Wednesday Words – Writing Festival

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Who would have imagined that the evil tendrils of international tyrants would have wound their way into the heart of my family and the Bournemouth Writing Festival? My sister in Australia had planned her latest two month holiday to encompass various cultural delights including the fourth Bournemouth Writing Festival. Her flights were booked well ahead. There is so much to do over the three days of the festival it is hard to focus. Last year this had resulted in a friend and I only making it to the free poetry on the bandstand. So this year we needed to plan properly and book well ahead. After much shortlisting and Facetime consultation I had booked six events at the festival.

Shortly before her departure WW3 erupted in the middle east, airports closed, governments issued warnings to their travellers. My sister was traveling in comfort to visit all her English relatives, not to have an adventure. Her favourite airline Emirates was due to leave Perth, stop in Dubai and onwards to Gatwick. Suggestions by some that she could fly over the North Pole were not appealing. When Emirates announced full refunds available, she cancelled her holiday.

The spare tickets were happily taken up by others in my writers group, though by this time I had forgotten what I had booked and why we had chosen them. A sunny weekend made it very pleasant to wander through the gardens between the various venues. Everything was taking place in Bournemouth town centre so easy for everyone to walk, cycle, skate, paddleboard, come by bus or train. Car parks are expensive and stressful from my non-driver observation so to be avoided if you can.

There was a real buzz about the festival and a buzz in town. Festival team members wore bright yellow T-shirts so it was easy to ask for help and they greeted everyone enthusiastically. I can only give my humble impressions with so much happening. But we have always been impressed with how well organised and supported the festival has been right from its inception. If you want to meet other writers of all ages this is the place to be. You could be on the go from the moment you got up till bedtime with breakfast, lunch and dinner meet ups at local eateries. In between talks and workshops you can chat and look around.

In the Pavilion you could buy books written by the speakers, while at Bobby’s any author can book a table ( well in advance I gather ) to sell their books. There were interesting and colourful characters from far and wide.

There were two workshops I particularly enjoyed.

 ‘Stop your Plot Deflating like a Sad Balloon’ with Helen Comerford

If you run out of ideas or have writers’ block just spend five minutes writing a list of What Ifs, as silly as you like. We did this and then wrote our favourite on post it notes which we stuck all around the room and read what ideas others had come up with. We then wrote a plot for our What Ifs.  I wrote ‘What if you go to a writing festival and realise you have all been taken captive.’ Some of us read out plots out.

Adrienne Dines’ workshop on creating conflict had the tag line ‘How to make it bad, make it worse then make it personal.’ She gave us an opener, chap walking home from the pub late one night and comes across a road accident… and we all had to offer make it worse contributions… ‘he knows the victim in the crash’ soon became a whole complicated family story!

Next year’s festival is already being planned, last weekend in April again. Other events go on all year round so writers can continue to meet up.

Write by the Sea™ / Our writing events in Bournemouth, England

What ‘What Ifs’ would you think of?

Tuesday Trail – Down the Road.

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This is a genuine walk, get off the bus, down towards the sea, turn right and walk all the way down the road. On the way can you spot one of the venues for the Bournemouth Writing Festival and the burial place of Mary Shelley? I did have fun photographing everything I saw.

Here is my bus on the worst road surface ever, a real bone shaker stretch.

You may need a drink after that walk.

Read about the writing festival in my next blog.

Did you enjoy your walk?

Friday Festival Fun

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Where were we in the last blog and where are we going now?

Bobby’s was one of the venues for the fourth Bournemouth Writing Festival. Friday, Saturday and Sunday of the last weekend in April. There was so much going on and a real buzz about town.

Off to one of the other venues…

Inside, a theatre and two studios with events and talks.

There were events at half a dozen venues all near each other and you could also do Writing on the Beach and go to a poetry marquee on Horseshoe Common. Look out for my next blog for my impressions of the festival.

Have you been to writing festivals?

Silly Saturday – No News?

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If you have been wondering what did happen to the missing capybara, she is still on the run. This unauthorised picture shows a capybara family who are not related and live at a different wildlife park, but you will know what you are looking for if you do spot her.

‘Samba arrived at Marwell Zoo in Winchester from Jimmy’s Farm and Wildlife Park near Ipswich on March 16, 2026, alongside her sister Tango. The following day, both capybaras escaped from a temporary enclosure. Tango was quickly recovered, but Samba has evaded capture ever since, demonstrating remarkable ability to avoid detection

Samba has been spotted multiple times along the River Itchen and nearby villages such as Owslebury,  Allbrook,  Brambridge  and Twyford. Locals have reported seeing her sunbathing, swimming, and moving along waterways. ‘

Not lost, but found was a genuine axolotl . It is only found in South America, but somehow ended up under a bridge in Wales and was found by a ten year old girl who loves wildlife. Picture may not be accurate representation of the rescued axolotl.

When you suspect that the environmentally friendly GREEN car you were sold may have been a scam.

Be careful when buying your dream home.

When your friend recommends a good plasterer.

When you buy microwaveable bowls on the internet

Have you found any amazing wildlife lately?

Have you made any unwise purchases lately?

Saturday Stroll – Sea Scenes

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If you have been here before you should guess where we are. A clue is my favourite house and I can always pretend I live here on a sunny day.

Who would not like a home with sea views?

Time to go inside

Step inside the poster…

Wander upstairs

Protective blinds mute the views, but add an artistic aspect perhaps?

Wandering around someone else’s house you never know who you are going to meet.

If you are still here tomorrow we can pop into the gallery and see the new exhibition. Here are a couple of clues.

Home – Russell-Cotes Art Gallery & Museum | Russell-Cotes

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Bad Dreams?

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A lot has been happening in the world since I took my blogging break… find out more in tonight’s story...

The boss stared at the television screen in horror as a familiar face loomed into view and an all too familiar voice began to spout words.

‘We have the biggest rockets and we are going to blast the moon out of its orbit, blast it to pieces if necessary to stop those Chinese claiming ownership or IRan blockading our moonlight.

Our four brave astronauts, thanks to me, are taking off today, further into space than ever before, further into space than planned. I have authorised them to keep going till they get to Mars and claim it for our great country and rename it in my honour…’

‘Darling, wakey wakey, Darling WAKE UP aren’t you supposed to be going to the base, isn’t Artemis taking off today?’

‘Oh my God, what time is it? I just had the most dreadful dream… I must get to the base before he puts a jinx on the whole operation.’

Amid calls for NASA to take over running the USA with their calm, dignified efficiency, viewers are tuning in to a new live broadcast on News 24 to fill the vacuum left since the astronauts returned safely to earth.

At 47, Acacia Avenue, Surbiton the Smith family are preparing for the challenge of another boring day in suburbia.

‘Clive, what is the weather report and how will this affect the Smiths?’

‘Temperature warm for April, but showers expected later. However, there is a strong breeze which would make it worthwhile to hang the washing out on the line.’

‘We are going over to Sally who is observing the back garden, where Alfie the Caverpoo is investigating behind the garden shed.’

‘Yes this could be significant as there have been reports of foxes. But more importantly the back door is opening… yes, Mrs Smith is coming out with a basket full of washing, setting it down on the patio, looking up at the sky doubtfully. She is returning indoors, this is not looking good… Oh it’s okay, she has come out with a peg bucket. We do know wooden pegs are being used, having been found the most effective and environmentally friendly method of hanging up the washing. Now she is looking up at the sky again, a large black cloud has appeared, this is the sort of dilemma faced with English weather.’

‘Yes Sally, the Met Office has confirmed rain is sweeping in from the west and we hand over to our kitchen correspondent Claire who can confirm Mrs Smith has brought the washing back into the kitchen.’

‘Mrs Smith is putting the washing into the tumble drier, clearly distressed at the change of mission plan. It may be a surprise to some viewers, that like many English homes, the washing machine and tumble drier are in the kitchen, the Smith’s home has no utility room. At this point we should ask Mike, our reporter on environmental issues, what impact it will have, the use of electricity to dry the washing instead of wind and solar power.’

‘Yes this is bad news…’

‘If you are just joining us, after a long stressful day we await to see if all the Smith family get home safely for their dinner. Mr Smith is cooking this evening. John, how common is it for husbands to do the cooking?’

‘More common than you might think. We understand that Mr Smith works an early shift so Mrs Smith has a busy morning getting the children ready for school, tidying up after breakfast, taking them to school on her way to her job for 9.30 am. Mr Smith is responsible for collecting them from school and Mrs Smith is expected home any moment, hopefully before the children get too hungry. Sam is outside in Acacia Avenue awaiting her return.’

‘Yes John I can see her red car coming round the corner and this is the hard part where she must make a sharp turn onto the narrow driveway and line up to plug in her electric car to charge overnight.’

‘After a few tense moments the family are sitting at the table and Mr Smith is removing and switching off all electronic devices.’

Any viewers rejoining us I can report that the dishwasher was successfully loaded after dinner and our couple are now making preparations for bed. If we can get the camera in closer to the dishwasher, yes a red light is showing the cycle has finished. At this stage it is important to… good, Mrs Smith has opened the door and left it ajar, this ensures optimum drying conditions in the dishwasher. Meanwhile her husband has ventured out to the back garden to fetch Alfie the dog in and has now locked the back door. I can confirm the back door has been safely locked.

Rejoin us at six am tomorrow to see if the family have made it safely through the night.

Friday Flash Fiction – Letter Box

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I must have ticked the wrong box, how else did I volunteer to deliver leaflets for a candidate in the local elections? New in the area, I recalled filling in an on line survey for opinions on what the council should do for us. I had plenty of ideas. I did not tick the box for the weekly gardening in the park, that was my craft morning. I did not tick the box for the Sunday morning litter pick, I was Facetiming Australia.

I did put my email address to avoid revealing where I actually lived, so that was how I came to receive a message from Nathan Nabor, standing for election once again.

Thanks so much for volunteering to deliver our leaflets, your support is greatly valued. I shall bring them round tomorrow evening, let me know if that’s convenient.

I replied Yes, after all he did not know where I lived, that was probably a generic message to all his supporters.

The next day I arrived home from my part time job and there he was on the doorstep with a hefty bag adorned with a ChatGPT improved image of himself.

‘Mrs Gullible, delighted to meet you. New in the area I gather, divorced or widowed?’

I was a little taken aback, was this an appropriate way for a pillar of the community to speak?

‘DFL’ I replied.

‘Divorced from London?’

‘Down From London, making a new start, getting involved.’

‘Excellent, excellent.’

What on earth possessed me to say involved when I had dreamed of a quiet life as an artist? I wasn’t actually an artist yet, but it was worth a try.

‘Is it okay if I come in so I can show you the ropes?’

He was already in the hall with one foot in my little kitchen diner. The small table barely had room for the mound of leaflets and envelopes spilling out of the bag.

‘Letters addressed to engaged voters we have spoken to, leaflets for every home and a map. You’ll need that being new, even our veteran leafleteers need a map.

So it was that I found myself in a strong south westerly blowing straight off the sea, wending my way round steep lanes, among the cottages that had looked so full of character when I was house hunting.  Every front door was accessible only by twisted flights of steps, worn down by generations of feet. Descent was more hazardous than the ascent. No two doors had their letter box in the same position. Occasionally a letter would drop in easily, but most involved a battle with the bristles. One was so tight I thought my hand was stuck. When I managed to pull it out, my engagement ring was missing.  Good riddance, I had tried to sell it, but it was not worth anything. Would the occupant notice a piece of jewellery on their doormat?

The front doors that put up the greatest battles were also the ones with ferocious dogs on the other side. I tried to get out through the front gate before an irate owner opened his front door. I stumbled a few times, how embarrassing if I fell down and broke something. The poor householder who didn’t want a leaflet and was probably cooking dinner, would be confronted with a 999 situation in their front garden.

I knew many householders in this town did not welcome strangers judging by the notices on the door or fixed nearby.

NO CALLERS

NO UNSOLICITED TRADERS

NO CANVASERS

NO JUNK MAIL

NO JW.ORG

WE DO NOT SPEAK TO PERSONS TOUTING FOR BUSINESS, PLEASE LEAVE AND DO NOT RETURN.

I hoped election leaflets were not junk mail, but were they canvassing? I omitted some homes, erring on the side of caution. It was now raining, but I only had one more lane to do, 12 letters, 36 leaflets and a lovely view of the sea, or would have been without the rainy mist rolling in.

My mistake was getting over confident in my new mountain goat agility, the rain was making stone steps slippery. The leaflet ripped as I tried to slip it in a wooden door that had not seen paint or varnish for decades. I stuffed the torn paper in my pocket and started again with a new leaflet. Ferocious barking was followed by bellowing.

‘WHO THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT AT THE DOOR … SHUT UP RUFUS’.

I beat a hasty retreat, but one foot got left behind and the other foot left me behind. I ended up in a crumpled heap against the rickety front gate. My brain said I could get up, but my body disagreed. Please body, don’t tell me I have a broken ankle.

My body replied ‘What do you think that loud crack was and that horrendous pain?’

My brain said ‘Get your mobile phone out and dial 999 before that man comes out.’

But my phone was tucked safely in my back pack and I was lying on my back pack. At that moment the front door opened.

Have you ever been a leafleteer?

Non digital visitors are coming Chez Tidalscribe for the Easter holidays, who knows what will happen to my blog or Mrs Gullible…