Fascinating people, places and things

Recently Viv and I did a lovely walk at Restormel Castle near Lostwithiel, and walked past this wonderful manor house - Restormel Manor - which is owned by the Duchy of Cornwall, and at the bottom of the hill near the woods leading to the Duchy's Nursery and cafe, which are well worth a visit, even if you don't like gardens. A fabulous array of plants, shrubs, a wonderful cafe (and a dog friendly area too) and a well stocked shop with lots of Cornish goodies. And no, they're not paying me to write that!

I also had the good fortune to meet Nikki Markham, who runs the charity Battling On. You can read a bit more about her on the website The Overtake:-
- I hope that link works, if not, google The Overtake and mine is one of the most recent pieces. Nikki has had cancer and said she feels almost obliged to help others - and the work she does is truly amazing.

On a completely different subject, I met the most talented botanical artist, Sarah Humphreys, recently. People travel from all over the country to attend Sarah Humphrey’s workshops in Cornwall, and seeing her illustrations, you can understand why. For the last twenty years, her work has been commissioned by The Body Shop, McGraw Hill and the RHS, to name but a few clients, and she has become one of the most exciting botanical illustrators of her generation. The link to her website is here - https://www.sarahjanehumphrey.com/

And lastly, a piece I wrote on Organ Donation will, I hope, be out next Tuesday but I will post that when I have the link - just in case it isn't run!

Meeting such inspiring people goes a little way towards balancing the gloom and doom of January Mud, of which there has been, still is, and will be a lot of...

I do hope everyone is managing to get through this horrible of months. Spring is nearly here though - I have a few narcissi out in the tubs up my steps, and even a little crocus bud....and this is to prove that the sun did shine in Cornwall in January. Though I can't remember when!

The Barklife Way

The above portrait of Moll was done by my very talented friend, Carol, nearly a year ago now and made me think of this book I was sent recently, entitled The Barklife Way - Life Lessons from a dog

This is such a lovely book about what we can learn from our dogs based based on the author's observations of her own dog called Cooper.

It's a fantastic read for anyone who loves dogs, with wonderful illustrations that are worth framing in their own right.

Each chapter, or section, has a bit about what Cooper does - i.e. his delight in a new day, all the wonderful new smells he encounters, so each trip is unique, exciting and packed full of novelty and fun, bursting with opportunities.

The next section asks what we can learn from, in this instance, our daily trips to work, or to the park, to the beach, wherever we walk our dogs, with the idea of not taking things for granted. Open our eyes and look and see who's around us, what the birds and trees are doing; what flowers are out. The pink balloons by someone's gate, the peeling paint on an old house. All the little things that we take for granted, or don't even recognise. We should, for we miss so much otherwise, and miss everything that's strange and special, all the delights and enjoyment that our dogs use every day, every moment.

This is a lovely study for anyone who loves their dogs but it also carries some very good life advice with the most fabulous illustrations. There's also a section about how the author wrote this book and information about the illustrator.

I can't honestly think of anyone who wouldn't enjoy this book, but if you have a dog, and you enjoy illustrations, this is a must.

So instead of New Year resolutions, I would just get this book, take the advice - and see how much more enjoyable your life becomes. Just like your four legged friend!

Keep It Small

I'm sorry but if I receive one more press release or see another "inspirational" post on Facebook about new year's resolutions, I might scream.

I'm not quite sure why the end of this year was so dire, but in large part is due to huge volumes of water cascading from the sky accompanied by gale force winds that have been hitting the south west since Christmas Day. I've given up listening to the weather forecast as it's more of the same.

Then there's that awful feeling of having to drag ourselves out of bed for work, having been idly cocooned in duvets with no special get up time at all for what seems like months but is only a week. It's amazing how quickly the brain can atrophy, isn't it? One minute, if not sparking on all cylinders, at least it was working - then - bang - complete shut down.

So no, as I said to a friend suffering similarly yesterday, I am not making any new year resolutions. Getting out of bed was quite an achievement. To actually get some work done after that was nothing short of a miracle.

So my motto for January is to Keep It Small. Getting out of bed is a good start. Eating breakfast - excellent. Walking Moll first thing - part of my wake up routine. Though bless her, she has something wrong with her left back leg so have to take her to the vet later. Enough of that - think positive.

Next step - turn on computer. Brilliant! Transcribing a walk - brilliant. Making a call about an interview - my god! I think a few brain cells have woken up from hibernation. And frankly, whatever works is good. And if it doesn't, well, it will again soon.

I remember reading a piece when I was once having a really tough time and it advised to get out of bed. And breathe.

Sometimes that's all we can do. And you know what? Sometimes that is a hell of an achievement. So whatever you aim to do in January - Keep It Small. And achievable. And celebrate just putting one foot in front of the other. That's one hell of a good start.

Let it snow..

Not a hint of snow here, but as ever more rain and some very strong winds.

But I'm not writing to have a gripe about the weather but to talk about Potager Garden, a very special place that Tony took me to several years ago. We went for a party of a friend of his, who has a workshop there and , as it was February, it was freezing. The party took place in the cafe which is in a greenhouse type conservatory room that was a little more open to the elements than might have been desired for winter.

Now, the place has been double glazed, though the woodturner is continually lit in winter and all the better for it. I have taken several friends there recently, as part of a walk for the next book, and every time I go I am delighted by it. The garden was a derelict nursery years ago and has been recovered over the years, to form lots of little separate areas where, in summer, people can gather to read, to talk as well as to garden. Dementia groups have started there; a singing workshop was held the other week and a workshop on making wreaths is to follow tomorrow. You can play table tennis, badminton, lounge around in hammocks outside, or just sit and read the papers.

The cafe serves homemade vegetarian food, cooked in the kitchen at the far end of the conservatory, accompanied by cafetieres of coffee and a range of other drinks. It would be quite possible to while away hours here quite happily. But we had a quick coffee and cake stop before doing a walk along to Scott's Quay, a mile or so away, and then back to Constantine over the fields.

It is a secret, magical part of Cornwall where you can rarely see a house, let alone meet anyone. And as we walked along the silent lanes, save for a noisy blackbird or a chatty robin, it made me wonder again at how many different faces of Cornwall I am privileged to see.

Gloves wanted - for the Invisible Men

In case you can't read the caption, this is the Invisible Man in St Ives the other weekend. You may see the relevance after reading this post.

Last weekend, our musical director asked for donations of gloves, as a friend is volunteering in Calais where there are a thousand people sleeping outside in the freezing cold - it has been snowing. They need gloves, particularly men's gloves, and if anyone could give them to her, she would send them off on Thursday after choir.

Strangely enough, I'd been digging out my gloves as I've started getting chilblains (an occupational hazard for those of us with bad circulation) and found a pair of men's thermal gloves that I'd got for Pip. As his health declined, and due to the medication he was on, he felt the cold more and more, so I was always thinking of ways to keep him warm. For some reason he'd never really taken to the gloves, though he had worn them a few times.

Seeing this post on Facebook, and finding Pip's gloves made me think - well, he would be delighted. So am I - to think that these gloves have been sitting here, unused, for years, and now they can go and help some poor fellow freezing out there and give a little bit of comfort. Well, I can think of no better use for them. And I know Pip would agree.

So please, if you have any spare gloves or anything to help these poor people sleeping outside, do give what you can. Stuff Christmas presents - this is the kind of thing that's really needed.

Ghostly reminders

Facebook has an unnerving habit of picking posts from this date many years ago and reminding me what was going on. Normally I wouldn’t mind - it can be fun, or funny - but this time of year is full of ghosts for me and for some reason, this year they are all out in force.

Paddington 2 was another trigger, for some reason. For those of you who haven’t seen it, I would simply say, do go. The film was as good if not better than the previous Paddington, and although it had been showing at my local cinema for several weeks, we got the last two seats and found we were in a packed screen with no children whatsoever.

All of us wept and laughed and wept again all the way through, and it really is a few hours of honest, heartwarming magic. Also, Paddington has exactly the same stare as MollieDog, which of course made it even more touching for me. There is such a loving and courageous honesty to this little bear (and to Moll) that is unusual in today’s sceptical world, and the film was all the better for it.

But walking home on my own, and returning to a dark, cold flat, made me realise how much I miss having someone to share it with. To get in, have a cuddle and tell them about the film. To cry at the touching bits, and laugh at the hilarious bits. To lie in bed later, hearing the comforting sound of another person breathing next to you. Nowadays I look over at Pip’s picture and wonder if I dreamt those 14 years.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very fortunate. I have some extremely good friends, many of them male. I enjoy my work, and am lucky to be able to survive financially when so many can’t. I have my darling Moll, I love singing with my various groups, and particularly enjoy doing gigs, which are all very good for the soul. I am a healthy, independent woman and I value that highly.

And yet this year more than ever, as the days grow shorter, I am aware of all those whom I have lost at this time of year. My dad died in early January, when I was in my early twenties, and that knocked the stuffing out of Christmas from then on, as far as I was concerned.

Pip died seven years ago on Boxing Day. I lost my brave, funny, charming and Best Cuddler in the World that day. Three years ago, his brother, the lovely Pete, decided to join his brother Pip. I can’t blame him, but we all miss them so much.

And right now, these very special men, whom I have all loved very dearly, are circling round my thoughts. They call out to me in my sleep, and stand at my shoulder while I walk. They sit beside me when I watch TV at night. They remind me that this is part of what love is. If I hadn’t loved them, I wouldn’t be missing them so much now.

I have so much to be grateful for, and yet being on your own, especially at this time of year, when you loved being with your partner, is no joke. So spare a thought for those of us who might seem a bit blotchy eyed or less enthusiastic than others right now. We are just waiting for our ghosts to disperse, and maybe find that other special person to share our time with.

A winter duvet to warn off the blues

This is the fabulous bronze statue dedicated to all the Newlyn fishermen who have died since the 1980s - far too many of them, sadly. We walked past this on the way to Newlyn a few weekends ago, doing the first walk for my new book.

It's strange how our moods can change, isn't it? Last Thursday I went to an inquest with a dear friend of mine whose partner's son had very sadly committed suicide earlier this year. As you can imagine, it wasn't the most pleasant of ways to spend an afternoon, but no one wants to have to go to those things, let alone on their own, so I was very pleased to be able to offer some moral support. I was very impressed by the professionalism and thoroughness of the investigation, too. They were very sensitive to the witnesses and offered a volunteer in case anyone needed emotional support in the Coroner's office.

The worst part, for me, was coming home to a cold, empty, dark flat. This is one of the times when living on your own isn't much fun, paticularly in winter. I did meet a friend for a drink which cheered me up a bit, but as I lay in bed, on my own, I was very grateful for darling Moll at my feet. And wishing for some strong arms around me.

So the next morning I felt really miserable. About everything really. But I walked Moll, got down to work, and gradually I began to make headway. And that afternoon I went to a friend's for rehearsals for the numbers we were singing at the Looe Literary Festival the following day. Paul greeted me wearing a red patterned fish hat and blue goggles - one of the numbers is an a capella version of Yellow Submarine. And from then on, we had a brilliant time. The rehearsal went well, our singing improved, and then I realised the time, said I'd better walk Moll before it got too dark. "Can I come?" said John. "And me?" added Paul. "And me," said Heather - and so we all set off, Paul in charge, and had the most wonderful walk through a farm, down along fields onto Point Quay where the sky turned rose pink streaked with purple. The reflections of the swans on the river were perfect mirror images. And the trees formed blackened silhouettes against a perfect pearly sky.

We walked back through woods of ochre leaves dimmed by the twilight. As it grew darker, we switched on our torches and shouted out warnings of what to miss - dark and sinister tree trunks, like silent buildings; hidden, huge cow pats, darkened ditches and muddy puddles. And as we walked, our voices rang out in the dark of a Cornish evening and I felt a warm glow, which started from within and spread outwards. What fabulous friends I have, I thought, wrapping this duvet of happiness around me. Isn't singing wonderful?

It's a long time since I realised I was really happy. So whenever I feel down I will reach for that duvet and pull it tight around me, up to my chin so only my nose sticks out. The best way to combat the winter blues.