Quotes and what a scorcher

We've just come back from a lovely few days camping with friends near St Just in Penwith, and my what a scorcher! I was more concerned with how the dogs would cope than us, but luckily there was a good breeze the whole time, and some shade, so we survived. Though I have realised I don't cope well with this level of heat. I felt utterly flattened, but we had a brilliant time with our friends and some good walks and a swim and enjoyed it so much we're going to do it again next month.

The other day I came across this - "The trouble with words is that you never know whose mouths they've been in." Dennis Potter, dramatist (1935-1994)

And I thought, isn't that clever? I'd love to be able to trot out things like that on the spur of the moment. Usually I find I think of sparkling, witty things to say at 3 in the morning which isn't of much use to anyone, though I suppose they can be stored for later use.

Oscar Wilde was, of course, the master of wit and put downs. What is it that makes someone like that I wonder? Presumably there's something in our brains that determines the sort of person we become, but it has to derive from being surrounded by people who appreciate that kind of humour. Or does it?

On the rare occasion that I do think of the right thing to say at the right moment, I get great satisfaction. Of course, when we're writing, we can plan those moments which makes it easier for us, and more pleasurable for the reader.

On that note, I am off to look over a short story I wrote last week for my new website as a teaser for my novel, to be published later this year. Exciting or what?

I will leave you with another picture of our trip away, this time at Cape Cornwall.

Dreams

I'm a great believer in dreams - I mean the kind of things we daydream about.

Most of us don't have a perfect life - and if we did I suspect many of us would get sick of it, but who hasn't stared out of the window from work, wishing we were somewhere else? It might be wanting to afford a holiday somewhere hot. It might be dreaming of a companion to do things with. A partner to be happy with. Someone to have glorifying shout-from-the-rafters sex with. We might dream of a house with a garden. A dog. A cat. A different job. No job. Better health. To live a few more months. Not to live any more at all. The list goes on and on.

I don't believe that it's possible to Have Everything, and actually, I don't see why we should, especially when so many people have so little. At one point I was desperate to have children but we eventually decided against it and I'm very glad we did. Conversely, many years ago, I had a dream job that was everything I'd ever wanted, and that came to a speedy end courtesy of the 1990 recession. I never really got back on the career ladder, and was very unhappy at work for a long time. But I survived, and other things happened. Namely, working for myself, as both my brothers have.

But what I'm trying to say is that even if we don't get what we want, something else usually comes along. It might not be what we thought we wanted, but it's what the universe (or whatever) has dealt us, and we might as well make the most of it. Something, or someone unexpected may well come along as a result.

I wanted to become a dancer at one point. I was on the way to taking Royal Ballet entrance exams but my dad didn't think it was a good enough career. If I'd gone I might not have become anorexic. But I might well have done. We don't know, do we, what might have happened if we had or hadn't done something.

But I still think it's so important to dream. Dreams can bring shafts of sunlight to a miserable, rain-drenched day. They can lift us when we need a ray of hope. They can be the inspiration for a book, a TV series or a novel. They can be so powerful, as long as we don't think they are our right. Or that if we don't fulfill our dream, it's the end of the world.

If we're lucky and we work hard, something may come of them. Or it may not. But still, carry on dreaming. We all need a measure of hope to get us through the darker times.

Camping - and a tick saved the day

We had a lovely break up near Cardinham on a quiet campsite encircled by tall trees, looking out over a tapestry of fields, woods and two elderly donkeys. A perfect little place with very friendly owners and visitors.

I was a bit apprehensive about how the dogs would get on, but luckily there were no mishaps - forward planning has a lot to answer for - although on the Thursday Twig went missing at the end of a long, hot walk, and we didn't find her for about 45 minutes. You can imagine how we felt, then the huge relief felt when a dirty little face burst through the brambles. It was worth getting stung all over, to get her back.

Then that evening, Lainy had a pop at the Fella. He was only going to give her a cuddle but he did get a bit close to her face which is a real No No in Lainy's book and we were both shaken, mostly I think because we were exhausted and worried sick over Twig, so I burst into tears and he was worried at how upset I was, and what might have happened if she bit a child.

There are potential dangers with any dog, especially a reactive one. But as Lainy always wears a muzzle in public, she can't inflict any damage, and I am super careful whenever we're out, especially round children, so I do my best to rule out as many disasters as possible. Even so, I was very shaken and we were both a bit wary of her the next day.

On our way home, the following day, I discovered a tick on Lainy's leg. The Fella said that Vaseline helped smother them, so I put some on and then had to try and get the tick out - no mean feat. Most people would have let me struggle on my own, once a dog had tried to bite them, but he suggested we got her on her back, and he calmly held her while talking to her soothingly. She looked a bit startled, but she obviously trusted us both and just stayed utterly still while I poked and prodded at the darn thing till I got it out. She then jumped off his lap, shook herself and ran round the garden a few times. Job done.

It has to be said that neither Twig nor my Moll would have behaved so well. They would have growled, bitten and been utterly impossibly terrified, so hats off to Lainy for being such a star patient. And to the Fella for being so brave. We've all learned from the experience and moved on.

It's ironic that it took a tick to save the day.

Research into self publishing

I have been sending out submissions for novels and a possible walks book to various agents and publishers and several have got back to me suggesting self publishing. In addition, I have met several people who have self published their books and all of them recommend the process, though it is complex and selling books is hard. Well, I know that from my walks books so there's nothing new there.

But after I met with another journalist friend and she very kindly talked me through her entire process - who she'd used for editing, typesetting, printing, distribution, book covers, formatting for Amazon and the marketing process, I realised two things. Firstly, that if she's done it - and actually made a profit from her novel - and be so very kind as to share her contacts, I could do it. Secondly, yes it is complicated, but with advice from other people, it's by no means impossible.

Since then I've had several other word of mouth recommendations for designers for the book cover, for printers/publishers and all sorts. This is partly terrifing and partly so exciting that I think I might burst. I need to research book covers, fonts and font sizes. Layouts. Line spacing. So many, many things that are essential in making sure my books would look professional, and not the kind of thing cobbled together after a few glasses of wine over the weekend. And then after that, the hard work is to actually sell the book and encourage people to read it, but at least some people know me from my walks books so that's a head start.

Self publishing used to be seen as something people would do if their books weren't good enough to be taken on by a traditional publishers. Life has moved on and so have attitudes. Of course, there are a lot of companies out there designed to rip people off, and trying to make headway through that is mind-spinning. But there is a way through. I have a Zoom call tomorrow to talk through possible options, and my novel goes for a last copy edit at the end of the month. Either way, I could set the ball rolling soon.....

Planning - and unusual jobs

The above sculpture is at Princess Pavilions, where I went on Sunday for very good brunch from their community kitchen, before a long stomp at Constantine, and then a visit to Sasha Harding's Open Studios near Penryn.

I love her paintings - which are mostly of people and dogs/other animals but with a gentle and sometimes wicked sense of humour. How Mum would have loved these paintings! I particularly loved this one, which reminds me of The Fella's terrier....

She's also written and illustrated a wonderful book called A Brush With the Coast, about her walking the South West Coastal Path with her lazy and narcoleptic dog, Jess. As both were very unfit when they started the walk, it was a challenge in more ways than one. And it turned out that she self published the book, and said she would thoroughly recommend the process, so we had a long discussion about self publishing, and she said to get in touch if I wanted more advice, so that got me thinking...

As I'm researching for my next novel, I recently asked for suggestions for unusual hobbies for a man, and the response has been fascinating. I'm also thinking about what he does for a living, but I know, deep down, that he's a boat builder, because that requires a certain type of person.

My dad was always in despair as I kept changing jobs when I was younger. I have a low boredom threshold and in those days it was easy to change jobs, so I did, about every six months. I worked as a computer clerk at Saatchi and Saatchis, at a new product development company which developed the likes of the Black and Decker Workmate. My job was as receptionist and secretary to the head of the creative department - which was interesting as I couldn't type. Believe me, I learned - fast, weeping into my typewriter till 10pm most nights. I also moonlighted (moonlit?) as a masseuse at the RAC Club in Pall Mall, on ladies days as the masseuses there were men, and they didnt allow their Ladies to be massaged by men......

I've worked for the Youth Justice Team in Devon which involved looking after children going through the court process - a gruelling job that I always said was the best contraceptive of all. After that I ran the accommodation office for an arts college which turned into a university. And there were lots of other jobs in between. After my last Proper Job, Pip and I did up the flat where I still live now - and I have a rather wonky left big toe from where I inadvertently dropped the lump hammer on it while trying to excavate the living room fireplace. I checked people onto cruise ships and also did a lot of cleaning with a friend - we were going to call ourselves Scrubbers R Us until we realised it might give the wrong idea...

After that I did an online journalism course and started working as a journalist, then an author. And I haven't been bored since.

But what about you? What strange jobs have you had?

Old Loves and New

Those of you who know me, know who this is - the stroppy, indomitable, grouchy, charming Moll. I know those adjectives sound contradictory, but she was, and like most dog lovers, I loved her with every inch of my soul (if that's mixed metaphors, I don't care. I did.).

For the last 18 months though, since Moll's death, Lainy has wriggled into the canine shaped space in my heart and, despite significant challenges, has made herself a comfy nest and has to desire to leave, it seems. Nor would I wish her to.

However, I have to say my heart wobbled this morning. After an early appointment at the dentist, I took Lainy for a walk at College Woods in Penryn and on our return to the car, bumped into an old singing friend, Jilly, with her young dog, Eric. I daren't show a picture of him here, but suffice it to say that he looked so like Moll I could have scooped him up and taken him home. Instantly Thankfully, Lainy seemed unaware of the adulterous nature of my heart, and continued to sniff around for scattered items of food on the ground. I feel guilty just writing this, for it has nothing to do with my love for her, but oh - Eric. My heart is yours. though of course really it's Moll's.

That got me thinking about how life can trip us all up at the most unexpected times. And while it can be profoundly distressing, the flip side of that, once we've got over the kapow! moment, is to remember the good times we had with our loved ones. Whether it's husbands, mothers, dogs, ex-partners , sisteors, brothers or whoever, I like to think of that warm place they all occupy that is still very much a part of me.

After all, who was it said that grief is merely love in a different form?

Mum's Service - and My Special Friend

This was the setting for our family gathering for mum's memorial service - or rather, this is where we all stayed. An amazing rabbit warren of a 13th century pub that is now run as an Airbnb - so we had to provide our own food and drink. In fact I worked here as a teenager, carting trayfuls of soup and rolls through swing doors, down a flight of steep steps, through another swing door, through the dark corridors and often out into the garden over the road, which was part of an old orchard where apples lay hidden in the grass, just waiting to trip me up - and spill the soup. But that's another story.

Jac and Lainy and I arrived on Thursday late afternoon, were met by my brothers and shown to our rooms which were huge and full of light, very peaceful given the only traffic was from the field of cows outside our windows. Various members of the family arrived through the evening and Lainy coped gallantly from the safety of her crate, interspersed with long walks down grassy lanes of ancient orchards, a 13th century church and silently grazing cattle. Very bucolic.

The next day was all go - the interment of mum's ashes into dad's space was done by the vicar while we stood around on uneven plots of grass (not good for wearing heels - I sank several inches) but was made more bearable by the children shrieking and laughing in the playground next door. Then came the service attended by about 80 people, maybe more.

My brothers put a lot of work into this and so did the vicar but for someone who isn't religious, I felt that while it was important for them, the mum I loved wasn't there, in the chill of the pews, nor the feeble sunlight straining through the old, stained glass windows. My mum is in the spaces between chapters, in the pause between thoughts. My mum is in my every day, not in a cold church where sorrow mixed with guilt for those who hadn't seen enough of her, and realised it was too late.

More walks for Lainy then we had a family dinner that night which I was very apprehensive about but in fact I enjoyed it, and Lainy coped admirably. Another walk in the gathering gloom, as she'd been in the car for a few hours while we ate, then she settled in her crate while I caught up with one of my nieces.

Jac was introduced to one of my nephews as "Sue's Special Friend", so when talking to my brothers that evening about my anorexic past, she was able to say, "Well, as Sue's Significant Other, I can assure you that she eats more than me now"......There's a lot to be said for Special Friends.... We arrived home the following afternoon after a brief visit to Totnes, I had a night at home and then went down to the Lizard to see the Fella. By this time I was feeling quite dizzy, having spent no more than 2 nights in one bed for the last 10 days. I would have stayed at home for a while, but I had a meeting with the Fat Apple Cafe at Porthallow who are now stocking my books which is great news. They also gave us coffee and cake which was most generous, and we had a fascinating conversation as the mother and daughter are also writing books that they are trying to get published. We decided to help each other, which has to be the best way to do things.

Now I'm back home, trying to remind myself where I live, and glad to have some time to myself, to catch up with work and friends, and concentrate on my books once more. To my delight, these daisies that self seeded, have burst into bloom while I was away, and I just love their cheerful little faces as I walk up the steps to my front door.