triggered when I hear it... what a lovely start to the day!

I had to smile at the hordes of hasty men queueing in Sainsbury's the previous night, with offerings of chocolate, and champagne, and red roses...

When I return home on Thursday night, of course there are no cards, just correspondence from my creditors...

But I don't care at all - I connected on Valentine's Day with the most significant male energy in my life right now, so I'm happy. Who needs a card when there is someone who knows many of your worst flaws - and yet still makes you feel special?

visual takeover?

2007-02-16T09:08:00.000-08:00

When 'Santa' delivered my very own digital camera, his one condition was that I would continue to write...
and I will.
If blog posts aren't as prolific as they might be for a writer, it doesn't mean I'm not writing (I am, just far less than I like to stay sane-ish) neither does it mean I've lost interest and impetus now that the trek is in the place we can no longer visit except in memory, the vanished past.
It does mean process is back where it should be (the main priority), and my main creative inspiration is indeed visual right now - nourishing process...

Catalonian interlude

2007-02-13T12:55:00.000-08:00

A bit of sun in Barcelona (after snow in the UK!)

back to a different atmosphere, a different light quality...

2007-02-03T10:47:00.000-08:00

After our brief respite drinking in the powerful ambience of the spectacular Bhara Pokhari, a last look at some of the highest mountains in the world (that may be Manaslu in the picture) from our camp in the clouds... and we're off again.
Looking back, that was an enormous downside to the trip, the constant pressure to keep moving, rack up the miles... And when we stopped, the social bit took over.
Admittedly, the temperature on the high plateau was hardly conducive to lounging about with my notebook - but it seems such a shame to make the effort to get to the roof of the world and not take more time to appreciate it.
It felt like being an American tourist - 'we took a week last year and did Europe' sort of whistlestop tour...
99.9% of my journal was written retrospectively - and when you're travelling, that's just not the same as unpressured 'here and now' freeflow writing to process the experience. Scribbling notes by torchlight in the tent gives a very different slant on what you write about...
Having the option of taking photos (after years of being camera-less!) was a blessing, though with an interesting impact - I seldom attempted to describe the landscape, but let the images speak for themselves. If I'm honest, trying to encapsulate such an awesome landscape in words is probably beyond my writing ability anyway...
The gaps in my visual narrative tell their own story... No record at all of the bits which were toughest - fully occupied with concentrating on the terrain, or recovering from exertion at altitude, to manage the camera...

Writing about the most tricky part of our descent from the plateau will have to wait for another day...

a bit (more?) self-indulgence...

2007-02-03T10:22:00.000-08:00

Karen is down from Cumbria this weekend. It was lovely to catch up with her and Mike yesterday - I was talking about hep C and my approaching 12 week PCR, and hoping it's negative after going through treatment so far... and he said 'at least you got the trip of a lifetime out of it!'
He's absolutely right. If I hadn't had a positive diagnosis, it probably wouldn't have occurred to me to attempt a trek anywhere, let alone to the Himalayas... (our intrepid trek leader, Jeff, is apparently off to Everest base camp with a party of 40 round about now).
That old saw about how you interpret your experience - is your glass half-full or half-empty?
I think mine is three-quarters full... (last week, I thought there was only a dribble in the bottom!)
Karen came round today, too, joined by her son, Sam.
It seems impossible that those great strapping lads of ours were once toddlers taxing our patience with their bickering and fighting... And so unusual to see them together now that they're so huge; I had to take a couple of snaps of them.
Last week, Karen sent me a card, one of 'the interesting thoughts of Edward Monkton' series: 'The friends can connect in a mysterious way without even speaking. Perhaps they have AMAZING MAGICAL POWERS. Perhaps they are both just PECULIAR IN THE HEAD.'
Says it all, really...

travelling by proxy

2007-02-03T10:09:00.000-08:00

Crysse has just come back from three weeks in Chile so we had a catch-up on Tuesday evening. I'm struck by many similarities between Chile and Nepal - rapid changes in culture, mass migration to Santiago, where such a high proportion of the population now live; so like Nepal, with its mass migration to Kathmandu... and of course, there are the mountains...
For evocative descriptions (and fabulous photos) of the Chilean landscape, check out her blog on crysse.blogspot.com

an interlude of February sun

2007-02-03T09:25:00.000-08:00

A bit of brilliant sunshine works wonders to lift the spirits... I snapped Trinity Church on my way to Carla for my shiatsu on Friday - it looked so striking in the morning sun... as did the lane down the hill to her house.
The rest last week - which felt interminable at the time, as if that would be how I'd feel for the duration of treatment - has made such a difference to how I've been this week. I feel miles better - nearly normal at times! - and have been able to do shedloads more... (Umm, yes, I really do have to watch that impulse...)
On the other hand, this week has provided several sunkissed highlights, and a real sense of spring... though of course, that's a sign that all's not so well with our world either - it's still only February!
But I'm not going to add anxiety about global warming to the queue of negative stresses. Time enough for worrying about that when I'm through treatment! I do what I can to minimise my personal impact - and anyway, it would be wicked not to enjoy the sunshine, as it's here...

I had a look at my Rebetol leaflet this morning, and was quite startled to find that the dose I've been on since before Christmas is that usually recommended for children and adolescents who weigh between 47 and 49kg... (I weigh about 65kg).
Gave me much more of a wake-up call than comparing the dose amounts (down to 600mg from my starting point of 1,000mg).
I need to oomph the self-care!
Lovely sunset this afternoon...

Place of pilgrimage

2007-01-31T11:56:00.000-08:00

If I thought the views from our high altitude campsite were spectacular, another delight awaited us.
Jeff took us for a wee wander - to Bhara Pokari, the 'Sacred Lake'. The tiny shrine at the edge of the lake, according to my map 3,500m high, has (unsurprisingly) been a place of pilgrimage for centuries.

The serene beauty of this spot affected us all profoundly.

The only pity being that our precious tranquil respite was all too short before it was time to tackle the stretch we were dreading... the terrifyingly steep descent over the boulders we'd clambered over to reach camp... (& if we thought for one moment that 'helicopter rescue' covered this part of our adventure, Jeff soon put us right - injuries at this stage meant traversing the mountain in a porter basket!)

news from nowhere

2007-01-29T12:03:00.000-08:00

Back to work today, after a whole week off sick...
I'm lucky, in that physical side-effects of treatment aren't too bad. On good days, that vague poisoned feeling which creates a cellular vibration too subtle to be graced with the label 'shakes'; digestive grumbles as if I've eaten food that's slightly off; a budding heachache that luckily seldom flowers fully; a faulty intellect that operates intermittently and frequently blanks altogether; feeling constantly tired somewhere on the scale of 20-50 (where 30 is comparable to being at altitude). Breathlessness, dizziness, itching scaly elbows and scalp, gums that bleed copiously, an increasing propensity to sleep 12 or more hours out of 24... Interesting little injuries creating sudden blood blisters - which vanish as quickly as they bloom. Sometimes having to sit on the edge of the bath to brush my teeth because standing up is beyond my capabilities...
...add a cold virus to a depressed immune system, mix with a determination to fulfill my work commitments that week...
maybe it's not so surprising I had to take last week off to recuperate.

The cumulative effect of even such low-grade physical side-effects is tough in itself, but the emotional effects are even trickier to unravel.
There's the fact that my sense of self seems to have buggered off for the duration, along with motivation and creativity. I'm a real control freak, so not being able to get a proper handle on this is driving me nuts (OK, nuttier than I was pre-treatment). As far as I'm concerned, I've made enough concessions to 'being on treatment' (there's work and there's recovering from being at work; those are the boundaries of my life at the moment - which means I'm a boring sad git) and days when those concessions are just not enough and I have to take time off sick are hugely frustrating, and thus in themselves further debilitating.

I don't mind 'living to work' under the normal circumstances of my life - 'work' includes facilitating creative writing workshops, writing and performing alongside whatever I'm doing to pay most of the bills.
Finding I can barely cope with just the bread-and-butter job, let alone anything else, is a real shock to the system.

On the other hand, during most of last week I was seriously questioning my optimism at expecting to work through treatment at all.
By the end of today, the self-questioning had become about whether treatment renders me largely incompetent at my job... (the answer depends on whose standards you use as calibration!)

Highlights of last week were sunset moments on Thursday and Saturday.
If I don't make time for such crucial intervals within my restricted life, I'll 'lose' more time than necessary to these toxins...

Onward and upward...

a return to high altitude camping

2007-01-12T07:41:00.000-08:00

After what feels like about five minutes sleep, Petra's coughing wakes me, and I can't get back to sleep. I don't mind, because getting out my notebook and torch doesn't seem to disturb her at all, so I settle in to the longest scribbling session I've managed so far on the trip.
I need the loo yet again, so I layer up a bit more, and go outside.
As always, the porters are busy with preparations for breakfast, this time for 'two sittings' - Sergio and Dawa are off to tackle higher things...
There's a layer of ice on the tents, and thick, white frost on the ground, with the tussocks of grass under the trees more gently frosted. I feel as high as a kite from the lack of sleep and euphoria from reaching this point, plus no doubt the effects of altitude. Trying to capture the rising sun's reflection on the snow-covered mountains, most of the photos I took at this point are blurry. I didn't realise until I got back home that this was through shaking so much from cold that I couldn't hold the camera steady enough!
On my wanderings around the camp, I stumble over a dead animal. What killed that, I wonder? It doesn't seem to be mauled, so maybe it just died of exposure. Still, it makes me feel uneasy - a reminder that Jeff's strict rules about not wandering off without telling anyone where you're going are important, and not some arbitrary code to be ignored lightly.
Managing the conflict between being part of the group and my natural inclinations to follow my own internal agenda is an ongoing juggling act.
I'm starving and thirsty and I smell terrible. The thought of a hot shower torments me... Even being able to wash your hands after going to the loo is a longed-for luxury!
Still, I'm vastly cheered by managing to freshen up 'the most important bits' from our morning bowl of hot water, in spite of the temperature - in fact, it's hugely refreshing to have a strip wash in these crisp conditions. I feel a bit like a bird trying to take a bath in a teaspoon...
Longed-for breakfast proves tricker than anticipated - like the previous night, the effort of chewing is practically beyond me, in spite of being so hungry, but I manage a few mouthfuls of porridge and a couple of mugs of milky coffee.
We have a much more leisurely start today. Time for us to take a wander with Jeff...

trekkus interruptus

2007-01-09T22:13:00.000-08:00

Frome's Victoria Park on the second day of January 2007 (one of about two sunny days in 2007 so far and my first decent solo stroll since starting treatment - after an eight day rest with Karen).

my last post was five days into treatment.
hence the gap since...

it's quite usual for me to take up a new challenge once I've completed one...

'normal service' (whatever that is) will be resumed as soon as possible - but I can't promise when (as the last month has demonstrated).

I know lots of you check my blog for updates, and thought I should explain my long absence.

I don't want to write about treatment at the moment, though that might change. And treatment has largely removed about 90% of my motivation generally (and so far, 100% of my writing motivation, which is yet another reason I'm verging on the certifiable at the moment).

But the washing up is getting done, so hey, that's an improvement...

pushing to my limits and beyond...

2006-11-30T04:39:00.000-08:00

I don't sleep much (no change there then - and neither wonder I'm beginning to feel rather more strange than usual, acute sleep deprivation being a standard torture technique). My porridge goes cold after three trips to the pit latrine (I should have known beer wasn't such a bright idea), so I can't face much breakfast, either. I manage a milky coffee which at least gives me a familiar kickstart.
It's our toughest day today, and leaving camp my heart sinks into my walking boots at the prospect ahead...
The good thing about giving in to being a bit of a pisshead is that you get pretty determined not to give in to the hangover...
What's much weirder than feeling hungover in the Himalayas is the feeling that my prayers for help are being answered... in a most unexpected way. I feel supported and enabled - by my dad... Puzzling though this is, I'm grateful - though hopeful that the consequent catching of tearful breaths is fairly discreet as I'm straggling at the back...
Soon, we're high enough to look down to the knoll where we were camped (clue: miniscule building atop the terracing).

I leave one of my garlands, with a blessing for dad, at this spot - which seemed impossibly high from camp...
Our lads pose for a photoshoot.

And then we carry on up... and up... and up...

I can hardly believe they tend cattle this high up...

One of my shoulders begins to object to hauling my carcass up the mountain. I sit down and try a bit of reiki, but shoot back onto my feet, disconcerted at the strange sensation there is something banging on the turf from beneath me... Freaky.

Meal stop: painkillers and packed luches. The food our porters have provided is delicious - bread, cheese and surprisingly sweet and delicious crackers - but it's such an effort to eat.

In other surroundings, it would feel very different. But somehow the sheer beauty of our environment creates an altered consciousness... All the same, I'm struggling to get into the rhythm which helped so much on the first couple of days.

It takes me ages to realise the increased shortness of breath is altitude induced rather than just my lungs labouring at physical exertion. At one point, I try to sing myself along, but I haven't the breath. Behind me, Karna - who has noted many of my fallen tears - begins to sing for me... like my dad used to... Oh, God, more bloody tears... It's taking all my energy to focus, never mind the effort it takes to clamp down bubbling emotions...

Rainforest; and now we're higher than the surrounding mountain ranges. We walk into cloud (we ARE at the roof of the world) which slowly clears, the mountains back more searingly magnificent than before... (but I can't use any of my precious resources for taking pictures!)

We stop on a high resting stage, and I think it's a good idea to reconnect to MacNeice by this wondrous panorama, being unable to take much in while we're moving. As I read through 'Entirely', to my horror, I don't just shed a few discreet droplets. Maybe it's feeling connected to dad after more than twenty years, or maybe it's exhaustion - or maybe it's something else entirely...
Whatever the reason, it's excruciatingly embarrassing - I haven't the energy to take myself out of earshot.

Our party now straggles into three distinct parts; Sergio, Trish, Sam and Tracey ahead, Jeff still mopping my emotional incontinence, and behind us Petra with Tanka coaxing her through the problems she's been having with the altitude for some time.

We come out of the rainforest onto bare rocky mountain slopes, made terrifyingly slippery by a sudden hailstorm.
This is so hard. Not quite impossible, but only just. If I was on my own, I'd give up. But I'm not, and I can't let the others down. So I keep going - somehow.

We're about halfway up this nightmare stretch when the sun sets. Jeff lets me grab a welcome breather while he shoots what must surely be the most spectacular sunset I've ever been blessed to witness - but I haven't a shred of energy spare for appreciating it. I can barely lift my head!

It's now dark. By the light of our head torches, we pick our laborious way towards camp. I can feel Jeff's anxiety, but once the terrain levels out, my worry has evaporated. I can't stop moving, or I'll fall over, but while I am moving, it feels as if a power from outside me powers my muscles. It's exhiliarating and euphoric - like mainlining something extreme.

Then we reach our busy little encampment, and reunite with the others.
I'm cold - so cold! My heart is warmed by the bear hugs Jeff and Sergio give me, but my exterior continues to chitter pathetically. Even with my hot water bottle filled and strapped under my t-shirt, I feel chilled to corpse-like levels. I shake myself into thermals and a few more layers and wonder how I'll survive the night... Particularly as I find I can't eat anything that needs chewing - I haven't the energy. Soup, custard and steaming mugs of hot chocolate will have to suffice. Jeff broaches the subject of tomorrow's plans - none of us, bar Sergio, up to the extended altitude trek tomorrow. Sounds fair enough to me. I might have argued if I believed a good night's sleep would restore me - but Sergio will have to be up at 5.30am. I'm not putting my hand up for that.

Tucked into the four-season sleeping bag and fleece liner, Sig bottle and platy to supplement my hot water bottle, I warm up. Soon, in spite of cooling rapidly each time I have to get up to pee (ironic that I sweat so much in the day I barely pee at all), I'm toastily cosy.

The wonder of what we've just done begins to dawn on me - we MADE it!!!!!

still feeling ceremonial (or should that be colonial...?)

2006-11-28T11:13:00.000-08:00

We walk up to the school from our lunch stop to find all the pupils and teachers out to greet us with more garlands. We walk round the square (assembly space?) to the music of 'Namaste' in a variety of melodic registers, until reaching a long, narrow table set in the shade for us.

They have prepared a show of dancing and singing, specially for our visit.
Not only that, but they have used their precious resources to copy an A4 sheet about the school in the hope that we might add our personal efforts to those of Community Action Nepal (the fundraising arm of CAT) in helping equip and maintain this school. The English is quaint ('Peoples of different spices and religions stay here') and the dates a little disturbing, given that the Buddhist (I think) calendar is calculated differently ('Our school, Jaya Devi Lower Secondary School, purano Duwar, was established on the date of 22nd paush 2039') but the message remains clear.
It's a very emotional experience.
I can't imagine going to a school like this - and would I just accept the backdrop as normal, or would constant exposure somehow make me a more spiritual person?
A lot of the children here will have walked the same path we have today from Taksar - just to get to school; and it's taken us hours!

The charming and beautiful performances over, we head to our camp - accompanied by most of the school, it seems - to plunder our bags for the notebooks, pens, pencils etc. that we brought to give out.
Our porters have already set up camp when we arrive.
And they've set up a shower.
And - can you believe this - some of the enterprising villagers have carted up crates of beer and bottles of water and set up a beer stall.
What do you do after a terrific walk? Glug a few refreshing beers...
So I did. It would have been rude not to...

The afternoon is spent chatting with each other and with a group of young lads who visit to enlist our support for a building for their community. Dilli Raj is their spokesman; keen to practise his English, he presses us for our email addresses and promises to write. We are all impressed with his courtesy and enterprising spirit - our UK teenagers come in for some unfavourable comparisons... (sorry Ath - with a few notable exceptions!)

We happen to be camped at what appears to be the cultural centre of the area - i.e. there are a couple of shelters, one of which, after the cooking of our meal, doubles as a kind of dressing room/tiny performance space. The villagers have planned more entertainment for us...

The cultural evening is a kind of cross between (what sounds like) a political rally and a cabaret. There is (naturally) more dancing, and at the end, those of us who haven't sloped off to bed join in.
Another beer (or two) to round off the evening...
And a great deal of star-gazing... so many shooting stars!

I'm reminded of the film 'Touching the Void' where Joe lies looking at the stars and feels like he's locked into eternity; although I'm in nowhere near the physical or mental state he was in by that point in his ordeal, I think I get an inkling of how he must have felt.

I'd never looked at the night sky long enough to watch the stars gently moving across the heavens before - not even at Durdledoor...
Now I have!

feeling positively ceremonial...

2006-11-21T11:56:00.000-08:00

We stop for lunch. For an awful moment, I think the table and chairs are going to come out - this is too much... too bloody colonial for my taste! But our porters merely spread a tarpaulin (although they must also have set up a field kitchen of sorts to heat our beans and bread...) As with carrying the baskets filled with our gear, I have to remind myself this is their job (I feel quite chastised by our Sherpa Sirdar, Karna, when I comment on the size of the baskets and how they must weight a ton - he's quite sharp, 60kg quite normal for them). One of the local Women's Groups (not exactly WI, these women build the paths and steps we walk on - not that I'm saying the WI couldn't, just that they don't usually go in for that sort of thing) have a presentation to make to us. We each get bedecked with a luscious, fragrant garland or two, and a generous dab of red dye on our foreheads. The garlands are mainly bright marigolds, and feel cool, as if they've been soaked in iced water in readiness for our sweaty arrival.

Although busy scribbling, I take a couple of pics...

Then we attend to our stomachs... The food is delicious. The cheese is something like Emmental, so with the soya beans and the toasted unleavened bread I guess we're having cheesy beans on toast half-way up a Himalayan mountain - beats even the best value greasy spoon hands down (even without the views). In my notebook; what a spectacular place to stop for lunch. Annapurna and Machhapuchhare, the Fish Tail Peak, over to our left, Manaslu, Peak 29 (sic), Himultuli and Bowdahimal on our right...
Next stop the school...

first sight of snow-capped mountains...

2006-11-21T10:36:00.000-08:00

Beginning an all day trek after (an early!) breakfast is not something I would normally choose to do... It's knackering. My legs shake, I'm puffing like a steam train as I stumble behind the others... I have serious doubts about the remainder of the trek... I note in my journal the first bit is grim. really grim.
But the landscape is beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.
And all the people we pass clasp their hands together in that lovely gesture of greeting and sing the lilting Namaste! to us - which we return delightedly.
Inside my head, I'm lilting my own mantras... they help me keep going. That and the wonder of our surroundings.
The path levels off and it starts to get easier.
We look in front...
...it's truly breathtaking. The snowcapped mountains don't look real somehow - hyper-real, as if they belong to a world only loosely connected with the one we normally inhabit and this, this is higher existence (which, of course, in at least one sense, it is).

if you thought I wasn't there... & errata!

2006-11-18T09:41:00.000-08:00

Showing a couple of people the blog, I noticed the Kathmandu arrival pic I posted earlier on my blog is the one I'm not in (dozy mare moment) so thought I ought to remedy that.
And I also noticed I quote 20,000 feet as our highest point somewhere - I think that should be 12,000-ish!
The original itinerary says 3,050m, the map contour reckons 3,500m. So take your pick... It's definitely not 20,000 feet!

(posted this earlier - managing to squeeze in two typos... on a post headed by 'errata'... hmm.)
I've been tinkering with my slideshow - listing events etc. - which has been absorbing, and has moved the preparation for it on a bit, but I'm still not much past that first half-day...

present interval

2006-11-18T08:09:00.000-08:00

Today has been glorious, a clear and bright Autumn day after two grey days of rain. So I made the most of it - had breakfast, put a load of washing on the line, rang the Co-op Bank to try to access the Dreamweavers account, rang Steve to tell him I'd failed (so no statement for the bid til he's back from London) and then took off over to the woods at Longleat. I took the dictaphone, and as I walked I listened to what was on the tape already (so I didn't tape over anything I wanted - I'm incredibly anal...)

First came a guided visualisation... very interesting (but I won't say why yet - haven't reached that point in the trek yet!)
Then, the account of my last walk up Golden Cap before going to Nepal (see 'temporal experiment' posted on the 10th Oct 06). Quite bizarre, strolling the lanes to Longleat, listening to that again! The 'twinning' nature of walking while listening to an account of a different walk earlier in the year and therefore being, in my consciousness, in two places at once, gives me an idea for the play...
A bit from Karen's and my walk on Friday the 13th, with a great quote taken from the Roman Fort - a confluence of histories flows to this day. Karen reading a poem, also from the fort, lovely to hear her voice on my solitary meanderings!

The most gorgeous man drove past me as I walked... twice! The second time, he mouthed an exaggerated thank you as I skipped out the way - there's something incredibly sexy about the almost-pursing of the lips the words thank you demand...

Back to the dictaphone to distract me from libidinous musings (although those are perfectly legitimate - I can just substitute Aidan for the anonymous driver of the car, and be Frankie... Particularly as the next dictaphone notes include promptings for Driftwood Mirror!)
First is a reminder to include in my last blog post something on how some of our porters went by mistake to the previous site of the first trek camp, so the porters that were with us had to go back to the point where the bus dropped us off to fetch the rest of our bags... Like I said on the dictaphone, They had to make two journeys - Christ, I was knackeered enough! [after only one]
A rant about listening on Wednesday to Terry Wogan's auction for the Children in Need Appeal, I can't BELIEVE some of the bids!!! Like, twenty thousand pounds, thirty thousand pounds, eleven thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds, eleven and a half thousand pounds - where the f*** do these people get that kind of money? How come they've got that kind of money to donate to charity? What the bloody hell's their income like?

And at last to the things I noted last night in the car. Which took me more or less to exploring the wood close to Gunville Cottage - and puzzlement that I never investigated these woodland trails in the months I lived here with Tania! I guess on my days off, I drove straight to Frome to spend the time with Sheena...

Walking in the wood is absolutely gorgeous. The sunlight through the trees is just beautiful, and walking over the red and russet fallen leaves is great fun as well as stunning visually (although it is a mite 'soft' underfoot!). Coming back, by the edge of the wood, the view out across Frome is amazing. There's even an interesting optical illusion (I'm having camera withdrawals!), which could be useful for the Driftwood Mirror...

It's been a hectic week... I'm pleasantly surprised to find I managed a post on Wednesday - I feel terribly slow in getting my account of the trek up.
Thursday night, Penny had an Ann Summers party (the last mention of Ann Summers attracted no spam, let's hope this one doesn't either) which was a great laugh, and I even managed to buy some useful stuff... not, I hasten to add, anything battery powered (I'm afraid all that just puzzles me).
On Friday, for The People's Hive Open Day at work, I improvised (badly) as I'd had no time to prepare a proper speech... Bit grim - but it wasn't too disastrous... Going to the pub after work with the team was cool - haven't gone for a drink with workmates in YEARS! Shame Laura couldn't make it...
And then on to see David's play at the Alma; getting very wet in my search for cheap and cheerful grub beforehand (I ended up with garlic mushrooms at the Alma - not too pricey) - but not as wet as Jan, who cycled up; she was drenched.
The Voice that Keeps Silent is David's most challenging piece yet; I wish I'd read the bit about 'other' on Theatre West's website before I'd seen it, that would have helped enormously - I came out just very confused...
It was, however, inspirational - not only spurred me on on my journey home to muse a bit further on the novel, but I had an idea for a play... of which I wrote ten pages before retiring to bed (where I didn't sleep until after Ath had gone to work...)

Walking the lanes, thinking about David's play, Steve, and people in Stepping Out makes me smile as I think how Stepping Out has done just that - empowered such a great deal of 'stepping out'; airing painful autobiographical material in performance as well as publication, onto the stage, the training and aftermath of the trek - which is mega stepping out... reminds me that how you interpret your life metaphors is crucial!

That today's post should be headed present time is apt indeed...

sleeping (or not) and waking in the mountains...

2006-11-15T11:35:00.000-08:00

Late on Tuesday, I wrote in my notebook:
a night of cicadas and stars...
So many stars that I can't begin to find even the few constellations I know...

Supper is tomato soup with ginger and garlic - and prawn crackers! - rice, dhaal, spicy fried potatoes, fresh tomato and cucumber slices followed by oranges and great mugs of hot chocolate (! now that was an unexpected luxury!). Although I eat heartily, I sleep fitfully. An unfamiliar environment always takes me a few nights to settle into, and sharing space with another person exacerbates that. Our metal water bottle and water bag double as hot water bottles (plus I brought a hottie just in case...) but in the night, the four season sleeping bag is more than warm enough - even dispensing with the fleece liner, I have to shed most of my clothes (the bulk of which have to go back on to go outside again...) As I manage to fall off the rice terrace at dusk when I go for a pee before the loo tent is erected, thereafter I decide to stick to the official loo, although it's a singularly unpleasant experience... I bloody hate pit latrines.

I wake around 4am lathered with sweat - much as I do at home, but there I go back to sleep once I've been to the loo. Here, as I begin my reiki, the roar of the kerosene burner and the clanking of the porters' preparation for our day mean I decide to poke my head outside the tent.
Sunrise over the Himalayas.

Wow.

I take a few pics, and write in my notebook:
Being here is like being a child again. Everything is new and strange, we have a father figure in Jeff and subsiduary 'carers' catering for our basic needs (the porters, Sherpas and Sirdar). The mountains are so BIG they shrink us down below our accustomed size in the world. So little is under our control, it adds to the sense of infantilization.
But this lack of autonomy is what I have chosen, in order to make this trip, giving over all decision-making to others. It involves an enormous amount of trust - and is, in many ways, rather restful. Yesterday I tapped into youthful excitement, wonder and energy - although I was careful to take things slowly. My body has actually been surprisingly accommodating of the effort involved.

My muscles are certainly not as stiff as I expect them to be - but that might be because I haven't had a full night's sleep.

Later:
Getting ready after my first quick scribble is a bloody nightmare. It starts well, Petra is awake too, so we pootle about (well, I do, Petra gets organised), and then our cup of tea comes, swiftly followed by a bowl of hot water for washing. I wash and rinse my knickers and yesterday's top, but then I'm well behind with packing all my stuff as the team try to take down the tents around us.
This is the bit I don't like. I take so long to get going in the morning - it's hard to slot in your own routines around others. Let's face it, I can't manage that successfully with Atholl in a two-bedroomed flat!
I'm not last at the breakfast table, but nearly. Porridge with muesli or granola stuff - wheat flakes? and nuts - beautiful. Omlette and unleavened bread, no time for 'toast', but I blag a milky coffee (they heat milk for us!) and have a quick fag.
And then we're off!

continuing real (and fantasy) life interludes

2006-11-14T14:20:00.000-08:00

In my blog, I'm here, now, in the UK - and about to wake up at Taksar, the first camp, ready for the first full day's trekking...
In the writing, I get to re-live it, so to those of you checking my blog for updates on the trek, I apologise for prolonging your anticipation but I hope you don't mind humouring me on this!
(a big thank you to everyone who has given me such kind feedback on the blog).

and to integrate the me still in Nepal and the me back at work, here's a couple of pix, one from those Howard took for Crysse yesterday during filming Things that are weird for the poetry and visuals DVD - with water in the Pinot Grigiot bottle! - and one shot this morning for work's website. (I'm impressed, Sarah!)

I might have been too tired to write anything new tonight (two late very nights in a row), but I did type 800 words from the (latest) draft of the novel.

I wonder if I take the same approach to racking up word totals in my blog as I did for training if I can propel myself through a complete first draft?

I've never got beyond 20,000 words before that particular draft has withered away... (see, I'm a crap mother - can't even nurture my novel babies!)
I've been writing 'Get fitter' in my aims book since 1991 - but never managed a sustained effort until the trek...
Transferrable skills?

virtual and spiritual existence

2006-11-13T15:21:00.000-08:00

I make no apologies for this bit of self-indulgence.
It's likely to be a bit garbled - I'm tired and quite emotional (now there's a surprise!) and I've had a couple of glasses of Chardonnay (real stuff Crysse, not the mock Bolly this afternoon!)

One of the touchingly heart-warming and steadying things about being home having braved something incredible that stacks of people knew about has been hearing how my family and friends, in the ten days I was away, wondered what I was doing, where I was, how I was coping...

to give a flavour:-

Atholl; flowers on my return, big hugs and lots of telling me how PROUD he is of me - this my great big lad, who's so young, clever, creative, strong, witty, and vital (I was so envious of his effortless jog up Durdledoor cliffs on our last day - I hate him sometimes!) and utterly, utterly gorgeous... yet so nearly not with me to share anything...
sometimes when you exist in the same space as another individual, you have no conception of the depth of their love for you... that the love you hold for them may be reciprocated immeasurably...

Mum; Alexander Graham Bell, your innovation has made a world of difference to many of our lives! - where would I be without my weekly check-in with my wonderful mother (though we're not good with 27/7!)
(and one day, you WILL be proud of me...)

friends - without whom I wouldn't be breathing: -

Crysse; apart from more or less single-handedly sorting my fundraising, training with me, and supporting me emotionally, financially, creatively and practically, there's all the emails, texts, references on her blog (http://crysse.blogspot.com/ you'll find an update on our filming session today for the 'live n' lippy' DVD project with Howard, such a priviledge to work on creative projects with enthusiasts like him - and today, Howard and Kate both comment how good I look after my challenge)
WALKING TIME MADE FOR ME ON COMING HOME - and that, in our pressured lives, is probably the most precious gift.

Carole; friend so long she's definitely a surrogate sister as well as a dear and precious friend & Durdledoor campmate - we'll get together in London asap - she's been following my blog although she's a bit of a technophobe...

Karen; she's coming down to Frome on the 22nd Nov, the day after I collect my first batch of meds!!!!! Can't wait, sweetheart!

Helen; I so miss being with my beautiful process partner to write and touch base, but in spite of her trials and tribulations with various massively physically debilitating problems (traumatic and frustrating), she has taken the trouble to stay in telephone contact... thank you!

Mike; got my computer up and running again after a horrendous offline few days... devoting time and effort to processing my 400 plus shots, helping me with slideshow preparation... you've made a real difference, thank you!

Steve H; his perception of support involves much longer-term projects (including a day's work on a grant bid for my Dreamweavers project, and also consolidating further the Coleridge connection, soo exciting - thank you Steve! & see website http://www.steppingouttheatre.co.uk/)

Penny; good company, a tidy house and food in the fridge on my return! plus consultations and a rucksack swap with army cadet daughter Sinead...

Andy; (Ath's dad) a surprise visit a week ago Sunday to find out how I'd got on...

workmates listening to me gush about Nepal:-

my boss, Dave Mac (what a welcome back to work - and suitably dramatic, arms thrown wide, 'Hazel - you're ALIVE!!!!')
Rowan, Lucy, Nigel, Dave H & Laura...

email, phone and snail mail contacts (sometimes all 3) sending their best wishes:-
Peter P, Mike & Fi, John P, Jill, Pippa, Alan, Peter Mac, Michele, Vanessa, Carole J

trekkers:-
Petra's photos, Sam's mails...

(and I will have missed some out - my apologies!)

there I was, up Himalayan mountainsides, in all sorts of emotional knots, ecstatic highs and physical privations - and just as I was held in their hearts and minds, so that helped me take another step...
sure as (something proverbial), if it had all been just for me, or my efforts alone, I'd've dropped to the deck and said stuff this trek nonsense where the sun don't shine... there's an easier way than this!

But I didn't, I kept going...

just not by myself, and not just through the efforts of those that were actually there either...

and now, it seems the Driftwood Mirror is re-entering my life - good to feel it again!

time for bed, said Zebedee...

Taksar, our first camp

2006-11-12T14:52:00.000-08:00

We toil up the mountainside in the warm sun to the gentle singing of cicadas... There's another noise, which sounds strangely akin to a piercing factory siren. Dawa and Karna tell me it's a particular species of bee responsible for this mechanistic shrieking...

Then there's the universal clamour of children playing. I can't quite believe we pass two or three of these four-seated swing wheels and I miss a photo opportunity each time.
I have several shots of the bamboo swings, but none of these incredible wooden contraptions which I'm sure have contributed substantially to Nepal's infant mortality...
It's not that I feel they're hugely dangerous in themselves, it's their positions and the way the tinies run around underneath that alarms me! One wrong move and they plunge downwards...

We arrive at camp as our porters are setting up for us. The kerosene burner is fired up for a cuppa (tea and biscuits - how English is that?) and for our supper later - and layers go on; the sun is sinking behind the mountain, the temperature is dropping.

I sit on the edge of the crop terrace where our tents are being pitched, gazing at this wonderful vista of mountains stretching for miles back towards Kathmandu, and the enormity of being here is overwhelming.

I'm only here because lots of people supported this crazy notion of mine to test my mettle against a challenge I couldn't begin to fully imagine. Nearing the end of the first day - which is only really half a day - and I am so tired, and understandably anxious about how I'll feel tomorrow morning.

I feel the support and goodwill that brought me to this place acutely as I drink in the vastness before me.
It's a profoundly moving and humbling moment.

the trek 'proper' begins...

2006-11-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

Our mini bus stops at Phaliya Sangu (Jeff tells me later, at the time, I have absolutely no idea where I am - and very little notion of where I'm going, either! But until I have my own reference points for places, I'm not going to remember them - so it made sense to sort out where I'd been in retrospect... )
I take Jeff literally, and expect that when the bus stops, we'll stop then for lunch. In true Jeff style, we have a good way to walk before we get lunch...
The steep descent into the river gorge gives us a taste of the terrain to come...
And the rope bridge crossing of the Marsyangdi River is a suitably testing beginning...

(it's great fun, too - both Sergio and I took pictures of our shadows and those of Jeff and Karna over the river bed from the bridge - which I won't inflict on my blog readers!)

After crossing the river, I understand why Sim told me to spend an hour on stairs every day for a few weeks before the trek - it's like ascending a never-ending stairway to heaven, and my legs wonder what the hell I'm doing to them!
Bestare, bestare (slowly, slowly) becomes the mantra as I lean on my walking poles - but I don't know whether it's being in such strange and intensely beautiful surroundings, being fuelled by the wonder of it all, or whether it's being part of a group who have made the commitment to give this their best shot... whatever it is, the boundaries of your limitations somehow extend without too much effort...
Or maybe it's the novelty of being waited on... Lunch is delicious; it seems our porters commandeer kitchen space at a tiny settlement high on the mountainside above the river to not just prepare our food, but to boil water for us to wash our hands and for tea. There's unleavened bread, local cheese, tuna (that was a surprise), cucumber, carrot, turnip - and there's jam. The others seem to think making a cheese and jam sarnie is weird - but if you have tasty cheese and jam available, doesn't it make sense to combine them? Familiar comfort food in this kaleidescope of unfamiliarity...
Later, we stop at a resting place under a peepal tree; Jeff reminds us that Buddha became enlightened under a peepal. I'm trying to encapsulate the journey so far in my notebook, and a young Nepal lad dressed in Westernised clothing, his feet in purple plastic slip-on sandals, comes to watch me intently, joined by a tiny toddler in combat gear. He wears the ubiquitous red dye mark on his forehead which I wish to know the name of, so I try to pantomime my question. I'm obviously not creative enough, so he wanders off, embarrassed. It's a tikka, Jeff tells me - but I can't help being downcast at my signal failure to communicate unaided...

back in real time... or maybe just another dreamtime...

2006-11-12T13:48:00.000-08:00

before I go any further on the Nepal journey, I want to come back to 'real' time briefly...

The trouble with surmounting an enormous challenge - and feeling ten years younger for it - is that the constraints of the working week have made me feel a little caged...

So Crysse and I went down to Lyme today to tackle the Lyme to Seaton stretch of coastline, retracing the steps of my last solitary training coast walk. In spite of a forecast for rain, it stayed fine and sunny - such a gift, as the woods in autumn are so beautiful. I remember being a little disappointed in the summer that I was walking so close to the sea, yet saw so little of it... To my delight, the green leaf canopy thinned by the season, the sea was an integral part of our visual landscape...

We had a fabulous day.

leaving Kathmandu...

2006-11-07T10:25:00.000-08:00

Many of us make contact with our families the night before leaving Kathmandu. The trip looming so close, my call is to Ath, just to say I've arrived safely - an excuse to hear his voice. I know I can be a bit of a drama queen, but after all, on trips like these...
I feel more unsettled than ever when I get off the phone. The time-lag makes our conversation more of a frustration than a comfort... especially if it had turned out to be our last!
Luckily I've been so disorientated by the mayhem of Kathmandu that the peace of mountains seems more seductive than scary, however challenging it turns out to be...

Sitting in the back of the bus, chicaning through the Himalyan foothills, isn't the best seat for decent shots of the landscape, but nonetheless I rack up a few, and take copious notes in an interestingly jagged and uncontrolled script (I've never mastered the art of writing beautifully while moving - but then again, this particular journey was never going to be a smooth one!)

The road follows the great river cutting through these immense valleys; the Marsyangdi according to my map. Jeff tells us much later that its powers join the Ganges in India.

I find it quite bizarre, seeing billboards advertising Lifebuoy soap and Tuborg lager alongside Nepali products and signs in Sanscrit. The houses frequently double as tiny cramped shops like those we saw in Kathmandu, often with a few lifestock thrown in for good measure. What I can't quite comprehend is how, living so much as an integral part of the landscape and beside such a dusty road, people keep themselves and their vibrantly coloured clothes so fabulously clean. None of the farmers or horsy people I've come across in the UK are able to maintain such fastidiousness when in such close contact with the earth.

At the armed police checkpoints, Jeff observes that machine guns have been replaced with wooden sticks. Given the amount of damage that a judiciously aimed club can inflict, I'm not wholly reassured...

Travelling through the valleys, a bright electric blue-plumed bird sails alongside the bus - a roller bird, omen of a good journey...

restoring tranquility

2006-11-02T10:03:00.000-08:00

the Bouddhanath Stupa, an oasis of calm and tranquility... gently spinning prayer wheels slow the thought processes back to some semblance of comfort...

where to start...?

2006-11-02T09:42:00.000-08:00

Shopping expedition on our first full day in Kathmandu - straight into a Divali (festival of light) procession...

I find it all totally overwhelming. The visual phantasmagoria, the NOISE, the concentration of shops, traffic, people... and I'm meant to be part of a group excursion... in this bedlam, I can barely recollect who I am, let alone who I'm with!

At this point, I begin to long for the silence of the mountains...

Pix at last!

2006-11-02T03:51:00.000-08:00

We arrive at the airport in Kathmandu - exhausted but SOOO excited about our impending adventure....

I didn't remember this one - Petra took it, I think... I wish you could see in my face the wonder of the experience I was going through.... (just LOOK at that backdrop...)

And here we are, triumphant after ascending to 20, 000 ft and back...

WE DID IT!!!! ALL OF US!!!!
(not that there was ever any doubt that Sergio would - where does he get his ENERGY.... but at least a couple of us thought we could be contemplating porter basket descent before being bunding into a helicopter...)

More soon - my difficulty now is choosing WHICH PIX - there are so many, and each one takes me right back to the top of the world, and the peace and space...

Where people get on with simple lives unchanged for centuries, nestled in eternity...

slipping through the fabric of space and time...

2006-11-01T09:35:00.000-08:00

last Tuesday morning, we set off from the pandemonium of Kathmandu...
... and on Saturday night, we were encamped by the racing torrent of the Marsyangdi River at Bhulebhule... having completed the 100 km circuit, and climbed to 12,000 feet...

one of the most challenging, scary, exhausting, traumatising - and spectacular experiences of my entire life...

a cross between a vision quest and boot camp...

I've been trying to get some of my pixs up for a couple of hours or so (between phone calls), but blogger doesn't want to upload any images today...

Departure day

2006-10-21T05:43:00.000-07:00

This week has felt pretty crazed - and crazy... I've been kicking myself all week for not taking this week off to prepare...
But here we are, the 21st October (Coleridge's birthday) as ready as we'll ever be to depart to Kathmandu at 9.30 tonight.
The tube for my platy has black mould growing in it, which I only noticed this morning. Emergency dash to Sainsburys (on what must be their busiest day this year) for a bottle of Milton... The mould 's proving a little stubborn, so I might need to grab another waterbag (or tube) in Katmandu... so much for allowing YESTERDAY to deal with such minor hiccups...
We each have a list of mobile numbers - am hoping my trains/bus to Heathrow is less eventful than today has proved so far!
I'm full of sugar and not much else...
SOOOOOO excited...
One of my volunteers is obviously going through a bad patch right now, but when I told him I'd be away for ten days to do this trek, his face lit up, and he said, 'I went on a 3-day trek in the Himalayas - it was the best experience of my whole LIFE.'
A good note to close on.
So - til I get back...

fell walk

2006-10-17T12:48:00.000-07:00

Karen said she'd 'do a fell' with me as part of my training - but neither of us fully believed it would happen...

but as you'll guess from these snaps, we tackled Catbells - and got to the top! (not the biggest of fells, but higher than anywhere I've been so far (about 1400 ft I think). Not counting Skiddaw of course (Blencathra and the start of Skiddaw behind us here - I could hardly believe I was on the highest ridge in July, saw Derwentwater from the other side...)

I managed to shoot a video clip of the fantastic view surrounding us - and then deleted it by accident in the car going home!

maybe more later - but maybe not till after Nepal...

temporal experiment

2006-10-10T14:55:00.000-07:00

I want to try to take you with me on my journey...

From my dictaphone:

It’s the 9th of October.
Just going up Golden Cap. It’s very cloudy, the wind’s blowing the rainclouds across the hill… So far, I seem to have managed to stay in dry pockets.
There’s a kestrel hovering ahead of me, and the sun is picking out highlights on the sea’s surface…
This is the coolest I’ve walked this stretch, the colours are muted; grey cloud overhead and the sea quite choppy, with those sunlit patches. As yet, most things still look green, although I did see a couple of absolutely gorgeous trees, no idea what kind they are, not just changing colour but changing into a variety of colours… One particularly striking example as I went through West Coker…
Wonderful to get feedback from Lesley at the Fisherman’s on the enormous benefits the classes gave to the people who took part.
It’s quite eerie being up on the top of Golden Cap in the mist blowing in from the sea… you can see a lighter pocket over in the sky, presumably that’s where the sun is - and actually some of the shimmering water is shining through a break in the mist. Otherwise, the top, with its scrubby grass, bracken and gorse is quite disorientating – you can see why people get lost in mist so easily.
My brief today is to go as far as I can, yet take it as easy as I possibly can, try to ease off my [aching] knees from the stepper, ease my body into the realignment that Carla’s shiatsu did last night, and also check out ‘how much ground I’ve lost’ through all the changes over the last month. The last time I was down here [sic], I was still employed at CAAAD, and of course, now I’ve moved…

The silvering of the sun on the water looks like some kind of a mirage as it appears and disappears though the mist…

(from my dictaphone on the way back)

Walking the coast path is like walking on the edge of the world.
That [bank of] clouds… and then the sea – it’s just like colour washes, doesn’t look real… if you went into that, you’d enter a different reality – which of course you do!

I think that’s one of the reasons I find it so powerful to walk by the sea rather than woods or hills.
Interesting. My training for trekking in Nepal – the mountains! – underlined that the place I like best to walk is by the sea!

A cracking rosy light close to the horizon, particularly round by the headland. Everywhere else is grey, overcast… the bracken is beginning to change colour. It looks muted, faded, almost like the summer’s burnt out the landscape…

I passed a man with a rucksack on his back with a Cavalier King Charles spaniel in it, an old dog with blue, rheumy eyes, obviously got tired…

It feels like I haven’t taken in as much of the sea as usual. I’ve been too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other in a slow, steady pace, trying really hard not to tire myself out and trying hard also not to put extra strain on my knees and hips, taking things gentle and steady…

That’s what will get me through Nepal.
Slow and steady.

I’ve emptied my platy for the first time. (Possibly ‘cos it wasn’t quite full! I have got my Sig bottle, too).
I’ve obviously downed a heck of a lot of water today, which is good, ‘cos I’ve been sweating like a pig underneath this waterproof – it’s breathable stuff, but even so, it gets hot and steamy.
In between getting very cold. A bit of exertion and you get overheated, then you slow down, or you come into the wind - and next thing, you’re freezing.
That’s going to be the biggest challenge when I’m in Nepal. To keep my temperature steady enough, so it’s been good to have the practice.

Near the top of Golden Cap, just stopped to let my temperature drop a little bit – I also wanted to note ; the journey today has been marked by pairs of magpies… a definite magpie thing going on since the beginning of this venture...

The sky is really amazing. It’s really difficult to describe it, it’s like there’s a cloud ceiling – a false ceiling, and over in the distance, it stops, and the light shows through… no, that’s not quite right… there’s this ragged rim of light right round the horizon really… even over between those hills you can see it. Utterly phenomenal…
I’m trying to capture it on camera, but it’s just not sensitive enough to pick that up… you’d have to be a painter, I think… it doesn’t seem to show up at all, unfortunately. Nice to think our eyes are more sensitive than a digital camera [except they’re not].

I'm not the dancer with the red shoes...

2006-10-10T14:36:00.000-07:00

...and neither is Crysse... if you want to know where that little in-joke comes from, Crysse references the dancer with the red shoes in one of her beautiful performance pieces... which is on her website, under poetry http://www.crysse.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/poetry/

if you get the chance, check out one of her performances! (email crysse@cryssemorrison.co.uk if you want to go on her mailing list)
Crysse liked this photo better than the one I put in my last post, so I wanted to put it up.
After all, the reason I'm at this point in my life is in huge part due to her creative fire and encouragement, plus an incredible creative fund-raising programme to get the trek fund up and trekking...

writers on fibreglass trees...

2006-10-08T12:13:00.000-07:00

I meant to post this photo with the previous lot, but as always, trying to squeeze blog writing (or any writing, anyTHING, come to that) in between other activities is usually hurried and incomplete...

Crysse and I have so few photos of us both. This feels fairly typical, posing on the blue fibreglass tree at Longleat - that sense that we're kids playing in this big old world. The photo is courtesy of Peter (all the more appreciated because he doesn't take shots for himself, doesn't own a camera as he find it interferes with his writing process!)

I understand that. It works for me in different ways; first the expense of f***ed up films when I was always so short of cash, then my partner was 'the photographer' and I was the writer (although he took forays into 'my territory' - ha!, now there's a metaphor...). Then it just became a matter of priorities...

The first day I walked with the camera, I barely wrote. And I have used imagery as an alternative way of representing my blog journey here, having been so short on time to write, time to reflect... poetic time, attuned to my own cycles and rhythms. Making the time to train for this trek yet holding down a job in Bristol throughout feels nothing short of miraculous, SO much stepped-up working, walking. I've also slotted in freelance work and WEA work... I have frequently been a little crazed and crazy...

On Thursday night, I had the opportunity and inclination (not usually any energy left!) to indulge in the rhythms of music, and language, and looking back over my journal for the last few months and forward again to the trek and beyond. I played with an acrostic so I'd be able to show the kids at Somervale if they needed a demonstration, and wrote a poem about being Atholl's mum... I've spent most of his life fighting to be me rather than 'Atholl's mum'...

I had a wonderful evening - and most of the night... I've so missed writing in the evening; most of the time I either don't dare (in case I end up on a roll and don't sleep) or I just can't do another thing except veg in front of the telly.

I got to Somervale having had three hours sleep (albeit late, rotten weather and appalling map reading taking me via Midsomer Norton's Sainsbury's car park), and I had a great time. Cruising on adrenalin, maybe I fired the kids' creative energy - they produced some wonderful poetry. Their teacher intended writing a review of the week's workshops for the local paper, so I gave her some info on the trek - I won't be doing my press releases now, no time... I can do a follow-up instead - after trying to sell those travel pieces!

A question posed by a year 9 poet; what does love look like?

Love looks like a journal, patchworking a life into a work of art.

the trees, they are a-changing...

2006-10-08T08:48:00.000-07:00

These are the first trees I've seen with such fantastic colour - most are still green, even though it's the 8th of October and the wind and rain has claimed many leaves already.

The woods and hedgerows have an abundance of berries...

Mike has loaned me his stepper for the last couple of weeks, ably demonstrated here by young Ath (not quite so young, his 19th birthday this week, a real poignancy for me after that terrible night when I didn't think he'd see much beyond 18, let alone 19...)
The stepper is a real godsend; the change in the weather combined with the nasty cold I went down with have meant my fitness isn't as I'd have liked at this stage... I even had to have a day off sick last week (which REALLY freaked me - the idea of feeling as grotty in Nepal was horrifying; much though I fancy a ride in a helicopter, I don't think I'd appreciate it if it was a necessity!)
I seem to be picking up pretty well after being crook, though I only managed a couple of walks last week. I'm not so keen on walking in the dark, which makes it tough to keep the exercise up on working days now, though I could stick to areas with streetlights... It's not the same though.

Today's walk over on Longleat Estate with Crysse and Peter was fabulous. Great to catch up with them, and hear all about their break in Crete (which you can read about on http://www.crysse.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/) but mostly just lovely to have companionship while walking.
I've been reading Julia Cameron's 'Walking in the World' again, feels very apt right now...
Must go - I have a shiatsu at 6pm, and it's five to six...

Time is running out...

2006-09-26T13:26:00.000-07:00

Not long to go... Mere days now!
I have a cold. Really just sniffles, repeated sneezing and a sore throat which is creeping downwards... I feel decidedly wimpy... I even flirted with the idea of a day in bed, and then thought 'Don't be RIDICULOUS woman - what if you get sniffles in Nepal? You'll HAVE to get on with it!'
With luck, a cold now will mean I don't get one in Nepal...
I bust a gut last week squeezing training in on my working days. My 'workfree' days went less well exercise-wise... Crap, actually. And yesterday was given over to my yearly accounts (always a thoroughly depressing day).
Then, today, my car broke down. Twice.
The first time, I discovered that my AA membership has been cancelled by the bank. Cheeky swine - my account is still being charged for the privilege of NOT having such fringe benefits - and it cost me over £100 to upgrade my membership last time I broke down, just so I could get home...
Thank God for Kit, who covered the cost of having my battery recharged this morning to get me to work...
...and then she died a second time, round the corner from work as I headed home. A helpful RAC member to the rescue...
So I'm chilled, hungry and thoroughly fed up - alongside overextending my not-so-stretchy overdraft beyond breaking point...
I thought I would post some pix from my day in Bath on Saturday. Good walking before and after the travel writing workshop I went to...
Always good to end something on a positive note!

amazing changes...

2006-09-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

My inbox is chocka... It can wait til at least tomorrow.
Time is rapidly running out for trek training... Which is to say what I haven't done now is unlikely to get done. Although I would like to do the stairs work suggested by Sim to combat the worst of the muscle pain...
I spoke to Debbie on Monday. She did a similar trek in Peru for one of the breast cancer charities back in April. And boy, had she trained (and she'd done the triathlon the year before...)
So I'm feeling very cross with myself (though why is a bit of a mystery - if I'd had the resources and the time to fit in more training in, then I would have. I've done what I could, and that is generally good enough for the rest of the world - I just seem to be rather attached to that hair shirt and self-flagellation...)
Tonight, I'm slugging back up the hill (actually called Paddles Lane, according to the Google map of Frome, which makes me smile!), feeling really chuffed that two working days in a row I've managed a good hour and a half training - and last night I went to the Alma Theatre as well!
A knot develops between my shoulder blades, and I think; my rucksack is quite heavy tonight. I have a sudden memory of Glastonbury. In particular, returning from Glastonbury...
The year I went on the bus with the bike club (? sounds a bit bizarre, doesn't it! - day tickets, hence the bus...). My backpack simply had waterproofs, a couple of layers, water and snacks - and boy, did I struggle round Worthy Farm. The site never seemed so huge... No, that's not true, the year I 'commuted' in Karen's car to stewarding work in the information tent, I barely made it further than the main stage and then onto the car after my shift... In fact, after some shifts I just went straight home (Ath was about 13 or 14, so there were 'issues' there as well... but imagine not having the energy to check out at least some of Glasters! - and (mostly) no partying whatsoever... Al & I shared a bottle of wine at lunch-time on the last day - and then I did stay late, to sober up!)
But going back to that day ticket trip - eventually, about 7ish, just as the rest were starting to get into party mode proper, I had to give up attempts to enjoy it and start the slog back to the bus stop. (I didn't know the club members very well, only through Mike and Karen, but I was a bit shocked that nobody bothered making sure I was OK - I must have been grey-faced by then, but I'm sure they just thought I was a real lightweight...).
It took me hours to get to the buses, and then the driver wouldn't negotiate an earlier bus than was on my ticket... I was so exhausted I could barely focus on the way home, and when I arrived in Frome, there were no taxis on the rank (not sure I had cash anyway!). I managed to get up beyond Sheppards Barton and into Park Road before I phoned Ath to come and help me and my bag home... It probably took me three or four days of resting before I felt half-way human again.
And now, I can walk for nearly two hours on top of a day at work!!!!! Two days in a row - now that's pretty miraculous.
Considered like that... I may not have managed the optimum level of training recommended, but boy have I achieved an amazing increase in fitness this year...
They say these treks are life changing experiences. And maybe, for some of us, those changes start long before we get on a plane...

More about Ebbor Gorge...

2006-09-17T07:32:00.000-07:00

Mike sent this, so I couldn't resist posting it!

In haste - more walking to do (among 1001 other things - most of which I'm happy to postpone through training having priority... don't you just hate tax returns?)