Awards and Friends

The above was taken by my mate Sally on our Boscastle walk a few weeks ago - a lovely day. Thanks Sally!

Last Thursday was one hell of a day, but we got to the awards for 6.30 having changed in the pub over the road. I have to say I was not at my best. My throat was so sore I could hardly swallow, let alone talk, I felt shattered, and all I really wanted to do was crawl into bed. But I had a glass of wine, made myself talk to some of the other shortlisters and one of the judges, then the awards began.

I didn’t win, but got £100 for being shortlisted, and right afterwards another of the judges came up and said how much she’d loved my novel – she wanted to know what happened in the end, and she adored Mungo (AKA Mollie). “Please don’t give up,” she said. “One of the other shortlisted people last year sent hers in and got it published, so you must do the same.”

That was such a boost, I can’t tell you. So I went and talked to the MD who asked me to send my novel in next year when I’ve finished the editing process. So that’s a real incentive, and in fact next summer is going to be busy with promoting the walks book in June and July – book signings and talks etc., so this could be better timing.

Afterwards I talked to Elaine, Luke Bitmead’s mother who has had a terrible time since Luke died. Last December Pip was so ill it was the worst time of my life, and while I try not to dwell on that, it’s obviously in my thoughts. My experience has been nothing like Elaine’s, but it was still good to compare notes about loss and how to move on.

Afterwards, Emma and I went to the pub (a Wetherspoons, which I frequent in Falmouth, so it was like home from home). Coming back with drinks, wearing my new jacket, I got a tap on the shoulder. Turning round, I saw a young man (late 20s?) who smiled and said, “I like your coat,” before disappearing in the crowds. I was stunned, and looked at Emma. “He’s old enough to be my SON!” I said.

“That’s your Pulling Coat,” she replied with a grin.

After a few drinks we headed back to Paddington where we got on the sleeper which looked rather romantic, sitting at the station. Until we got inside and we realised just how tiny the berths are.

“Maybe not so romantic,” I said, having been involved with men who are mostly 6 foot or over. “Unless you’re very small and very thin.”

“Or flexible,” suggested Emma.

Later, I lay curled up in my berth thinking of those who’d helped make the day such a good one. A good luck phone call from a friend while I was at Truro station, lots of texts on the train, Emma’s fabulous encouragement and support throughout the day, and the new contacts I made at the awards.

This morning I walked Molls along a deserted beach where the tide was out. Seagulls squawked and fought over grubs in one corner of the sea, the wind whipped my face and the sky was a bluey grey, with storm clouds gathering over Stack Point.

I thought of an email I was sent recently, entitled “Keep your friends close”. It doesn’t take much time to text, email or phone just to let friends know I'm thinking of them. So that’s what I try and do.

Film Stars, Music and Eggs

Last Friday Molls and I set off to be film stars.

I’d had a phone call the previous week out of the blue, from a freelance film director who was doing some work for Visit Cornwall. He had read my blog and said “you have described Polly Joke so beautifully” that he wondered if I would take part in his film. Well, as any writer will tell you, those words are magic to the soul. Of course I said yes and we fixed last Friday as the date, dependent on the weather.

As luck would have it, Friday afternoon revealed skies of a perfect Wedgewood blue, streaked with mare’s tail clouds. I met Gareth in the Bowgie car park and we headed down towards the beach, him stopping to film en route. The tide was far out, so we had a clear expanse of golden sand which Molls adores, and he interviewed me by the waterline, then filmed me and Molls walking and running along the beach. We then had a paddle, walked back up to the pub and had a drink in the sunshine. Overall it was a fun afternoon and getting paid petrol money to spend the afternoon on your favourite beach, particularly if it might lead to some publicity, can’t be bad.

There have been a few disappointments recently - as there always are in life. But life is full of ups and downs and one particular disappointment could be, I am guessing, a blessing in disguise. Who knows? At the moment life has a habit of throwing the unexpected at me so I can only go with it. And enjoy what there is to enjoy. Learn from what there is to learn.

Tomorrow we start singing again having had a summer’s break, and I can’t wait. I’m off to a gig of All the Fires on Friday night (which is where I will give The Dress its first outing) then my choir are singing at a gig on Saturday afternoon in Penryn. Music is back in my life!

And dear Joe from upstairs rang this morning to say he’d been down to the pub last night and got me a dozen eggs which he had left outside my back door. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, very touched that he’d done this.

“They were a pound but I don’t want the money,” he insisted gruffly.

Recently I’ve been more aware than ever that I am incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful bunch of friends.

Chimney Part Two

The living room now has a large hole in the chimney breast.

It gapes like an jagged mouth, revealing the orange tongue of the chimney liner covered in duct tape. Everything is covered in a thick layer of brown filth. It stinks of old coal dust and grime.

But the liner’s in, which is the main thing. And no one was killed, maimed or even injured.

Himself could hardly move he was so tired last night, so I made his grub and I went out to rehearsals for Pajama Game, so was able to escape the building site. It was one of those evenings when I was convinced that not only do I have two left feet, but I couldn’t remember the notes either. And as I don’t read music, that doesn’t help. Still, it got me out of the house.

I’ve just discovered that Himself has been cutting aluminium in the kitchen. On the chopping boards. Despair is not a word that I use lightly.

I’m not sure what he’s carving it up for - something to do with the huge amount of work that now has to be done in the living room to repair the hole in the wall, fix the chimney liner to the stove, make a new hearth – and whatever else needs doing. It’s better not to ask, believe me.

Mike’s coming back today and the work should be finished in a couple of days. Well, say the end of the week.

By which time the multi fuel stove will be in service.

The reasoning behind this upheaval is that when the easterly wind blows, our flat is freezing, and that’s with the heating on. So, what with gas prices rising, we felt an alternative or additional form of heating was a good idea.

Actually it was my mother’s idea, in self defence, when she stayed one weekend and was freezing. She is funding this project, bless her, which is forming my next 600 birthday and Christmas presents.

By the weekend we hope everything will be in place. And you can guarantee that we will have the warmest winter on record.

But the best bit of news for our friends next door is that they won’t be smoked out whenever we light the fire. RT you can celebrate – come and share the fire!

Christmas Presents

Without wanting to cast gloom over the proceedings, it makes me think that Christmas is very much about other people, and how bad news always seems worse at this time of year.

Yesterday three of my friends had bad news.

One has been told she has osteoarthritis and is terrified that she is going to lose all mobility and end up in a wheelchair. I think this highly unlikely, because she’s very active, but she has been in pain for a long time and is to have a thorough examination at the beginning of January. But as you can imagine, it’s not done much to uplift her spirits.

The second came in a phone call from someone who hasn’t been happy with her husband for a while. Well, years. She has always worked her butt off, cleaning and cooking and doing all the shopping as well as working seven days a week (she’s self employed) while her husband does – well, nothing would cover it.

Their marriage is over which should make her feel better, but she feels it’s all her fault, and for some reason she’s the one leaving the family home and the cat. (She is going to work in America in January for 2 months which has some bearing on who looks after the cat.)

How sad though. To have tried so very hard at a marriage that obviously wasn’t working, and to feel that she’s failed. I do feel for her so much.

The third is from a dear mate who’s just discovered her father is very ill.

Happy Christmas, eh?

But on a brighter note, I doubt I will get any work done today. As my Christmas preparations are zilch, I’d better get a move on.

And I’m meeting another writer, Liz Fenwick, this morning for coffee. She’s a member of the RNA and of the Novel Racers, and spends part of her time in Dubai and nips back to Cornwall when she can. It’s always great to meet other writers and will be a good chance to indulge in writerly chat/gossip for an hour or so. Called networking, you know?

I also have to buy presents, decorate the house, walk the dog, have my hair cut, and meet friends in the pub.

Yesterday was the most beautiful afternoon and a friend and I took Mollie out on the Woodland Walk at Trelissick (see picture above - not mine but that's what it looks like). It was the first sunny day for what felt like weeks, and although the sun was low in the sky, it painted the woods a soft gold, the sky a palest Wedgewood blue, the sea a clear emerald green.

I got back to find a card from a friend saying, ‘thanks for wonderful walks and for invaluable friendship.’

I couldn’t get better presents than those two.

Burlesque

Burlesque - try it - the word rolls out like a long red carpet, rich and majestic.
A lovely sounding word I think that sounds much better than stripper. Much more mysterious.

The other night, when I didn’t go to see Atonement, we met in a bar called Toast near the arts centre where the film was being shown. In a corner of the room was a small built up stage covered in black cloth and strewn with fake red rose petals.

‘What the hell’s that for?’ I asked, innocent that I am.

‘It’s a Burlesque night,’ I was told.

Consulting with the others, we weren’t quite what burlesque involved but thought that it meant striptease, maybe the odd bawdy song.

After a few minutes someone came in wearing a bright red jacket, belted tight around her waist. Her hair (I think it was a her) was dyed blonde, in a ponytail, and from the rear view I could see shapely legs in black stockings with seams up the back, and six inch high heeled black shoes.

When she turned round – well, you could have swept the floor with her eyelashes. I was quite riveted. And then she disappeared. And shortly after that we had to go.

I told Himself about this and he smiled, his mind evidently on other things. ‘I’m sure it was a good night,’ he said. ‘Nothing like a bit of singing and dancing.’

I looked at him, amazed at what he’d just said. ‘I don’t think there’s much singing and dancing,’ I said, and stared at him.

He looked at me then and obviously clicked. ‘Oh - perhaps we ought to go and have a look,’ he said.

So that’s our entertainment for next week then.

And now for a quote that has absolutely nothing to do with the above but I’ve just been sent it. Goes along with what I was saying yesterday about friends.

Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all
right out, just as they are -- chaff and grain together -- certain that a
faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with
the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

George Eliot (pen name of Mary Ann Evans), novelist (1819-1880)

Awards and Special Friends

Last week the rotten correspondent very kindly awarded me the Breaking Blogger award. Apologies for not mentioning this earlier but my mind – er, well entire body, brain and hormones – were rather taken up with other matters.

So a sincere thank you to Correspondent – this has boosted my morale greatly and cheered a very grey damp morning here in Cornwall. I will pass it on when I’ve got brain cells into thinking about such difficult subjects.

I told you we had friends for the night on Friday. I met John when I lived in Devon and he used to make rocking horses – very beautiful ones that sold all over the world. His wife, Annie, is a very talented painter, they’re both on their second marriages and, in their late fifties/early sixties, clearly devoted to each other.

John has an inquisitive intelligence, loves animals, children and adores boats, spending as much time as he can on the river Dart.

He took Himself for a day on the boat and they had a real Swallows and Amazons day – building fires, cooking food and meeting all the other people that live on the river. Himself said everywhere they went, John was welcomed with open arms; rightly, he has friends everywhere.

In the bottom of his boat he keeps a clutch of carrier bags. These are to pick up other people’s rubbish. Last Christmas (they aren’t religious) they took brandy and mince pies down to the Coastguards then went for a sail. He’s always on hand to help people, particularly the elderly, and said to my mum that she was to ring him, ‘any time of day or night, it doesn’t matter.’ And he means it.

On Friday we were talking about Life, as you do, and John said, ‘I think you should go your own way in life and help other people if you can.’

I can’t help thinking that politicians could learn a lot from such thoughtful values. What a simple premise for life, and how effective.

Falling in Love

This wasn’t written to keep you in suspense – honest. But time was against us.

The good news is that Bussie is in love. The bad news is that he’s still not eating.

The object of his affections is, I would say, in her mid thirties with a very expensive looking wedding ring, (platinum at a guess), long dark hair, chocolate brown eyes and hands that stroke and beguile. She’s called Helena.

Green coated Helena met us at the vet last night, called, ‘Buster’, and instantly he was angelic submission. Never seen anything like it. It turns out he’s been in a bad fight, is covered in scabs (at least they’ve healed) and has an abscess and a temperature. No wonder he’s off his food.

Of course I was full of remorse that we should have taken him up earlier (particularly given Helena’s wonderful ministrations), but she said that it probably hadn’t made any difference. (I think she was being kind.)

So Bussie had a long term antibiotic jab, another one to reduce pain and anti-inflammatory and she hoped he’d start eating soon. If not, to bring him back on Saturday morning. (I’m going away for the weekend which could be tricky.) I left the vet nearly £50 worse off but glad that he was on the mend.

We got back and – hoorah! – Bussie had a very small bowlful of food. Since then he hasn’t had anything, not even water, so I’m worrying again, but at least he came in and slept on our bed last night (we’re keeping him in till lunchtime as advised by the lovely H, to his silent fury).

We got home then had to feed animals and change before being Taken Out for dinner at the Greenbank, a hotel at the bottom of the hill with a restaurant overlooking the harbour. The reason? A dear friend’s father is staying there and wanted to take his two daughters and us out to celebrate his birthday, which was last night. Well – how could we refuse? (And why would we?)

We were a bit late as Himself had to have several Large Ones before going out, ‘because I’ve been worried about Bussie, Pop.’ As if I hadn’t been. Just before we left, he split his wine all over the paper and over his new trousers. It looked as if he’d wet himself. I snorted unsympathetically while Himself mopped himself up and walked, rather stiff legged, down to the hotel.

We had a wonderful evening (trying not to look at the eye watering prices on the menu) and, fortified by excellent company, wonderful food, and the fact that he’d already had half a bottle of wine, Himself didn’t feel the need to overindulge in wine with dinner, but contented himself with a mere two or three glasses and thoroughly enjoyed himself. There was a moment, towards the end of the evening, when he started singing The Sheik of Arabi, which is always a dangerous moment, but Mel and I quickly shut him up and all was well.

So we didn’t get back till about 10.30 feeling utterly spoilt. It’s a long time since I’ve had such great food (I had beetroot and goats cheese souffle) and the wine was out of this world.

What was even better was that the animals hadn’t fallen out, and Bussie spent part of the night on our bed again. I just have to get him to eat now.

If we win the lottery I’ll take him down to the Greenbank and tempt him there. But I might have a Plan B just in case.

The Last Step

Our elderly friend has been moved into the residential home a month earlier than planned, thereby completely throwing him. We got wind that this might happen last week, so I rang him to find out. The poor fellow was so confused and disorientated he couldn’t make any sense and passed me onto the daughter (thinking it was his wife, who died 15 years ago).
The daughter said, ‘Oh, he’s been falling every day, so I had to do something.’
I pointed out that he’d been falling every day for the past two years.
She didn’t reply but said that he was moving into the home the following day.
‘Just as well I rang, then,’ I replied. Very pointedly.
She spluttered a bit at that, but said that she’d ‘had to put her foot down,’ before adding hastily,‘but of course it was entirely his decision.’
Really?

Anyway, he’s there now and at least he’s safe and well looked after, but we got back from the carnival on Saturday night to find an incoherent message on our answerphone. As there wasn’t any point in talking to James, we rang the home back and left a message saying that we’d call again. He rang on Sunday morning at 8am wanting to know if we could come and see him.

We arrived at the home later that morning with some trepidation. The manager met us and said that James was sleeping well which is usually a good sign, but when we got there he was very agitated because his daughter had brought a whole load of files of bank statements when in fact she’s taking all that over now. It took 3 of us an hour and a half to persuade him that the daughter should take them back, so I hope she does.

On the bright side, he has a lovely sunny room overlooking fields with cows and a stream, and it’s very peaceful and rural. If you’ve got to go somewhere, this place has a friendly atmosphere and the people seem content and well cared for.

James was like a little boy in many ways, clinging and confused.
‘Will you come down – er – down?’ he said, getting into even more of a knot.
We realised he wanted us to wait and walk him downstairs to the dining room for lunch so we did, only to find we were half an hour early.

The staff were lovely and kind and escorted us all to the lounge where the residents sat in high backed armchairs, waiting. And waiting. I gulped and wanted to grab him and bring him back here (though in a one bedroom flat this is somewhat impractical). So I gave him a big hug and, feeling like traitors, we left.

He’s lost his confidence, you see, because he finds it so difficult to speak. ‘But James, there must be other people who find it difficult talking as well,’ I said. ‘And you can talk to us.’

‘Yes, but you’re friends. And I’ve known you for a long time,’ he said.

And he looked at me with such trust, I felt honoured to be his friend.

Icebergs and nurses

It struck me yesterday how little we really know about each other, and there are aspects of this that I like. Surprise can be a good thing in relationships, I find. (Note the word ‘can’. I appreciate there are a lot of instances when surprise can be Very Unwelcome.)

For instance, last week two friends told me things about themselves that I was really surprised about. Both concerned events in their past (and no, I can’t divulge them, am sworn to secrecy) and made me realise that while we think we know our friends, we are all like icebergs. We only show what we want other people to see.

One friend of mine was a highly successful international corporate lawyer who petrified me when we first met. She and her husband (another boating friend of Himself’s) invited us for a meal one evening and, facing this diminutive Swedish lady over the dinner table, I was stunned into silence by the sheer force of her intelligence. She was still living in London then, and I can remember her saying, ‘I’m 55 doing the job of a 35 year old.’ She was also the only one around the table sober – she couldn’t drink, with her job.

Her husband is always generous with the wine - and it’s always really lovely wine, not the £2.99 a bottle that Himself and I drink – so as the evening progressed, I was aware of talking perhaps rather too much, Very Earnestly. Across the table, the terrifying Swede remained impassive. I had another glass of wine and giggled, and the rest of the evening passed in a sort of blur.

It wasn’t till the next day that I thought, Oh God. What did I say? I’d thought I was quite sober, but the finer points of the conversation escaped me. So did the larger ones, actually. Luckily she didn’t come down to Cornwall very often and by the time she did, I’d airbrushed that evening.

She took early retirement due to ill health and arrived to live in Cornwall, knowing no one. She asked me to go walking. I agreed, quaking. I thought, ‘What do I have in common with this horrifyingly intelligent lawyer? What shall we talk about?’

We found we had a lot in common. She has a gorgeous sense of humour, and even better, a great sense of Fun. She is devoted to Mollie (who she refers to as My Dog) and is one of those friends I can talk to about anything. And by anything, I mean from Himself’s cancer (she’s had her fair share of that), to my Murky Past (she’s had murky bits as well), to longing for children, to difficult relationships. We go for long walks with Mollie and sort the world out.

Last week we had a longer walk than usual (a lot to discuss) and when I told her how terrifying I had found her at first, she looked at me and twinkled. ‘I worked hard at that version of myself,’ she said.

And don’t we all? It’s gratifying to know that underneath, she has the same touching insecurities as all of us. Which makes her all the more lovable.

Nurse Flowerpot

Today we are off to look after my mother following her hernia operation. She won’t be able to lift anything, drive or cook or really do much. Oh and she can’t get her stitches wet either, so about the only thing she can look forward to is watching the rest of Wimbledon. And seeing her darling daughter of course.

I’m looking on this trip with a certain amount of trepidation as the last time we went up to look after her, she was a lousy patient. Mind you, I was probably a lousy nurse. However, this time is going to be different, I’m sure (Think Positive).

What this means is that as she doesn’t have any internet connection, you may not be hearing from me for a few days. (Our laptop battery is knackered and at £60 for a new one, we decided against that.) On the other hand, we will have to go and shop so I might find myself lured into an internet café en route.

Meanwhile, think of Nurse Flowerpot, lamp in hand, angelic expression on face. Or not. Watch this space…