Time to go off on more travels; to A Nother country, find out where next week. In the meantime another chance to peek inside my new novel or read more about it at my website.
( Friday Flash Fiction as usual. )
Holidays
How to take a blogging holiday.
If you are reading this today I am away and having a blogging holiday. If you are not reading this I haven’t scheduled a blog for today.
Writers getting ready to go on holiday are extra busy as they try to finish their novel or have to go on the radio to be interviewed about how they manage to write a book a year, as well as being a business consultant and having six home schooled children…
Most of us only aspire to getting a blog or 20 scheduled as we cram notebooks and laptops into our suitcase. Don’t worry if you run out of time, other bloggers take blogging breaks and while you are away you are bound to get fresh inspiration.
We are going north to a town with literary fame, but you will have to wait till next week to find out where. It is also our first attempt at airb&b.
Visication
A visication is when you go to visit friends or relations and have a free holiday, often somewhere you have not visited before and perhaps with unique accommodation. They might be showing you around with wining and dining, or you may be baby, dog and house sitting. It is always interesting if they have just moved home; a new location for writing ideas.
Team AK are living at a house on an organic farm. The cottage came with sitting tenants when the family bought the farm in the 1940s and apparently didn’t leave ( die?) until the end of the century; by which time there was still no gas, electricity or running water. Perhaps life with their wood stove and well water suited them. In 2000 the house was renovated and modernised, but still has loads of charm and real wooden doors. You can walk round the house; literally round and round. Every time we went through a door we were not sure which room we would find ourselves in. The stairs were shallow, deep and steep, luckily with banisters either side.
They don’t have to go far to post a letter as there is a royal mail letter box built into the wall of the house. A few yards from their front door is a farm shop like no other perhaps. No humans, just a coin operated organic whole milk dispensing machine and a help yourself cabinet with butter and free range eggs.
There are quaint traditions associated with Visications. We are always invited on a bank holiday weekend and always get stuck in traffic. I pass the time by putting pictures of the scenery on Instagram and updating those at our destination with pictures of Eddie Stobart lorries or slow moving farm tractors. I always forget something; this time my prescription sun glasses on the brightest sunniest August bank holiday weekend ever.
Our first morning was enlivened when, after several months of waiting, the landlord sent the chap to replace the back door before any of us were up. Half of us stayed at home in limbo thinking he would be finished at any moment and we could go out, he wasn’t, but at least we had a secure door ready for…
Sunday’s departure of Team AK to go camping in Wales, leaving the house and all the equipment to do with their business in our safe hands? They weren’t going glamping, but they did have a blow up tent and a cool box… and a fridge…
We enjoyed two outings to the nearby River Severn. On Sunday afternoon we went to Bridgnorth with the aim of finding the Severn Valley Steam Railway. As we found ourselves in the lower town we crossed the bridge over the river and had a ride in the country’s steepest cliff lift. We discovered a lovely church on the hill designed by Thomas Telford. Another unexpected ‘attraction’ was the music festival; several locations, all playing what appeared to be the same music VERY LOUDLY. Pity the poor people who lived nearby. Looking it up on line it seems we missed the poetry and arts, perhaps they were on Wed-Friday and Monday.
http://www.visitbridgnorth.co.uk/
Bank Holiday Monday found us visiting Ironbridge two years after our last visit; since then the bridge has had a major rescue and restoration and is now painted in the original red brown. If you get the chance this is a great place to visit, you can walk along the river and visit all sorts of industrial museums. The river banks crowded with trees are a far cry from the fiery furnaces of the industrial revolution.
Talking to a photographer we discovered we had missed the coracle racing. Having a cup of tea at the Youth Hostel by the Coalbrook China museum we chatted to a New Zealand chap hostelling round Europe and visiting his son in Denmark for the son’s fiftieth birthday. You’re never too old to do youth hostelling. We talked to the lady booking people in, hostels provide all sorts of different accommodation and the supper club sounded fun, everyone sits down together at 7pm so you have company. Maybe we’ll try that when the relatives are tired of us visiting them.
https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/iron-bridge/history/
What are your favourite visications?
The Real Neat Blog Award
Thanks to Dragon Warrior for nominating me for this award.
https://verbalcreation.home.blog/2019/08/10/the-real-neat-blog-award/
The Rules
- Put the award logo on your blog.
- Answer the 7 questions asked by the person who nominated you.
- Thank the person who nominated you and add a link to their blog.
- Nominate any number of people, linking to their blogs and let them know you nominated them by commenting on their blogs.
- Come up with 7 questions for the people you nominated.
Here are the seven questions Dragon Warrior asked me.
- Are you messy or organized? – Both, I put things carefully away then forget where I put them.
- What do you want to share through your blog? – My writing, my many interests, caring for the environment and FUN.
- Do you like origami? – No, I can only make a paper aeroplane.
- What was your favourite childhood game? – Running around playing horses.
- What was your favourite food that your parents cooked? – Sunday roast and macaroni cheese.
- What is your current favourite food? – Roast vegetables and brown rice, Sunday roast and macaroni cheese. Macaroni Cheese is a bit of a family tradition, all our children and grandchildren love it. It is the real thing made from scratch; milk and strong cheddar for a homemade white sauce.
- Something you collect? – Picture post cards since I was eight years old.
My Nominees – any great bloggers dropping in here.
Not every blogger likes answering questions or doing awards, but if you want to have a go, follow the rules above, or just pick any questions and entertain us with your answers in the comments.
1 What is your favourite electronic gadget?
2 To live – town or country?
3 For holidays – coast or countryside?
4 Paperback or Kindle?
5 If you were given the chance to run your country, what would be your first decision?
6 You can own one form of transport only; anything from skateboard, or a horse to a private plane. Just one choice and you must use only that for the rest of your life. Think carefully…
7 Are you a homebody or a restless traveller?
Staycation
To some a Staycation means not going abroad for their holiday, for others it means staying at home in the garden. With our bathroom being ripped out and hopefully replaced, we took the bus into town with our wheelie cases.
Friday evening we arrived in torrential rain, Saturday and Sunday saw heat waves and on our last night we watched the lightning from our balcony.
For writers and photographers, finding interesting places to stay is vital. We had five nights at an Art Deco hotel which I’m sure has seen better days, but makes a good Premiere Inn. We had a front balcony, only on the second floor, but still fun to look out at everything going on. Westover Road has also seen better days; now an interesting mix with art galleries, posh jewellers and pub at the other end, the lovely Pavilion across the road from abandoned Odeon cinemas and a YMCA hostel next to the hotel. Opposite us, coaches delivered endless day trippers.
After breakfast on the first morning we went up to the ninth floor and found a writer and photographer’s delight, the rear view; a riot of fire escapes with a little old house surrounded by layers of building developments. A walk up the road took us to the official opening of a newly pedestrianised area, Darth Vader and friends turned up collecting money for charity.
Down at the pier and the main beach, which you always see in newspaper pictures of seaside hot spots, was busy, busy, busy; beach parties with tables laden with food and very loud sound systems. A walk to the end of the pier brought a bit of peace and a good view of the zip wire which takes you back to the beach.
What did I learn from pretending to be a visitor? The homeless group that always seems to be there when I go to Bournemouth and get off the bus, IS always there; a double bed arrangement which stretches halfway across the pavement with several occupants near to our busy hotel. Of course they are not the only homeless; in a town full of happy holiday makers and lively young language students they are the spectre at the feast and Darth Vader isn’t the only one ignoring them. In the gardens there are buskers and a young man doing fire juggling with a sign ‘Homeless but Trying’. At the shops there are Big Issue sellers. I bought a Big Issue.
The Royal Bath Hotel nearby is a great place to stroll into. Sit and cool off inside the huge fascinating lounge or enjoy the sun in the gardens. You could stay all day, people watching, plug in your lap top etc. without anyone noticing. This hotel has also seen better days, as we discovered when we went there for dinner one evening to try the ‘special three course meal’ – no wonder it was so reasonable; we needn’t have worried about being smartly dressed, there were some very strange guests.
On our last day we went abroad on a cruise; bus to Poole Quay for a boat trip to the start of the Jurassic coast at Old Harry Rock and then to Swanage on The Isle of Purbeck, an hour’s trip. We disembarked at the restored Victorian Pier for five hours ashore. A short walk takes you through the pleasant seaside town to the station where you can see steam trains, take a ride to Corfe Castle or have a snack in the railway carriage cafe. A walk out to Peveril Point and we could stand on the cliffs and look back to Bournemouth.
For more Staycation pictures visit my website.
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-two-coastal-views
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-five-beach-writer-s-blog/
Have you been on a Staycation?
Silly Saturday – Unblogged
When you are going away and you haven’t scheduled your blogs and can’t think what to write about…
Choose a picture and I’ll write about it next week…
Friday Flash Fiction – Waterloo
I got off the train wearily, borne along the platform with the other commuters. It was only Wednesday but I was fed up already, who wouldn’t be, having to go to work on a sunny July day.
How had this happened to me, fourth generation of my family on the train to Waterloo every morning to a job I loathed. Was that what it had been like for Dad, Granddad, uncles and aunties, or did they just accept it as their position in life? Twenty three and still living at home so I could save up, save up for what?
I was working for a company everybody except me thought was exciting; Bright Designs was going places, but I wasn’t.
I stopped on the busy concourse and stood still for the first time ever; I usually dashed straight for the escalator to the underground. Around me everyone was rushing, I thought of Tim my old school friend, in Thailand teaching English, travelling cheaply and posting beautiful pictures on Facebook. Voices intruded into my Land of Smiles fantasy and my eyes focussed on a couple at the barrier to platform 13.
You just don’t get it, do you Josh? A train to the seaside is not my idea of a surprise holiday, even if we were staying together.
I stared at Josh, smart looking bloke, but sounded like he was as successful as me with women.
I don’t understand Lizzie, I thought you wanted to get away for a few days and talk.
It’s too late for that.
Lizzie disappeared into throngs of commuters oblivious to her little drama, out of sight before Josh had even turned his head. He tore off his back pack and threw it on the ground and then, as if he could feel my curious stare, he looked up at me.
‘Hey mate, care to swap lives. Looks like you could do with a trip to the seaside, train leaves in ten minutes.’
He proffered his train ticket.
‘You wouldn’t want my dreary life Josh.’
‘So neither of us have anything to lose, go on, hand me your man bag and take my rucksack.’
What on earth possessed me? I slung the back pack on my shoulder and put the ticket in the slot at the barrier. Josh had already gone, taking my wallet, paperback and ID pass for Bright Designs with him. I patted my pocket, my phone was the only thing I still had of me.
Settling into a window seat I almost laughed out loud, runaway train. Nobody except Josh knew where I was going; I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t care.
As the train moved off I looked at the ticket, Bournemouth. Then I casually dipped into the rucksack as if I knew what was in it; a wallet with notes as well as several debit cards and a thick envelope, signed for delivery. I had no compunction about opening it, Josh wanted me to have his life. Afterwards I realised what an idiot I had been, it could have contained drugs or might even have exploded.
But all it contained were two sets of keys, detailed computer print out maps, a set of directions and two pictures, a row of beach huts and a smart white apartment block. What was Lizzie missing? My initial thoughts had been – arrive at seaside, get ice cream, go for a paddle. But now I was going to have a holiday.
Just when we would have been having coffee at work I was standing on the cliff top. The sea and sky were unbelievably blue, the air balmy, this was a dream. I followed the instructions for the beach hut and descended a steep path with cliff on either side framing a view of sparkling sea with land on the horizon.
Ten minutes later I was in the little wooden hut divesting the rest of my work life and putting on swimming shorts out of the collection of beach gear handily provided. With the warm sand between my toes I was a child again. I plunged into the sea, not as cold as I was expecting. My freedom was complete as I struck out through the gentle waves then turned to look back at the cliffs, I was out of my depth and out of my life. I whooped like a teenager, how I wished everyone at work could see me; perhaps not. This was a holiday that would not be posted on Facebook.
For more tales of land and sea dip into…
Friday Flash Fiction – Holiday Cottage Part Two
What did happen next in last week’s Friday Flash Fiction?
You can read Part One here
https://tidalscribe.wordpress.com/2019/06/14/friday-flash-fiction-975-holiday-cottage/
Thanks to Kevin, Julie, Libre and Penny for their suggestions.
At the end of last week’s story Tony was cooking a breakfast that would never be eaten…
Tony didn’t need to call up the stairs that it was ready, there was a smell of burning bacon. I rushed down.
‘Hey we don’t want to set off the smoke alarm.’
I threw open the door, then staggered back. Whatever sound issued from my throat brought Tony rushing to my side. A dark pool of blood on the doorstep and a trail of gore leading to the cottage, he slammed the door shut, bolted it, then grabbed his phone.
‘Police…’
‘No wait,’ I said ‘we could be prime suspects, we should just leave, right this minute.’
Tony was still peering at his phone. ‘There must be someone else they could blame… phone’s dead, I forgot to charge it up. Hey, why don’t I just go and look in the cottage…’
‘Not by yourself… let’s jump in the car and go to the nearest town, find the police station.’
‘Very tempting, but I’m sure there’s a rational explanation, an accident, maybe Celeste needs urgent help, there must be a landline in the cottage and we should call an ambulance.’
I pulled myself together; there were no further signs of danger. We tiptoed around the front garden of Celeste’s cottage, avoiding the trail of darkening blood that led to the open front door. We could soon see the back door was also open. As the morning sun began to filter into the cottage it revealed a smeared trail of blood along the flagstones straight to the back door, but also something else; rows and rows of shoes in neat pairs, too many for one family, too neat for any family.
‘Must be other guests’ I found myself whispering as Tony opened a door.
‘Bloody Hell…’
I looked round his shoulder, a room full of suitcases and backpacks, there couldn’t be that many guests.
‘Helloo…’ Tony called out ‘anyone there?’
No answer, or did I hear a muffled murmur.
‘Come on, let’s search the whole cottage first’ said Tony.
I nodded, relieved to avoid following the trail of blood.
‘This door’s open… OW’ I recoiled with shock as my nose encountered painful resistance. The door was open but the doorway was sealed with a solid pane of glass. Peering through we could just make out several guests seated at a breakfast table. Tony rapped on the glass but they did not stir.
‘Oh, it’s a museum, what a clever idea’ laughter rose in my throat at the absurdity of everything that was happening.
‘Odd, we’d better go upstairs and look for real people, Ce..le..ste?’
The narrow staircase led to low ceilings and an odd shaped corridor, the cottage went back further than we imagined. Nervously I pushed open the first door and stepped back. ‘Oops, sorry.’ I saw a lady in a Victorian bath, but my hand touched glass, it was another model, a wonderfully realistic set.
I let Tony open the next door, his hand raised to check for glass. Through the door shaped window we saw an old lady eating breakfast in bed. I almost expected her to look up at us, but like the other models she was motionless. As I stared, fascinated, I heard a muffled cry.
Tony must also have heard it, before I could utter a word he set off round the bend in the corridor.
‘Don’t come any further Merryn, broken glass.’
I looked round the corner to see a whole wall had been replaced by glass, but in the middle of the large pane was a person shaped hole, like something out of a cartoon. As our eyes adjusted to this gloomier part of the house we made out a room with a bed and table and in the corner a crouched figure.
‘Are you the police,’ the figure called out in a croaky woman’s voice ‘John told me to wait here while he went for help.’
‘No love, who are you, where’s Celeste?’
‘I don’t know, I think something terrible has happened’ the woman confirmed my worst fears.
‘Now don’t worry, I’m sure everything is fine’ said Tony, sounding like one of his favourite cop dramas, when nothing is ever fine. ‘We need to fetch help to get you out, the broken glass is too dangerous.’
‘I need to find John.’
‘Don’t worry, the police will find John.’
‘The police won’t get here in time, the best thing you can do is get out before you end up like the others.’
‘What others, we haven’t found anyone else, what is this place, a museum?’
‘You could say that’ her voice was tinged with an insane laugh now. ‘Go and look for yourselves, they were all holidaymakers, bed and breakfast guests once.’
‘Come on Merryn, she’s obviously mad, we have to go…’
But I was already further down the corridor, opening each door to more guest house scenes, people getting dressed, looking out the window, all so real, yet…
‘Tony, what does she mean?’
The police put us up at a hotel, with no promise that we would ever be reunited with our belongings at the holiday cottage, the only certainty that we could not go home yet, we faced hours of questioning with none of our questions being answered.
We woke up to an even stranger day; our car was virtually impounded, stuck at the sealed off property, we were not allowed to go home yet, even if we could. But we were not under arrest and glad to get out in the fresh air, a stroll past the local shops revealed that somehow the Sunday tabloids had already got hold of the story.
Holiday Horror Cottage – Guests Plasticized.
If you enjoy dark stories try Dark and Milk, only 99 pence to download.
Jurassic Holiday
How to take your family to Jurassic Park without the children being eaten by dinosaurs? Enjoy a holiday on the Jurassic Coast.
‘The Jurassic Coast is a World Heritage Site on the English Channel coast of southern England. It stretches from Exmouth in East Devon to Studland Bay in Dorset, a distance of about 96 miles, and was inscribed on the World Heritage List in mid-December 2001.’
Obviously you won’t see it all on a week’s holiday or a day out, but whether you enjoy beautiful scenery, geology, fossil hunting or relaxing at the seaside, any part of this coast is worth visiting.
Adults don’t like talking to young children about death if they can avoid it, or scaring them with tales of monsters, but most young children love dinosaurs; they know they are long dead and yet they are full of life to the child. They love their plastic dinosaurs as much as their cuddly teddy and adore the fact that they were huge and scary.
For our half term holiday with Team H we stayed in two cottages in a village where the borders of Dorset, Devon and Somerset meet. On any English holiday it will rain, but it will also stop raining at some point so it is always worth setting out. Fossil hunting was the main aim and the beach to head for was Charmouth.
Charmouth, Dorset is one place where everyone is looking down, but not at their phones, they are all looking for fossils. There is a pleasant village with the river Char running gently out to sea; you can step over it at low tide or walk across the little bridge. The row of beach huts is deceptive, walk a little further and this is not a normal seaside beach. Gaze up at black layered cliffs. Don’t go too close, there are regular mud slides and crumbling of the cliff edge. This is why fossil hunting is so popular, new fossils end up on the beach and people are welcome to collect them as they would otherwise be washed out to sea. You can also book a guided walk. At the free Charmouth Heritage Centre you can learn about prehistoric times and volunteers will identify your fossils. The grassy hill is in contrast to the beach and a pleasant walk, but don’t go near the edge. The beach has a lovely heritage centre and a cafe, but the rest is unspoilt coast. When we set off to walk along the beach the first thing we saw was a father and son climbing up the cliff chipping away with their hammers; there is always someone who has not read the boards about dangerous cliff falls!
The second full day of our holiday brought the torrential rain the weatherman had forecast. We went into Seaton, a seaside town with an electric tramway that runs along the estuary of the River Axe to Colyford and the village of Colyton. Fortunately lots had changed since the last time we were there and next to the tram station was the new Seaton Jurassic, an excellent centre to escape the rain. Visitors are escorted in and the children given passports for the time machine. It’s all very interactive and older children can stamp their passports and answer clues. It is also quite dark and mysterious with lots of turns and tunnels, so make sure you don’t lose little ones. The final part takes you outside to gardens. Most importantly there is a good restaurant. We had lunch and by that time it had stopped raining and we went on the tramway. The little ones loved being on the open topped tram, the day remained grey, but it was still a pleasant gentle ride with a lovely little station and playground in Colyton.
https://www.visitsouthdevon.co.uk/things-to-do/seaton-tramway-p141323
The next day was fine and Team H decided to get up very early and catch low tide at Charmouth for more fossil hunting, followed by cooked breakfast at the cafe. We followed them, but not quite so early.
Yes you can find fossils, not necessarily big ones, but if you are sharp eyed you should find some ammonites and children can take anything they find into the heritage centre to show the volunteers, who will tell them how old it is and you can also put your fossils under a microscope.
Friday Flash Fiction – 975 – Holiday Cottage
The car wheels crunched on the gravel, but the noise did not seem to draw attention to our arrival. I turned the engine off and picked up my phone to check the email again.
If I’m out, key under flower pot by the seashell.
‘Which one’s ours?’ said Tony.
‘Hopefully not that dilapidated cottage.’ Already I was regretting my spontaneous idea that we should get away from it all for the long weekend. ‘It’s called Owl Barn, I suppose that’s it; smarter than the cottage, but looks like it was a barn once.’
‘Neither building looks like the pictures on the website’ frowned Tony.
I decided not to mention that after I had already booked, I noticed the newest post on the website was October 2011.
‘Come on, let’s see what it looks like inside.’
Along the wall of the barn were numerous plant pots and exotic seashells, the ones nearest the door revealed nothing.
‘We may as well check if anyone’s home at the cottage’ said Tony.
The cottage faced the barn, the small dusty windows gave no clue if anyone was home or looking out of them. We ducked under a creeper covered archway, I let Tony lead the way down the narrow path.
‘Good afternoon, I was just feeding the goats.’
I was startled by the voice and almost bumped into the tall woman standing right behind me. She held out her hand. ‘Mr and Mrs. Conway? I’m Celeste, welcome to the village and welcome to Owl Barn.’
The name didn’t really go with her appearance, I tried to suppress a smile, relieved that at least we were in the right place. ‘Thanks, Merryn and Tony.’
‘…and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to knock.’
‘Thank you, it’s lovely.’
‘What was the name of the pub?’ said Tony.
‘The Haunted Barn, but don’t worry, it doesn’t refer to our barn. They do good meals if you don’t want anything fancy.’
It was a good meal; a country walk round the village, only getting a bit lost, had given us a good appetite and we strolled back ‘home’ looking forward to the weekend. We wondered what the inside of Celeste’s cottage was like, she said they had converted the barn first to fund the renovation of their home, it made sense. We almost missed the narrow turning now it was dark and expected a security light of some sort to come on as we stumbled across the gravel to our door. Something brushed my leg, I grabbed Tony’s arm and caught a flash of white.
‘Sorry… here Angus you naughty boy.’ The pale face of Celeste loomed out of the dark. ‘You enjoyed your meal then? Goodnight.’
Safely indoors I wondered how she knew, but Tony said of course she knew we were going to the pub for a meal.
The country air had sent Tony straight off to sleep, but above his snoring I thought I heard a noise, a crunch on gravel, heavy feet. I looked out of the window; the moon had appeared, but I could see no one. Across at the cottage several upstairs windows glimmered with a faint yellow light. I wondered how many people lived there, family or friends; Celeste had given no indication.
‘Is everything alright?’ A harsh whisper from below the window, was it Celeste or someone else?
Like a naughty child caught out of bed, I backed away and slipped gratefully into bed beside Tony, the alarm clock said 1.30a.m.
‘What’s the matter Merryn?’
‘Sorry, did I wake you, I heard noises, I think Celeste is prowling round.’
He yawned ‘Maybe she lost the cat or…’
Tony was asleep again before he finished the sentence. But for me sleep wouldn’t come. I crept out to the bathroom, then downstairs to fetch a drink of water. Out of the kitchen window I thought I saw movement at one of the lighted windows, then at the end of the cottage a window was flung open and a head popped out; it didn’t look like Celeste. He or she was staring at me. Didn’t anyone go to sleep in that house? I rushed back up the narrow stairs, stubbing my toe.
Hiding under the covers I tried to be rational. It was their home, they could stay up as late as they liked, stroll around in the dark…
I felt myself drifting off, only to be woken by a piercing scream.
‘TONY… did you hear that?’
‘What… what time is it now?’
‘Two thirty, did you hear that scream.’
‘No I was asleep, it was just a fox.’
‘Tony, how could you just go back to sleep, it wasn’t a fox… TONY… there it is again..’
‘Owl’ he mumbled.
I thought morning would never come, but somehow the sun was shining in through the window and there was my long suffering husband standing by the bed with a cup of tea, smiling.
‘So much for our peaceful weekend, do you remember having a nightmare?’
‘It wasn’t, I heard the most awful cries… do you think we should check if everything’s alright at the cottage?’
‘What, just knocking to see if you’ve been murdered? I didn’t hear a sound love. We’ll have that cooked breakfast I promised you then go and walk up that hill we saw yesterday.’
Tony didn’t need to call up the stairs that it was ready, there was a smell of burning bacon. I rushed down.
‘Hey we don’t want to set off the smoke alarm.’
I threw open the door, then staggered back. Whatever sound issued from my throat brought Tony rushing to my side. A dark pool of blood on the doorstep and a trail of gore leading to the cottage, he slammed the door shut, bolted it, then grabbed his phone…
What would you do, who would you call?
Write the next line in the comments and see what happens next week…
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 