Monday, 12 August 2013


She stops dead in front of me. Her face contorts with a twist of pain as one knee begins to buckle. Reaching for mid air her right hand stretches in front of her as her shoulder dips and her chin flops onto her chest. Her body continues to crumple and folds in on itself, to meet the pavement.

Before I can reach her a young man cradles the limp weight of her small frame in his hands, as if it is no matter and as if he is well rehearsed in the art of catching, as if he’s done this a dozen times or more. His quick action prevents her from impacting the floor and as he dips his knees, and sinks his own body, he lowers hers to safety without dropping her.

I’m staring. He isn't. His face, impassive, for he shows no sign of uneasiness. He kneels beside her. She’s inactive and powerless and he talks to her moderately. ‘Hello I’m John and you are?’ his voice is calm. Soothing. He waits.

The economy of effort in each move he makes, alarms me, as he checks her pulse, raises her arm and then positions it closer to her side and attempts to comfort her. His tunnel vision concentration is unportentous, as he devotes all his energy to her recovery.

I’m struck by how graceful she looks. Her clothes show no distress, her coat undone, the over large military buttons and the ring on her finger glints, captures and reflects the light of the sharp morning sun. Her long golden hair tied back in a ponytail lies like a discarded silk scarf.

I decide not to intervene...

Writing exercise: I set myself observational writing exercises, from time to time, in an attempt to learn how to capture a moment in time. I’m not sure this works yet…

For me the detail in short story telling is important and if I can hone this skill then perhaps I can keep the creative flow, flowing!

Monday, 5 August 2013

And finally...I'm back to writing - at last!

So how are we all keeping?

Survived the hot nights and even hotter days?

I have to say I’m missing the heat. This comes as an even bigger surprise to me. I got to wear all my summer dresses. I can’t ever recall that happening, some of my favourite dresses actually look worn out, what with all the suntan lotion that was required too! So I’m not complaining.

March through to July I was busy, I mean just plain bonkers busy… and my writing had to take a back seat.

No short stories.

No novel writing.

No blogging.

Not even much on Twitter.

And I was never much cop at/on Facebook!

However, I did discover that while I wasn't focusing on my writing I found I could enjoy reading much more simply just as a reader. I've got through a few more books than normal and simply enjoyed them for their content rather than my ‘critique brain’ kicking in and analyzing the story, plot and characters.

So at last I’m back writing, only very recently, and the critical part of my brain’s doing its usual trick *oh it’s not good enough*

ENOUGH – Just Write!

Hope all’s good/well in your neck of the woods.

I would love to hear from people as I’m back in the world of communication, at last!

Monday, 10 June 2013

Getting back on track...?

For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin — real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.

— Alfred D. Souza

I've been busy and I'm aware that I've been absent from writing for some time now...

I'm hoping this will change once 'these obstacles' that form a major section of my life have eased by mid-July.

Here's hoping I can get my writing back on track as I've missed it!

Wednesday, 1 May 2013


Dust if you must,
but it might be better,
to paint a picture or write a letter,
to bake a cake or plant a seed,
to ponder the gap between want and need.

Dust if you must,
but there’s not much time,
with rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
music to hear and books to read,
friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must,
but the worlds out there,
with sun in your eyes and wind in your hair,
a flutter of snow a show of rain,
this day will NOT come around again.

Dust if you must,
but bear in mind,
old age will come and it mightn't be kind,
and when you go, and go you must,
You, yourself will make more dust!

Author unknown

Remember, a house becomes a home when you can write "I love you" on the furniture.....

Monday, 15 April 2013

F1 & writing a cliff hanger

So this weekends F1 took a new turn whilst last weekends explosive situation simmered quietly in the background. But once the race was under way the tension was forgotten, with new strategies in play (much like taking your reader along a new path) the game moved forward.

Vettel started back in 8th place and battled the odds to regain his lost and usual pole position. I have to admire his tenacity.

Sadly for Webber, the gods had it in for him this weekend, and one mechanical failure after another struck his car until finally one wheel actually fell off his racing car while travelling at about 80 miles an hour. Thank goodness his car wasn't travelling at his usual high racing speeds; the potential catastrophe that could have ensued once that wheel span off, would have made the headline evening news.

This nightmare situation got me wondering. The limelight has stiffed away from the two heroes yet I’m certain that the simmering discontent and tensions remain unresolved and haven’t finished unfolding.

And the final run up to the finish and the checkered flag was gripping...shouting at the telly became almost an obligatory requirement depending on who you support, because as a viewer and a supporter, much like any reader, you have your hero to support.

2013 promises some very interesting results this F1 season.

On a personal note I’m so pleased that Lewis Hamilton finished in third place ahead of and held off Vettel and glad that Jensen Button didn't put in too shabby a performance ether by finishing in 5th and Paul Di Resta hung on to 8th.

A good weekend for our British F1 racing drivers who now all drive for different teams, which is probably a good idea in light of Red Bulls’ current media circus!

This weekends F1 performance felt like that great book where the chapter that follows straight on from the cliff hanger introduces new heroes and ignores the crisis, leaving the reader wanting so much more…

Friday, 12 April 2013

F1 & Character development

F1 is one of my passions. And writing is another.

So how could recent events in this year’s early F1 season possibly have anything in common with my writing?

Last weekend a battle royal developed during the Malaysian Grand Prix that was fascinating to watch as events evolved but how could any of these actions between Webber and Vettel be relevant to writing?

Well for me – it’s more fun to write about flawed characters.

Without personal issues to deal with throughout the development of a short story or a chapter in your novel the reader would find lead characters without defects less appealing to read about. Their flaws show how humans err.

The more failings and tension the character displays adds to a scene... the better the chance an author has to hook in a reader.

Last weekend Vettel ignored a clear team order to stay behind his fellow team mate, Webber. (The F1 rules allow for this instruction to be issued and none of us spectators now why that specific instruction was issued.)

Webber exasperated by his fellow team mate over taking him simmered with a dark brooding contempt for Vettel that any heroine would find irresistible. And yet he contained his anger in public.

Whilst Vettel seemed unrepentant and turned to camera, then apologised as a six year old might- when sent by an embarrassed parent to confess and own up to being in the wrong. It was to say the least, an insult to Webber, as Vettel was disingenuous and insincere. At worst he lied and appeared arrogant.

Both scenarios made for fascinating viewing in this case and would translate well to the page and make interesting reading. We the spectators will watch this coming season with added interest as our heroes fight for what they believe to be right.

A desire to win, at ant price to be the Champion!

In my humble opinion Vettel should be suspended for one race to encourage him to obey instructions and play fair. But it seems that Red Bull team principal, Christian Horner, appears to be impotent, by not reprimanding Vettel.

Again another fascinating asset, for any character/writer as this situation reveals the tension within the team. Why would a race leader choose to disregard such a public and flagrant abuse of his authority? I do not have the answers to this question and yet ruthless behaviour is often what we need for a character to succeed.

I for one shall watch this seasons F1 with added interest as the frisson between Webber (a personal favourite, what’s not to like?) and Vettel is bound to prove very entertaining.

Now if only I could write a character like this for my novel...

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

In this virtual world...

Yesterday’s sad news that one of my on-line friends had died got me thinking: How do you tell on-line friends, acquaintances that someone they may have known/knew virtually, has passed away?

Is there an online guide to etiquette?

Do I just jump in and tell other people?

And what happens to that on-line presence where we all work so hard to sell our stories and ourselves to potential readers through our blogs and web sites.

I wondered if anyone had experienced… been left hanging on, waiting for a response that quite naturally can’t continue if someone has passed on.

I’d heard about 'Living Wills' with regard to personal health issues but I had not given any thought to who would control my web page after I've gone... or doesn't it matter?

Will someone be expected/have to pay my on-line web page fees to my host domain site?

Did I leave a hint to the passwords that I've fiercely protected (to keep you site safe) because we are encouraged to do this?

So could someone access my site to leave vital information or update my followers?

In many respects perhaps the answer maybe to consider putting in place a ‘Living Will,’ to deal with the here and the now of how I would like people to find out in the virtual world, rather than leave them wondering what happened to me once I've gone. Or there again perhaps just having that conversation with a loved one, might be the answer.

It’s certainly got me thinking…

If any Twitter guru’s have these answers then please, and if you can/feel you can share…

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Life is short...

Today has turned into one of those days that you don’t expect.
Because I’m experiencing a feeling of regret.

That feeling when I knew I should have done something, but I didn't do that something and now it is too late.

I made a friend on Twitter and she and I would meet up for lunch or coffee at Brighton Marina and have a wonderful discussion- it was always a fun date. One that I always looked forward to keeping. Last time we met it was February… so not long ago.

My life got busy- I mean really frantic/hectic type busy. And a nagging voice kept telling me to drop Penelope an email or a text to make our next date. I didn't listen to the nagging voice-over tape in my head.

Another Twitter friend dropped me a DM today to tell me that Penelope died, quite unexpectedly, a little over two weeks ago.

I’m stunned.

No more lunch dates with Penelope discussing our writing progress, as both of us were writing a book.

No more laughs.

Penelope was a lovely lady full of life, laughter and a sense of adventure- I shall miss her company. Rest in peace Penelope, and thank you for all the conversation and kind encouragement you gave me while you were here and we spent time together.

Today’s sad news has served as a timely reminder that I need to keep in touch with more of my friends.

Life is short
Break the rules
Forgive quickly
Kiss slowly
Love truly
Laugh uncontrollably
Never regret anything that made you smile

Friday, 1 March 2013

it may not always be so;and i say by e e cummings

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not fara away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be--
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

e.e. cummings

I love the layout of his poems, the way the structure breaks all the rules- Is it e. e. cummings way of protesting? Perhaps he wanted no letter to carry more weight than any other letter.

Apparently he did use capitals, as not all his poems follow this format.

All copyright remains with the author, e e cummings

Thursday, 28 February 2013

Happiness by Max Ehrmann

One of my favourite poems by this poet.

To be without desire is to
be content. But contentment is not
happiness. And in contentment
there is no progress. Happiness is
to desire something, to work
for it, and to obtain at least a part
of it. In the pursuit of
beloved labour the busy days pass
cheerfully employed, and
still nights in peaceful sleep.
For labour born of desire is
not drudgery, but manly play.
Success brings hope, hope
inspires fresh desire, and desire
gives zest to life and joy
to labour. This is true whether your
days be spent in the palaces
of the powerful or in some little
green by-way of the world.
Therefore, while yet you have
the strength, cherish a desire to do
some useful work in your
little corner of the world, and
have the steadfastness to labour.
For this is the way to the
happy life; with health and
endearing ties, it is the way to the
glorious life.

In the run up to World poetry day I thought I would share some of my favourite poems and poets with you- Max Ehrmann was an American writer and poet: Born September 26th 1872 and he died September 9th 1945

His famous prose poem ‘Desiderata’ only became famous in the late ‘60’s after it was adopted by a Pastor as a devotional prayer.

The layout of this poem is exactly as it is published in the book of his poems I've taken this from and naturally all copyright remains with Max Ehrmann.

I particularly love his work because his words seem to transcend time and even though many of his poems were written before and then after World War I, I’m quite sure that not much has changed when it comes to matters of the heart.

Wednesday, 27 February 2013


A date with masculinity, modern dance and extreme ballet as young male dancers stripped bare exhibited sinuous lines as they danced to an eclectic music score.

Last night the BalletBoyz, performed their electric ballet ‘The Talent 2013’ at G Live in Guildford. A superb performance, an energizing and thrilling dance routine, executed brilliantly. Talent 2013 is most definitely Talented.

Before each performance the choreographer appeared in a short video clip offering the audience a personal insight to their thinking behind the piece on offer.

Liam Scarlett choreographed the first piece ‘Serpent.’ The music written by Max Richter, a melancholic score which drew me in as bodies wrapped in skin tone leggings as subtle lighting displayed torso’s stripped back and laid bare as rib cages stretched to fullest extensions, twisted and turned, revealing physical fitness to levels rarely attained by typical members of the public.

The opening sequence of a single arm raised and extended above the bodies laid on the dance floor created a sinuous line, the hand searching as the background music encouraged the dancers to twist their bodies into beautiful balletic poses.

A troupe of ten young male dancers performed this mesmerizing dance. There was no story to tell, yet no story was required as in a more formal ballet. The lighting of the empty stage showed off the physicality of their bodies to perfection, each taut muscle and twisted sinew highlighted.

The stage at first seemed too small to hold all of this energetic troupe and then suddenly a single dancer held our attention, switching to a duet whilst the remainder of the troupe stood in a tight huddle. A shoulder blade roll here, and a shoulder blade roll there.

Each dancer seemed of a similar height and stature but as the dance developed it became more apparent that each dancer had a different physical presence, shoulder blades separated and moved in a defined manner and that’s where individually each dancer became different from the dancer next to him and as rib cages extended and stretched they showed each dancers definition could define him as distinct and individual.

The musical score and interpretation by both choreographers seduced the audience into silence, so as each performer finished the auditorium was silent, spellbound, and all that we could hear… the laboured breathing of a dancer as he departed the stage.

These dancers trust each other implicitly, each supports the other as a lead dancer which allows a following dancer to use his body as a framework for a complex move, a hand here, a body leans in bears its full weight and then with a seamless twist of a single fluid movement that was graceful and elegant, the dancer with effortless ease slipped into the next position and the scene moved forward.

‘Fallen’ by Russell Maliphant had a pounding beat, hypnotic and pulsating by contrast the second piece from the opening sequence, compulsive viewing performed with superb timing which included complex tumbling routines within the dance offering a synchronicity, flexibility and fluidity which has deservedly earned the BalletBoyz, high praise for their magical performance and they have garnered many awards accolades along the way.

Somehow, during this second piece the dancers managed to slink across the stage, and interpret the music on offer by Armand Amar as the lighting heightened each dancer’s body extensions with dramatic effect on the back wall as a giant shadow version appeared. If you find the male body beautiful then I assure you, you will enjoy this performance immensely.

Michael Nunn and William Trevitt can be proud of this brilliant troupe of exceptional young dancers and if you get a chance to see them on their current tour, I suggest you grab tickets with both hands.

My thanks to Rosalie at G Live for choosing me to be a winning ticket holder, I shall be back for more performances, of this I'm certain.

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Sharing Poetry...Max Ehrmann

Reforming Oneself
by Max Ehrmann 

It has been raining again. I have been
indoors, meditating on the short-
comings of life.
I wish there were more kindly persons
in the world. Our competitive life
develops selfishness and unkindness.
I am determined to do something about it.
I cannot hope to convert many
persons. To convert one person, I 
shall do well.

I will begin with the person I know best-
When it rains and one is much indoors,
 one is likely to meditate on the
shortcomings of life.

Let me think - how shall I make myself
kind, gentle considerate?
I do believe it has stopped raining.
I can go out now. I'll go and shoot on the archery range.
I'll not bother to reform myself today.
 Perhaps tomorrow - if it is raining,
and I must stay indoors, and meditate
on the shortcomings of life.

All copyright belongs to Max Ehrmann 

Monday, 25 February 2013

The Moon
by Max Ehrmann

I would, if I could, bring back
    into fashion the moon and the
   stars, the dawn and the sunset.
   I rarely hear anyone speak
   of them. One would think these
   perpetual wonders had
   passed from sight.
There is peace and rest in the
   contemplation of these miracles
    that nature paints on the
    canvas of the sky.

But we do not want peace
    and rest; we are enamoured of
    noise and motion. A St. Vitus’
    dance has seized us.
Things must change. The nerves
     have a limit of endurance.

Tonight, I looked at the moon
    for a while. There was a
    faint circle around it.
A friend came by and asked what
    I was looking at. I pointed
    to the moon.
    “I don’t see anything.”
    “The moon,” I said.
    He chuckled and went on. He will
    report me as growing queer.

The mystery of the night!
     And our own mystery! Who
    knows what we are? No science
    has yet grasped us.
   The moon- beautiful, mystical
    moon- playing nightly
   To empty seats!

Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I love those shoes. God they’re gorgeous. I want them. There’s only one incey wincey tiny problem; I’m following them, along a crowded street. I trail behind a few yards in the wake of their lucky owner. Cow. She wears them effortlessly, stands tall, looks fabulous; her willowy figure accentuated by even slimmer ankles. Those shoes appear to me, to make her more confident. Even sassy. Perhaps the sway of her hips, a gentle hypnotic swing attracts my attention, yet if I could catch her up, simply tap her on the shoulder, make an admiring comment, a kind word before I ask her where she purchased them?

On the other hand…

I may well become a stalker, her shoe prowler and rush her, tackle her to the ground and release those gorgeous specimens from her feet. Run away. Hide. Find a private spot and slip on those stolen assets, because they appear to be about the right size. But maybe that’s a more appropriate nocturnal activity as it’s broad daylight now.

If I were brave enough to liberate them, I could caress the unleashed shoe, cradle it in my hands, sniff the leather and let its aroma soothe my troubled being.

My desire pulses faster through my veins as I close in on her. I can see them so clearly I'm overwhelmed with lust, the high shine black patent spike, the expense heard in every tap across the pavement. Each click, then clack, music to my ears.

A tiny diamante buckle places the thinnest ankle strap at the exact spot her ankle slims. My foot would look divine shown off in this splendid pair of pumps. I ache to know how they might make me feel, my ankle clearly defined, my calf taut as I stand and stick my bottom back and out, buttocks clenched. I’d wear fishnet stockings and toenails painted a glossy midnight blue varnish, as a final flourish. Maybe a simple cream Macintosh, cinched in at the waist but no underwear, as the desire to be brazen grabs a hold of me.

Freely I admit, I’m a shoe snob. I stop myself from drooling at the prospect of owning that particular pair of shoes, but only just, because I hate it when the shoe shop is closed, when I set eyes on them, in the spotlight, unattainable, behind a rigid pane of glass which prevents me reaching in to touch the leather, discover if the soft skin will yield beneath my fingertips... I find myself making hushed cooing noises, calling out to those shoes. Waiting for their response.

God save any sales assistant who does not apologize profusely and stop me from foaming at the mouth when she tells me they do not have my size in stock. Oh the agony and the ecstasy; the need to covet these divine creatures of adornment.

The clear ringing footfall I pursue… stops.

I watch him take her in his arms; he kisses her on the lips, her left foot flicks backwards to reveal the red sole. A peek, a brilliant iridescent flash of colour, like a waving castigating finger scolding me and mocks, ‘look but don’t touch,’ the sole says.

Voices blur and vanish into the air. I stand alone, singled out; in the zone as a jealous need rips through my body…I don’t see him, or her, only the shoe. I shudder with delight, as a moment later my hand moves forward to…

To be continued

Saturday, 2 February 2013

Smallstone No 31

Never stop writing, smallstones… it’s free! #smallstone #sixwords

apologies - how did I miss the last day of January - *shakes & hangs head*

Asking for money for a good cause

I make no apology for promoting my sons half marathon effort this month and in the next fifteen days I will be asking lots of people to donate (any amount they can spare) because I want him to have as much support as possible to promote his chosen charity and cause.

I’m very proud of my son because what you don’t know is that James has suffered. He has Crohns.

It is a nasty disease (one that will live with him for his lifetime) and for most of his twenties he was in a great deal of pain, and I never heard him complain, and he carried on with his life despite spending a great deal of time in hospital and flat on his back recovering after major surgery. He had seven operations in total.

He also had Pilonidal sinus disease and from his late teens until recently he has been subjected to some harsh ordeals, all which he faced with courage and dignity and strength.

He got little acknowledgment of his condition during this time and carried on working full time (as best he could) despite daily appointments with a nurse to pack open wounds. This was a job I could not have done.

After one of his major operations I had to brace myself against the wall, hold on to the end of the bed and the fireplace as the nurse revealed the extent of his wound!

To my surprise the wound looked excellent, clean and clinical, I wasn’t squeamish and I didn’t slide down the wall, (thankfully) but knowing this had to be packed-daily and that it had to heal, from the inside out, made the situation all too apparent that he had a long road to recovery.

The doctors and nurses that cared for him did an amazing job!

Move forward a couple of years and James’ is now running, something his body was not physically capable of doing while he battled this illness and the operations and recovery periods.

And this is why I’m asking for your money… his illness- Crohns is often hidden from view. He is a very private person and I’ve asked his permission to share this knowledge with you before printing.

James needs your support. Anything that you can give will be greatly appreciated and go towards an excellent cause.

If you can spend anything then please join us here on his Givingpage

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Smallstone No 30

In this new & hushed calm after the raging storms of last night nothing audible stirs, andsomehow the sun seems to shine brighter #smallstone

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Smallstone No 29

An opaque sky that’s lost its clarity defines my blank canvas, out of shape & shapeless with no focal point to draw my eye… the implausibility that there is anything beyond this white out, no stars, no galaxies, and no black holes lingers as I look harder #smallstone

Monday, 28 January 2013

Smallstone No 28

The horizon blushes its early morning glory with a serenity rarely seen as the rose-gold colour wash makes a welcome return #smallstone

Sunday, 27 January 2013

Smallstone No 27

In this overcast light I crave the warmth of Spring sunshine, new lime-green buds, cherry blossom petals & birdsong #smallstone

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Smallstone No 26

On the wettest of days lengthening runnels of rainwater course down the window pane making tracks as lost as tears #smallstone

Friday, 25 January 2013

Smallstone No 25

In this over stimulated world snow gathers quietly & as the day moults, & sheds it weariness. I breathe out #smallstone

Thursday, 24 January 2013

Smallstone No 24

Resolute grey skies parked overhead…a little drizzle adds to the overall gloominess, obscuring the far-flung horizon #smallstone

Wednesday, 23 January 2013

Smallstone No 23

My day held in place, air caged by a heavy sky crammed full of foreboding snow waiting to fall #smallstone

Smallstone No 22

Fields wider than a super king size bed, layered in bright white sheeting... inviting as a plump feather eiderdown #smallstone

Monday, 21 January 2013

Smallstone No 21

Evening light glows soft & inviting, the cold whiteness of a snow carpet reflecting a brighter light of day than recent times #smallstone

Sunday, 20 January 2013

Smallstone No 20

Soft deep snow lies in dense drifts layering the winter greys with tier upon tier, an immaculate sparkling white overcoat #smallstone

Saturday, 19 January 2013

Smallstone No 19

A hawk sits atop an extended branch & surveys the tarmac below & from his vantage point he observes closely & loiters #smallstone

50 Eskimo words for snow?

Myth v Truth - Are there more than 50 words for ‘snow’ in Eskimo language?

Apparently the row rumbles on. The Washington Post ran an article five days ago: There really are 50 Eskimo words for ‘snow.’

During 1880’s a man called: Franz Boas recorded this information “Handbook of American Indian Languages,” and since then a great number of people have tried to declare his theory a hoax.

It seems now, that maybe… there was an element of truth in Boa’s findings especially as; Ole Henrik Magga, a Norwegian linguist has identified 180 words in her own language to describe snow & ice.

This article got me thinking - we have one word for snow… Or do we?

This is a random list of words I've complied this morning whilst sitting with my cup of tea looking out over the garden, at the lovely white soft power snow that hasn't yet melted.

Snow - Snowstorm - Snowfall - Snow Flurry - Blizzard - Whiteout - Snowflake - Snow-white - Snowball - Snowballing - Snowbound - Snowsquall - Snowy - Snowed in - Snowed up - Snowed under - Snowed - Sleet - Slush - Hail - Hailstones - Ice - Snow plough - Snow shovel - Snow slip - Avalanche - Hoary - Frost - Snowman - Snowmen - Snowdrifts - Snowbird - Snowboard - Snowscape - Snowiness - Ice up - Ice over - Frosty - Glacial - Icy

I’m absolutely certain this isn't a full list of possible ‘snow’ words and that there are many more words that haven’t yet come to mind so -

Perhaps the reason that the myth v truth dispute rumbles on is because we have lost ‘old languages’ as tribes move forward and adopt modern versions.

I’d love to hear your views and opinions on this matter as the old romantic in me would like the original article to be true…

For this mad notion I make no apology.

Friday, 18 January 2013

Smallstone No 18

Snow falls without stopping as delicate flakes, then transforms into icy cold rain, a freezing reminder that winter is here #smallstone

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Smallstone No 17

Majestic trees elegantly framed & shown to fullest glory as dying embers of the burning golden orb glides below the horizon #smallstone

Wednesday, 16 January 2013

Smallstone No 16

Smudged & sinister charcoal grey images- a skeletal spine frames South Downs backbone, a perfect setting to end a splendid day #smallstone

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Smallstone No 15

Intertwined branches & twiglets draped against a shining silver birch a purple haze tinted by reflected glow of a setting sun #smallstone

Monday, 14 January 2013

Smallstone No 14

Incandescent light bulbs slung through the woods make me wishful for jovial festive cheer, warm mulled wine & a roaring log fire #smallstone

Smallstone No 13

Clouds more Turneresque in look gloom laden & tinged with rose-gold edges stacked in sharp contrast to the setting fireball sun #smallstone

Saturday, 12 January 2013

Smallstone No 12

Ponies gathered at the field’s edge, coats caked in a mocha mud glaze heavier & thicker than over-applied mascara #smallstone

Friday, 11 January 2013

Smallstone No 11

Countless tiny connections, emotional links & fragments of reminiscences gathered during a lifetime lived like a dream #smallstone

Thursday, 10 January 2013

Smallstone No 10

Talking for more than an hour on the phone to a dear friend, who I don’t see anywhere near often enough- the very best medicine! #smallstone

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

Smallstone No 9

A solitary declaration of a birdsong, the sweetest tune that travels far, & on a dull & overcast day provides soulful sunshine #smallstone

Tuesday, 8 January 2013

Smallstone No 8

These dark dank January days drive me under cover with a good book & a perfect excuse to drift & dream #smallstone

Monday, 7 January 2013

Smallstone No 7

Waking up to house, devoid of festive clutter. The denuded rooms tug at my heart & as I stare outside my garden looks as bereft #smallstone

Sunday, 6 January 2013

Smallstone No 6 - Twelfth night

Treasured decorations wrapped in tissue, laid to rest, bundled in boxes, the excitement of Christmas packed away until next time #smallstone

Saturday, 5 January 2013

Smallstone No 5

This night feels as if it has tumbled into disorder, submerged itself beneath a pool so deep and wide it may not resurface #smallstone

Friday, 4 January 2013

Smallstone No 4

Longer nights mean lingering lie in’s under my duvet are permitted... on the pretext of keeping warm, until longer days arrive #smallstone

Thursday, 3 January 2013

Smallstone No 3

A fearless kite swoops in heedful of roaring traffic yet undeterred to inspect a deer, lain prone on the road #smallstone

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Smallstone No 2

The sound of heavy rain drowns out my thoughts, I stare through a smeared pane of glass & wonder- what next? #smallstone

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

What makes people tick?

Tonight I’m treating myself to a (kid’s) supper- fish fingers & mashed potatoes! And whilst I was cooking them I was reminded of a conversation with my friend last week. Let’s call her Rachel.

She had complained to her husband that there weren't enough fish fingers on her plate that evening for tea. The following time he cooked supper he cooked all the fish fingers in the freezer and served her with 40 fish fingers.

I thought this was hilarious.

Rachel said all she could see was fish fingers…

What made him cook 40? Was he being funny? Or was he being difficult? She had no idea and neither do I… but I’m fascinated by what makes people tick and I’m sure there’s the nub of a short story in this event.

Smallstone No 1 - Jan 2013

Generous blue skies offer a far more inviting day than those recent intermediate colourless landscape hues #smallstone