Feisty Bus Ride!

Today I responded quite out of character, to a fellow passenger....

I arrived at a vacant position, just at the "step-up" approaching the back of the bus (a location I quite like as it provides a good view of the journey ahead as well as other passengers) only I was prevented from taking the seat as the woman sitting near to the window had her bag spread across the spare seat.

"I'd like to take this seat?" I simply stated.

Adopting a curt tone, she retorted, "There are other seats aren't there?" which made me more determined to sit in the seat of my choice, so in answer to her reaction I held my stance. "I like this position, and I believe each of us has purchased one ticket to occupy one seat." She swiped her bag onto her lap and indignantly mumbled to herself, making me feel most unwelcome, as I sat beside her.

I then found myself mirroring what she had continued to do with her bag. Angrily wallop it down on her lap and wriggle it to one side and then to the other, before settling. What was I doing? I allowed principle, to get the better of me.

I put my head in my novel, which I continued to read until it was time to exit the bus.

The woman to my side, did not say a word once I'd sat next to her and busied herself by completing crosswords.

My journey to work was not straight forward, so this tail-end experience was like the icing on the cake!

The regular bus arrived at the usual time. Like any other day, the people that got on, I recognised. The day started well...

The driver, approximately two thirds of the way along the route, decided to stop the bus to examine one of the dual-doors that seemed to be sticking, remaining in a closed position. He tried to adjust it and got a cloth to wipe his hands. He could not fix the door, only made it worse, but proceeded to the next stop where he announced that this was the end of the journey!

Thanks to First Bus I either have to make up the time or loose that many minutes pay for being late!

If only the woman on the bus, that I'd waited 30, long minutes for, that took me the final stretch of my journey to work had been content with one seat, I would have just experienced a disruptive journey and not a selfish passenger too!

Life, Love, Friendships...

My captivating read this week, made me feel and breath community life in Ireland, so much so I have added the two locations mentioned in the book to my "bucket list", the coastal villages of Glenmara and Kinnabegs, West of Ireland.

The thimble is a gold one that she had from her Mother, a keepsake treasured after her Mum died.

There are some brilliant descriptions created by this author that I'd like to share:

"Interludes of conversation and companionable silence."

"Talk moving too rapidly for her to comment; words darting and swooping like an agitated flock of swallows."

"Her tears smeared the landscape into an impressionist painting, colours and shapes blurring, sobs audible blocking out all sound except that of her own voice."

There are issues: of jealousy amongst the lacemakers, wife beating, how change can disrupt a community built around tradition and ancestry, how villagers rally around each other - all engaging.

The Lacemakers prove enterprising and the twists of fate kept me forging through the pages....

When I reached the end though, the very last sentence was disappointingly, "It all remains to be seen."

I so wanted to know whether Kate's relationship with Sullivan leads to marriage?

At the start, I also wanted to know something of her experience in fashion, prior to her decision to travel across Ireland.

I am glad to have read this moving and very charming novel.

Tourette Syndrome

I became aware of other passengers on the bus when I heard his loud declaration... "Its alright,I've got Tourette Syndrome." "It's alright,I'm on medication..." Just as I lifted my head out of my book he asked of the passengers, "Has anyone heard of Tourette Syndrome?"

In the absence of any kind of reply, I returned to my reading. Only his continuous banter kept taking my attention.

What does that say about my novel,I wonder?

He'd sat at the front of the bus which surprised me a bit. He leaned forward in the seat with his legs stretched out which revealed his worn and dirty white trainers. He periodically scanned the passengers behind so I could readily see from out of his knitted hat, his ginger beard and 'tash which almost covered his face. I tried once again to read on, making a conscious effort to shut out the character that had become a point of curiosity.

"Have a nice day" he'd call out in a friendly manner, as each passenger attempted to get off the bus.

He seemed unsettled, giving the odd kick to the side of the bus whilst randomly blurting out "Tits", "Wank" followed by repeated apologies, "Sorry about that, sorry about that".

From the corner of my eye, I could see the occasional rude gesture. By this time my reading made no sense at all and even though I tried to get to grips with the storyline I found myself returning to passages I'd already read, as none of it seemed to sink in.

Not a good journey for reading, but the book came in handy to prevent any likely dialogue in his efforts to engage with the passengers that were just aimlessly surviving their daily and laborious journey to work.

"Do you originate from Japan?", I heard him question a passenger who'd just boarded the bus and taken a seat behind him. "Not being funny", he said in the next breath, to justify the nature of his enquiry. "Malaysia" came a soft reply. "Did you live there?" came another question. "I've only been to Spain", he continued. "I'd love to go to Japan,to see their video games." In the silence that followed, he addressed the full bus of passengers, "I'm in a bit of a chatty mood".

"Not too far now." "Nice chatting to you." he said as the guy from Malaysia made his exit. "I should have guessed he was from Malaysia." "I like x-box games." "Japan is the best place for that." "I'm well into it." "They're crazy about RPG games." "I'm in a bit of a chatty mood", he concluded.

He mumbled as he turned to face the front of the bus again, shoulder shrugging alongside involuntary grunting sounds and a blurt of "Tits", "Wank" with yet more gestures...

"I owed £60." "I was going to pay back 25, but it's down to 10 now!" He's going to beat me up". He's stronger than me." "I don't believe in fighting." "Never had a fight in my life." "I'm not strong." "My legs are strong, as I played football when I was young". "I'm in a bit of a chatty mood", he declared again as he gave another kick to the side of the bus.

He greeted a couple who had just taken their seats, who said, "Hello", back. "You say hello to an older person and they say hello back but someone age 18 or 19 won;t say hello back." he shared with the new passengers. "Tits". "Wank". "Its alright, I've got Tourette Syndrome." "It's alright,I'm on medication..."

He rose from his seat and bid farewell to all of us and got off the bus.

Part of me considered the chap very brave to sit at the front, where he would be a target of observation or was he happy receiving attention? Whilst I actively tried to look away and not let my curiosity get the better of me, as this was my first direct exposure of Tourette Syndrome, I questioned myself, that in today's climate of inclusion, were my actions right?

I closed my book and gave up on my daily opportunity to read.

How would you have responded?

"The present colours the past"... ????

An off-beat choice of reading for me,a novel "Tatty" by Christine Dwyer Hickey,I purchased from a book sale fundraising event that needed support.

It has taken me the whole week to reach the end of the story that transpired to be a heartbreaking tale set in Dublin, S. Ireland, about a tough childhood. It takes place between 1964 to 1974.

Tatty's unpredictable reception at home, her home life and her underlying yearning to share the reality of how she is actually treated and made to feel (which leads her to persist in being creative with the truth) left me pondering, to write such a moving and candid account, the author surely must has lived and breathed such experiences first-hand.

Even at the end, it took a major incident involving her Mother to generate a promise of change by the parents,which I believe would never be forthcoming. In a domestic situation such as presented in this novel,I could only hope that in time, Tatty would allow, "the present to colour the past"(Freud)

Next week calls for some light reading!

St Patrick's Day

An American with Irish connections once invited me to a celebration of Paddy's Day at her home and goodness.... the trimmings and food were extensive.

I thought I was a bordering OTT wearing token emerald green on the day, whether at work or not and leaving my home with a banner stretched across the lounge as well as a few green balloons decorated with shamrocks!

It is in my blood, I guess, not to let the day pass without some splash of emerald green alongside shamrock.

It is written that St Patrick introduced shamrock to Ireland in 433 AD - the National emblem of Ireland and the symbol of good luck!

One year I had fresh shamrock flown over from Ireland to wear on the day. Another year, a small florist surprised me by sourcing some bunches from the early morning flower market. It looks just like a weed but it doesn't prevent me from wearing a clump on "Paddy's Day".

I believe the younger generation should be more conscious of Saint's Days - be as aware of their origins just as they have developed an understanding of and respect for world religions.

My Mum back in the late eighties, helped me to write a greeting in Irish to put in a St Patrick's Day card which read, "Lá' le Pádraig Síocháin Neannachtai na Féile Pádraig"!

Many a time, I am thankful for having "the gift of the gab"!

Happy celebrating or raising your awareness to St Patrick's Day...

Mother's Day..

When my children were young, on Mothering Sunday they would be given daffodils at the end of Sunday School, to give to me.

They would either make a card, create and illustrate a verse/poem or draw/paint a picture to give to me under the supervision of a school teacher.

As children grow older so they loose the Primary School setting that devotes time and actively encourages children, to think about their Mums and to celebrate Mother's Day.

Today, now teenager's, independently each member of my family has chosen to join forces to buy a card and gift between them and to write their individual messages inside their greeting to endorse their love and gratitude.

For me, to know they wish to be in my company and make time to do so, is the icing on the cake! When it happens, its heart-warming and generates a peace of mind.

When their friends visit, I am interested in what they say and make a conscious effort to listen attentively. Each time I receive positive responses from their friends, it serves as a reminder to make time for my children, as in doing so, they will want to make time for me and are more likely to talk with me and share their news.


My Mum loved violets and whilst hard to find, or it felt a long time waiting for them to be in season, it was very satisfying sourcing some to give to her, whether it was Mother's Day or not.

There is nothing quite like the love of your Mum. Unfortunately, it takes some people until they have a family of their own, to start to open their eyes and hearts to the many things Mums' do and to truly value their unstinting love and support.

If you are a Mum... Happy Mother's Day.
If you are a son or daughter... make time for your Mum.

Remember, "As you sow, so shall you reap"!

I have been reading a book "The Shaking Woman" described as a unique neurological memoir by Siri Hustvedt who attempted to solve her own mysterious condition, who has long been a brilliant explorer of brain and mind.

I came across words in it today that sum up what I experienced when my late husband died suddenly... "a form of speechlessness that's located in an ongoing present" alongside "a feeling of invasion and loss of control"... Wow that's just a starter..

I also came across something else written and quite true which was very thought provoking.. and I hope you will agree, worth sharing.
"When my children were young I feasted on their faces - the pleasure of looking at them". That's what I did and still do!

"Sights, sounds, smells, sensations, emotions, other people, thoughts and language are within each of us"... This made me reflect on my experiences working within a primary school setting. How giving children the opportunity to speak, to be listened to, to develop observation as well as opinion, is so vital to building vocabulary, empowering dialogue and the written word.

"What runs in at our eyes or ears is meant to run out at our hands/feet and lips."

Before this gets any deeper, I will leave you to your own "input"!

This book is heavy going in places yet compelling. I saw Siri interviewed whilst promoting this book which drew me to explore further. I'm half way through the novel and it's Thursday so my aim this year of reading one book per week is going to be a close call!

Thrown forward in my seat as the bus drew to an abrupt halt, so my eyes met a boy on the other side of the window, wearing school uniform, standing at the edge of the pavement holding onto his scooter, waiting to safely cross the road.

He stared at me, almost mesmerized, as I continued to bite into my nearly ripe banana.

I was eating healthily. I was snatching some "on-the-go" breakfast. Why the look, though? Why did he take such apparent notice? I could only think he was unable to relate the banana to my age or eating such a thing on a bus, perhaps?

What would our days transpire to be like? I found myself wondering, he at school and myself at work? For certain, each was likely to learn something today. Each coud hope to anticipate in and was likely to participate in some playful moments and each would have a lunch break to look forward to.

As my journey to work proceeded from the next bus stop, my attention transferred to a woman assertively heading towards me wearing a black beret and a black short length blazer. What captured me the most about her, was her heavy floral-lace tights that led to a pair of turn-up denim shorts that conflicted with her heavy powdered face, bright lips and sagging jawline, each facial feature providing clues to her age. As she took a seat, her distinctive pure white, link strapped watch on her left wrist made me glance further to a wide contemporary silver band upon her marital figure. Both wrists were like a walking advertisement for Accessorize as her bracelets jangled with her every movement.

My daily lone read had become intermittent as I continued to observe this passenger who was clearly oblivious to the cold weather and could only see the stream of early springtime sunlight.

My banana was by now demolished...
I returned to my "read-of-the-week"
and 10th novel of this year, by Author
& according to newspaper,Independent on Sunday,
"Master Storyteller" Patrick Gale;
title "The Whole Day Through",
described as a bittersweet love story.

I was busy quenching a long-term curiosity to read a romantic novel by a male author.... to page 211 and only 2 more gripping chapters to go, with my destination approaching far too quickly!

Seeing people as a person... Do you?

Repeatedly, I see people treated as objects, numbers, spokes in a wheel or a means to an end.

Take the film, "Patch Adams", one scene has trainee doctors around a patient on a stretcher discussing her condition, then Patch simply enquires after her name - the patient then becomes a person and rightly so.

In the workplace... Those in higher authority walk into an area discussing negative outcomes of existing practise as well as forward plans not considering the feelings of the team of workers who go about their business, or that each worker is a person.

Only today it was announced that a "This is Me", 2-page document has been introduced for those diagnosed with Alzheimer's, inviting each person to list such things as: their food preferences, names of grandchildren, how they like to sleep, reveal a nickname they like to respond to, favourite music etc., prior to their anticipated memory loss. The aim is to help carers to retain each person's dignity and be better informed in order to treat the individual as a person. It is so readily forgotten, prior to such a diagnosis many held positions of responsibility, were an inspiration to others, shared humour, had an active life etc.

Conversations about a child do not involve the child even though they are present. A child is a person. Speaking and listening to children benefits mutual respect and positive relationships.

Those diagnosed with terminal illness suddenly find themselves hearing conversations concerning their welfare directed to a relative as if they are no longer able to supply information or to respond. Imagine how frustrating that must be? You'd want to shout from the rooftops, "I'm still alive", a person!

When observing others, it is so easy to see people at face value and not consider the person with a life.

What is your take on this?

A record of an observation... for the "melting pot" perhaps?

Like the motion of two whacking great musical symbols,the windscreen wipers on the bus repeatedly came together then opened wide again, only the sound they made was of the squeak and drag kind!

A flurry of snow continued to fall, whirling its way towards and around the bus making me feel considerably glad to be transported to work.

A guy swiftly claimed the seat immediately in front of mine. As my eyes dropped down so I couldn't help but to survey his hairline. I saw a scattering of grey, just as if a pocket of talc had settled between the peaks he'd created standing proud at the top of his head.

I caught a whiff of peppermint then saw his jaw working out on chewing gum. He explored his left ear with his finger, scratched briefly and by four bus stops, thankfully he seemed to settle.

Now a regular passenger, who I recognise as the chap that wears a khaki, cotton leisure jacket. The one with the huge hood, that makes his head look so tiny in comparison. It features a synthetic white fur ruff trim and a frustratingly BIG white label of fabric information,
He wears a collar & tie and shoes, so well polished they reflect his well spruced hair. It is so obvious that this gent takes his morning ablutions most seriously.

He departs at the University of the West of England, a mature student or a Tutor perhaps?

Author's Interview

When I heard during a TV interview that she had 15 highly acclaimed best selling novels, my attention was captured. I soon learned it was Joanna Trollope sat in the hot seat. She was speaking about her new bestseller,
"The Other Family".

Joanna regarded herself as a candid writer, who doesn't take sides, just presents the information for the reader to form their own opinion and arrive at their own conclusions. Joanna spoke about the depth and kind of research she did for this book. It includes issues surrounding legacy and inheritance. Joanna also spoke of how she determined the locations within her novel.

She spoke with authority and honesty. Joanna came across to me, as quite balanced, broad thinking, a reliable researcher and most credible.

Guess my choice of Author for this week?

As a result of reading more regularly and ensuring to explore varying Authors', my style of writing is developing for the better. Incidentally, my novel writing is so different from the way I approach this blog that you are reading!

Thought Provoking Postcards...

I open and turn on my laptop, impatiently wait for it to connect then addictively go to my blogspot. The anticipation of an indication that there is a comment brings my adrenaline to life. In the absence of one, so many other things claim my time instead.

Winter seems to have lengthened this year, Spring just can't arrive quick enough. When I see daylight, I breath.

I was sifting through a whole range of stored papers this dark Winter's evening and I came across three thought provoking postcards. Each one featured a question....
If you could bank a TASTE what would it be?
If you could bank a PRICELESS MOMENT what would it be?
If you could bank a SMELL what would it be?

How deep would you have to think to answer?

What would your answers be?

Thoughts on Valentine's Days...

What is it about boys in their late teens, that are so obviously attracted to a girl, experiencing that buzz at the very sight or mention of her, yet refuse to be tempted to send, albeit an anonymous, Valentines card?

It is such an ideal opportunity for harmless flirtation, at the very least.

Have the days disappeared, when it was simple fun to cut out letters or phrases from newspapers/magazines, to convey a message of interest on Valentine's Day?

That serge of adrenaline, arousal of the inner Spring, surely can only be good for you?

Run with youth, I say. These years of innocent bliss should be explored, a bit like walking before you can run!

When you have made a commitment to someone, Valentine's Day is a good time to exchange feelings, to acknowledge a chosen and positive relationship.

After marriage or living with a long-term partner, I believe Valentine's Day provides a chance to rekindle dimensions of romance, you could say some way towards a relationship "health-check". It's an occasion to show how much you know and consider the other. The value of the gift is not how big it is, it's the depth from which it was arrived. To source something spoken about many moons ago or a token that means alot to the other, can often be small in size, but huge in thought & gesture.

With family around, it is a positive move to mark Valentine's Day - demonstrate the wanting to make time for spontaneity and passion, "us" time, maintaining a life balance.

With effort, comes reward. What you want to do in life, you ultimately make time for. Do the same in a close relationship and innate contentment develops.

I once read,'Smile with your face, smile with your mind, then good energy comes to you'. Try it....

Keep romance, surprise and consideration between you and yours!

What has been your experience?

Writers' Journey

As I read so it informs my writing. I particularly note the words and phrases that capture my attention as well as the tone that persuades me to read on.

Likewise, the narration incorporated in certain films, can be so expressive.

I do believe I have become more observant and better at listening since writing from my life experiences.

"A Novel in a Year" by Louise Doughty based on a successful newspaper column, I have found both frank and practical. Whilst designed to be read one chapter per week, I read the entire book over 5 days as I found I just had to read on and on. Some exercises I had already completed, others I explored, whilst some remain to do. Of course I feel one year to write a book, is very ambitious for a new author, even if technique comes naturally.

I have just started to read, "eat, pray, love" an autobiography by Elizabeth Gilbert. A Bestseller of which 6 million copies have been sold worldwide.

I am intrigued as she writes about her efforts to find balance, through self-inquiry. My journeys next week will be shortened as I come to grips with her tales.

Each novel I have read since the summer of last year, has been structured so differently with this one as no exception. Elizabeth sets out to provide 108 tales which divides into 3 equal sections, each set in a different country and include 36 of the tales. The Author is in her 36th year!

Are you as curious as me?

A character...

I found myself thinking, 'bastard's got my seat!' as I had to take an alternative and much inferior position on the bus.

I put him in the mid to late 50's age bracket. The sullen look of Clement Freud and the wrinkles of a mastiff dog, came to mind!

As per usual, his black knitted hat was pulled well down against his weary, weathered face. He sat diagonally taking up a double seat. He took a slouched and indifferent pose whilst sitting cross-legged. It was then I saw his well worn suede lace-ups and dark grey woollen socks which made me suspect it was a man dressing himself, as opposed to those men with a good woman at the helm!

His clothing is always in shades of brown and black. As he rose to depart the bus, I could see the full extent of his close fitting black anorak that had a hood. He carried a black document bag.

Immediately off the bus, he swiftly lit his habitual cigarette and walked amongst pupils on route to the local secondary school, where he works.

What message do you suppose he is sending?

Turning a life experience into Literature...

Just a little way into the film (500) Days of Summer, came a quote from Henry Miller who apparently once said, "Best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature"...

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I feel a passion and sense of purpose to pursue my writing - sub-conscious therapy perhaps?


At the moment my novel has a possible title, "Mourning After". The enormity of my husbands sudden death I am attempting to turn into literature.

Judy Delton, an American writer is quoted as saying, "Writing is an active occupation, not a passive one." She also advised, "You have to make things happen". Both statements,I agree with.

Besides enjoying the networking and benefits of writing courses, I have tried initial exercises suggested by Louise Doughty which included writing about myself succinctly and evocatively.

I have written about incidents and events from real life, then tried adding a fictional spin on them, to develop my writing skills further.

I wish to be a good and informative read for other widows, whilst providing a journey of acceptance, cheer with a dimension of hope.

I ultimately wish my first novel to generate smiles by including some comical instances along the way, celebrate life, even though the journey has been and remains undeniably tough and thought provoking.

Chief Look-out!

How is it, I am most eager to travel to work on damp, grey days?

No birds can be heard over the continuous noise of increasing traffic, travelling along the main road today.

The weather presents a bewitching dimension to my morning, playing tricks with my eyes. The trees that I saw as green against a blue sky yesterday, appear almost black on this damp day. Established paint companies would have a field day naming the colour sky before me; white-grey, smoked cloud, ghost-white etc. whatever, it's gloomy alright!

As I look across the street, a colourful Indian Chief statue stands so prominently, opposite the bus stop. He stays at his post every day for the entire year, the year after that, and so on. The numerous stories he must absorb from his look-out, that could be so intriguing to tap into.

The Chief draws attention to the nearby, innovative garden centre as he stands in excess of 6-feet tall. He neither reacts or responds to anything said or done... Just imagine where the Chief's observations could take all you writers' out there!

Unsettling Odour...

I heard him politely say, "excuse me" as he swiftly placed a discarded newspaper behind his back, on taking the seat next to me on the bus. He shook out another paper on settling, and actively scanned it.

An overwhelming and distasteful smell immediately wafted in my direction. I couldn't determine whether it was from his clothes or skin but whatever, it took precedence over my reading and remained in my nostrils.

I was so relieved as the bus emptied and he moved to an alternative seat, a couple of rows in front, just far enough to improve my creature comforts for the short distance that remained.

He had golden skin, jet black hair with sides styled into a ponytail, positioned just above the nape of his neck, where he'd left a layer combed straight. As he proceeded to remove his silver suit jacket, he revealed a purple cardigan over a matching purple pinstriped shirt. He wore spectacles and conducted himself in a very businesslike manner.

I found myself considering his place of origin and speculating as to the nature of his employ. I reached the conclusion that he had to be in sales. This was definitely a sleek negotiator!

What passenger experience can you share?

Lone Passenger...

It was 7.20am, as I arrived to the bus stop.

My attention was drawn immediately to cans cast aside, sheets from a newspaper littering the verge and trashed cigarette packets, all signs of the previous night.

Beyond the refreshing birdsong, heralding a new day, the trees stretched their branches in the foreground of an emerging blue sky, like x-rays against an electric light.

The stillness of the abandoned pavements was interrupted only as a runner passed me, crossed the empty road and headed down a nearby hill.

The bitterness surfacing my face told me it was time the bus came, as I took a glimpse of it approaching.

I was a lone passenger, feeling illuminated as the bus departed, its' lighting so prominent against the sleepy town, that I was leaving behind.

My 75-minute journey to work allowed me ample time to note some thoughts as a lone passenger and immerse myself in some light reading, "The Day Job" by Mark Wallington.

How was it for you, first thing this morning?

Why is it, non-fragrant flowers can be so appealing?

I couldn't resist buying some anemones yesterday... Just eleven poker-straight stems, all a shade of deep purple and in tight bud, even though I know full well they do not provide the slightest hint of fragrance, which is normally the appealing factor that leads me to put my hand in my pocket, to buy flowers.

There is something attractive about how anemones open and bloom when in water. I am fascinated by how each stem curves or bends to create an overall cupped-hands shape, once in a vase. The light seems to determine how each flower opens or the immediacy of its' opening.

I couldn't help notice the houses opposite were gleaming as the early morning sunshine was projecting upon them having fought its' way through the aftermath of a frost. The morning was bright and my anemones enhanced that glow, besides being so welcoming, as I took a grip on today.

Anemones have been described as the symbol of love and daintiness - how come? I can believe that of Freesias, as they are so dainty with a most delicate and refreshing, room-absorbing fragrance.

I have made a decision to make time to select freshly cut flowers for my home - a piece of my puzzle that I have allowed to go missing!