Friday 30 March 2012

Today I thought I would share a poem with you.

Dad


My Dad was tall
Me - standing in the hall
Knee-high
Gripping tightly to the "Asylum"
Uniform trousers he wore
Looking up at him in awe.

Playing hide and seek under the hanging coats
All hanging in the hall
Of our finely polished council house.
Searching pockets of your black "Asylum" raincoat
Top coat to the uniform you proudly wore
Looking for sweet rewards
And finding only
Unfiltered tobacco
Filtering through my fingers
Lingering leftovers
of your lately-rolled "Rollies".

Then - sitting on rocking-chaired knee
Riding that old, tired horse to market
Snuggling into your scratchy, unshaved cheek
Breathing deeply
The safety of your smell
And my chubby hands playing with your black,
Brylcreamed-back hair
Now unruly
Sculptured into unicorns
And little devil's horns.

I remember you singing unknown
Never to be known
Polish lullabies
Ready for bedtimes
Beside the kitchen fire.


Monday 26 March 2012

Lee-on-Solent revisited!

Lee-on-Solent was a place where I spent many sunny summer days back in the 1960s when I was in my mid-teens - you know, those years when you are "going out" with one boy and intensely in love for about a fortnight, before you either get dumped or decide yourself that it's time to move on to the next.  My heart was broken many times and looking back, I suppose I broke a few hearts myself.  There were about thirty of us altogether I guess, youngsters who would gather on the beach under Lee Tower having travelled from Stubbington, Fareham (in my case) or just around Lee itself.  The tower is long gone now, but I remember how brilliant it was for us.  Even then the white exterior was chipped and slightly seedy-looking.  It was built in the hey-day of English beach holidays back in the 1930s and was typical of the architecture of that age. A beautiful building - such a shame they pulled it down and put a car park in it's place.
Inside the tower building was a bowling alley, a cafe and a ballroom.  We would hang out in the foyer when it was colder outside until we'd get moved on by the manager.  In the cafe I remember the hot pie/sausage roll machine - a large part of my diet in those days consisted of hot sausage rolls straight from that old oven.  Occasionally a band would play in the ballroom and once there was even a disco I think.  If we had any money we would sometimes have a game of bowling, but most of the time we'd just hang about and watch other people play.
  You could see Lee Tower all the way from the main road between Gosport and Stubbington and I used to look out for it from the top deck of the bus from Fareham.  For a small fee - about 6d I think (that's 2.5pence in new money!) - you could go up in the rickety old lift to the top of the tower and look out at views across the Solent to the Isle-of-Wight.
I discovered Bob Dylan during those balmy days and often a group of us would be under the tower on the beach, someone would be playing a guitar, and we would sing.  We'd often swim in the sea.  It seemed to be the thing to do then to swim fully clothed for some reason.  We thought we were so cool!  In the evenings we'd light a small fire - barbecues hadn't yet reached the shores of England - we just had bonfires with maybe a jacket potato or a sausage cooked on a stick.
Quite close to the Tower was a small shelter/view point with a seat in it.  It was an old wooden hut, so different from the concrete ones at Lee these days.  We called it the "Snog-hut" for obvious reasons, and I don't think anything else much happened in there.  On Sunday afternoons we'd lounge about on the grassy bank behind the Snog-hut and listen to Pick of the Pops on our transistor radios.
Lee had a youth club which I was allowed to go to even though I had to travel there on two buses - one into Fareham from our housing estate - then change for the Lee one.  I had to be home by 9 on a week day, so would have to leave Lee at 8 to get the various buses home.  But it was worth it just to hang out, play table football and pool, and to listen to vinyl singles on the old record player.  What I was really there for though was the chance to meet up with people of my own age, boys and girls.
I had good best mates and still see my best friend of the time - Ginny.  It was at Ginny's house in Stubbington that I had my first cigarette - menthol of course.  Ginny was so much more sophisticated than I was and I think I had a crush on her older brother Kev.
Anyway, back to the Youth Club - the place was heated by an old fashioned coke burner.  I remember my Mum sniffing me when I got home one evening - she was convinced I'd been smoking cannabis!  But of course, we were all much too naive to do anything other than smoke tobacco and get drunk occasionally.  I don't remember ever knowing anyone who'd tried drugs then.  I was well into my twenties before I came across that!
The worst thing I think I did in those days was to get completely drunk on a bottle of home-made elderberry wine at my friend Christine's house.  She lived quite near me in Fareham and I would call for her on the way to Lee.  I drank the wine in her Nan's front room while I was waiting for her to finish eating her dinner before we were allowed to go out.  I don't know how I got past her Nan without her noticing that I was pissed when we left her house.  Somehow we managed to negotiate the two buses and by the time we arrived at Lee I was completely wasted.  I threw up in the Tower cafe and all over the promenade.  I remember feeling completely ashamed afterwards and couldn't face anyone for ages.  Luckily it was mid-afternoon though and by the time I had to go home I'd sobered up.  My friends were great and took good care of me.  I still don't like the taste of elderberry wine!

Yesterday, we went to Lee with our young teenage boy.  Where the Snog-Hut once was is now a skate park.  The grassy bank is still there though, as is the amusement arcade which was another place we used to hang out it.  It's all modern fruit machines in there now - I remember the laughing sailor machine - you put in one penny and this dummy dressed as a sailor would start to shake and laugh.  It was very infectious.  There were even very old machines called 'What the butler saw', leftovers from an Edwardian Era which showed a peepshow of antiquated women taking their clothes off.  There were also many penny machines that you could win a couple of pennies back if you were skilled enough.
Along the seafront there is a children's play area with all the latest 'safe' apparatus.  It was packed yesterday - this area was once an outdoor swimming pool.  When I was at school, we would go there for swimming lessons and I also spent many hours during my childhood in that pool.

All gone now, but the memories are still vivid.

Saturday 24 March 2012

What a lovely day in the village today!
Last night's performance of Billy the Liar was pretty good, the audience was spectacular and all joined in with the  "Oh no you're not - Oh yes I am!"  The audience participation song Shuzzbum Tickletum was a success I think although being backstage at the time I couldn't be completely sure.  We all had a great time anyway and today our picture is in the local Portsmouth News together with an article about the show and its author/director, Warren Bailey.  It's the last night tonight so after many weeks of preparation, it'll all be over in a few hours.  Seems a shame that we don't do more than just the three nights.  After nearly six years away from the group, I'm glad I've ventured back and hope to do more next year.  I know that Warren has already half written next year's Panto so watch this space for more news on that.

The sun is shining today - it's about 20 degrees outside and all you can smell is freshly-cut grass.  The sound of lawn mowers is over-whelming!   I am enjoying the weekend with my lovely family - next weekend should be quite busy - Mark has two gigs to play, one on Friday and another on Saturday.  The Friday one is a wedding.  Playing at weddings can be quite a marathon as you have to be there and set up before the guests arrive and usually have to stay to the bitter end.  Can't have the band packing up half way through the evening can you?  Guests tend to get a bit pickled and make fools of themselves so it can be quite wearing at times.  The gig on Saturday though should be a lot of fun.  It's at Samuel's Rest Pub in Shedfield.  The Lost Star Souls have played there before and were very well received.  I shall go along to the second gig, but not the first.

Before I go to the gig I'm going along to a read-through of a play which will be performed at the end of May in The Great Barn at Titchfield with Titchfield Festival Theatre.  Sounds quite exciting -


'OUR COUSIN WILL'
or
Will in his Own Words
....with a few extra ones by Stewart Trotter
A Life of William Shakespeare constructed from his Sonnets and Plays....
'OUR COUSIN WILL' is an entertainment, by turns hilarious and heart-breaking, which traces the course of Shakespeare's life from his birth to his death in Stratford-upon-Avon.....by way of Titchfield Abbey in Hampshire!
It explains how a lower class boy, with little formal education, could attain such knowledge of history and politics....how he could write, with such intimate ease, about the lives of kings, queens and aristocrats......... how he was adopted - and then dropped - by one of the most powerful Catholic families in England......... and how, in the process, English Drama, in all its greatness, was born...

Stewart Trotter will direct this - he very successfully directed Loves Labour's lost for us at Titchfield Abbey.. he is a professional theatre Director who in the past has worked at the National Theatre for Sir Peter Hall at Glyndebourne, ran the Norcutt theatre in Exeter and currently has a version of Carmen running in Poland. He has an intimate knowledge of Shakespeare from his works and really is quite something to work with!

So you can see - I am very keen to get involved in this.  Am hoping for a part in the play but we shall have to see - I expect there will be a lot of brilliant actors at the readthrough/casting.

Anyway - I think I need to get back out into the sunshine - this may be the sum total of our summer!

Friday 23 March 2012

Another chapter of Caught in the Web

After the first night of the panto - which was a minor success I think - I am a little bit pooped this morning.  Need to go out shopping for the weekend so will write up my blog later.  In the meantime, perhaps you would like to read a little more of my novel.....


Chapter Seven
Some days had passed since his conversation with Margaret and Peter had made plans.  
The front door banged as Karen arrived home.
'Hello darling,' she smiled as she flopped onto the sofa.  
'I've got a surprise for you.  I've taken tomorrow off and we're going to Brighton for the day.'  Peter grinned at her.
'Oh.  I don't know if I can.  I said I'd do the late shift.’  She glanced at him.   ‘We're very short staffed.' 
'It's your day off,' he said.
'I know.  But they really need me on the ward.  I didn't realise you'd taken time off.  You should have told me.'
'I thought you'd be pleased,' he said.  'I wanted to surprise you.'
'I am pleased,' she sighed.  'I'm sorry.  I'll phone the ward and tell them I can't make it.'
'Don't bother,' Peter was on his feet, pacing the floor.  'The ward is obviously more important to you.'
'I've said I'll cancel the shift,' Karen replied.  'I want to come out with you.'
'No you don't,' he complained.  'You've made that quite obvious.'
'I'm sorry,' Karen stood and reached for his hand.  'I really want to come out with you tomorrow.  It'll be lovely.'
'I can't seem to do anything right these days.’
'You do,' Karen put her arms around him.  'Of course you do.  Come on, we'll have a brilliant time.'  She kissed him.
'Alright then,' he said.  'You do love me, don't you?'
'Of course I do,' Karen smiled.
The morning was just how June should be, sunny and warm, with a hint of a breeze to bring relief to the heat of the day.  They left early and were soon walking along the promenade together, arm in arm.  Karen relaxed and squeezed Peter's arm.
'This is nice,' she said.  'We should do this more often.'                                 'What would you like to do?' Peter asked.  'I thought we could have a coffee on the seafront and then go and look at the shops in the lanes.‘   
‘Sounds lovely.’                                     
They stopped before a seafront cafe, tables bedecked with brightly coloured umbrellas set out on the promenade.
'How about this place?' she asked.
Peter wrinkled his nose.  'I suppose it'll do.'  He wiped a chair with his handkerchief and sat down.  Karen sat down next to him.  Her chair had looked clean anyway.  
They were soon sipping coffee and devouring iced buns from the display on the counter.  Even Peter seemed to enjoy the moment if not the coffee.  Karen stretched her legs and gazed out at the sea.  All along the beach were families with children paddling in the shallows or sitting in deck-chairs - the children were playing with beach balls which were tossed in the breeze.
'That could be us in a few years,' Peter was saying.
'Yes, maybe.  In a few years time.'  
Peter was on his feet.  'Let's go,' he said.  'There's a book shop in the lanes I want to see.'
Karen loved wandering through the lanes.  The shops were crammed with treasures - expensive shoes, leather coats, antiques, bric-a-brac and wares from the East such as cotton kaftans and incense.  
She was in her element in the little bookshop.  She'd always loved to read, and spent hours as a child in the local library.  More than anything, she enjoyed the feel and smell of new books.
Her eyes lit up as she spotted a copy of The Lord of the Rings.  She reached up and carefully took it from the shelf.  It was bound in black and gold, and although she'd read the words already in the regular edition, this was somehow special.  She felt it would contain secrets that she'd love to read.  It was twenty pounds, more than she could afford to pay.  Still, it was nice to hold the copy in her hands, to turn the fine pages, feeling the quality of the paper.
'Have you read it?'  The shop assistant said.  'That's a special edition.  Only a hundred copies made.'
'I loved it,' Karen replied.  'This is a fantastic edition, but I can't afford twenty pounds.'
'Just take a look at the illustrations,' he said.  'You don't have to buy.'
'It's beautiful,' Karen said.  'Thank you.'  She carefully turned the pages of the book, pausing to look at the illustrations in the middle section.
She breathed in deeply, the words surrounding her.
'When you've quite finished reading that rubbish, we'll go.'  Peter's voice rudely snapped her out of her reverie.
‘It's a lovely book.  Look.'  She held the volume out to him.  'A beautiful edition.'
'I can see what it is,' he spat. 
Recoiling from his venom, Karen turned and quickly exited from the shop.  She walked a few yards down the street and stopped in an alleyway, trying to control her tears.  When Peter caught up with her she spun on him.
'Don't you ever do that to me again.'  Karen let go of her frustrations.
'What the hell were you doing in there, flirting with that assistant?'
'I was not flirting.'  Karen noticed a blob of spittle on Peter's chin.  She swallowed.  'He was showing me the book.'
'You were all over him.'  The spittle was joined by another.  
'I don't believe this.'  She looked away. 
'Neither do I.  You go from bad to worse.'
Karen looked at Peter's hands.  His fingers were long and thin, the nails neatly manicured.  'There's something seriously wrong with you,' she said.
'Look,' his hands slid into his pockets.  'Just behave in the street will you?  Everyone’s staring at us.'
'Stop it, Peter.'  Karen turned away.
He grabbed her wrist.  'You're showing us up with your shouting,' he snarled, leaving a light spray of his venom on her cheek.
Karen wrenched her arm free and wiped her face.
'Do you know what?' she said.  'I don't think I want to be with you today.  I'm going home.'  She started to walk away, Peter following quickly behind her.
'Don't be stupid, Karen,' he hissed. 
'I haven't done anything wrong,' she said over her shoulder, not stopping for breath.
'I don't call flirting with some stranger nothing,' Peter insisted.  'You just can't help flirting with every man you see, can you?'
Karen stopped and spun to face him.  'It's pointless talking to you about this.  I'm going home.'
'Well I'm not driving you home,' he grabbed at her again.  'We're staying here and that's that.'
'I'll go home by train then,' Karen tried to pull free of his grip.  'Let me go,' she seethed.
'Don't be stupid,' Peter released his grip, pushing her off balance.  'You are not going home on the train.'
'Aren't I?'  Karen walked away faster, trying to get away from him but he was still behind her when she reached the station.  She turned to him.
'I mean it, Peter,'  she said.  'I can't be bothered trying to please you any more.  Everything I do is wrong.'  She paused.  'For the last time, will you please take me home?' 
'You're just being a silly little girl,' he sneered at her.  'Why can't you just behave yourself for once?'
Karen sighed.  'I'll see you at home.'  she turned and walked into the station, just catching his parting words before going through the gate.
'Don't bother coming home,' he called.
The train journey home was long and slow.  Karen had plenty of time to go over and over in her mind the conversations between herself and the shop assistant, and then herself and Peter.  She wondered whether she'd completely lost her mind.
Where had all that bravado come from?
It was difficult to work out whether she could have dealt with any of it differently.  She was scared to the pit of her stomach at the thought that she'd stood up to Peter.  There were bound to be consequences.
Gazing from the train window as the summer countryside scrolled past like scenes from her childhood story books Karen was saddened.  'Life's just not like that,' she thought.
Finally arriving at Fareham, she stepped from the train and looked at her watch, wondering where Peter would be.
'Maybe he'll have stayed in Brighton for a while,' was her hope as she walked into the town towards the bus station.
But Peter was waiting for her as she opened the front door. he stood in the hall looking at her in disgust.
'I hope you're happy now,' he said as he turned away towards the stairs.
'I'm sorry, Peter,' Karen whispered, but she knew that it would be a while before he spoke to her again.

Thursday 22 March 2012

Thoughts on Leigh Park

My lovely stepson is 22 years old and works with people with learning disabilities.  One of the places he has to work is situated in the middle of a massive housing estate.  A few weeks ago he bought himself a motorbike for a few hundred quid and has been riding it to work.  Then last weekend someone stole his bike from outside the service-users house whilst he was at work.  Yesterday he had to retrieve the bike which had been abandoned a few hundred yards from the house, completely burnt out.  It makes me so angry to think that some idiot did this to such a nice lad.
The housing estate where he works was built in the early 1950s to rehouse the hundreds of families who were bombed out during the second world war.  I remember when it was being built and even used to visit my Aunt and cousins who lived in one of the houses.  Shiny and new, the houses were ultra-modern at the time with smart metal-framed windows and gas boilers to heat the bath water.  There were shops nearby, a library, churches, schools, public houses, all specially built, with plenty of wide open grassy places to play.  The gardens were big too, and most families grew their own vegetables.  Washing could be dried on washing lines rather than those wizzy-round things we have nowadays.  I remember swinging on the washing line in our back garden.  Leigh Park was a very exciting place to live in those days.  We would drive there to visit on a Sunday afternoon, all the way from Fareham, along the top of Portsdown Hill.  You could see the lights in the City down below as you travelled home in the dark.  The sense of community was very strong.
A few years ago I worked in the Drug Treatment Team in Portsmouth and ran a clinic in Leigh Park so I know how things have changed over the years for the people living there.  Still with a strong sense of community but so much poverty which never seems to improve.  At least there was amongst many of those I met.  In the 1990s I also worked as a psychiatric nurse in the area and helped many residents with mental health problems.  I love the estate and the people who live there but I would never leave a motor-bike unlocked in the area.  Sad isn't it?

Tonight is the first night of our village Pantomime - Billy Liar The Pantomime - I am feeling a little nervous about this although quite excited too. So wish me a "break a leg".  I only have two small character parts and a few chorus songs so nothing to worry about.

Wednesday 21 March 2012

Just wanted to say a big thank you to those who have reviewed my novel on Amazon.  It's a great feeling knowing people are reading your work and even better when you get such good feedback.
I've just been down the garden to hang out the washing and it's blooming lovely out there!  The sun is shining - the daffodils are all out and it smells so Spring-like.  A family (or two) of pheasants live in our garden - they find sanctuary from the pheasant shoots that are prevalent in these parts and come up to the house to forage for the bird-seed fallen from the feeders.  Mostly in the garden we see blue-tits, coal-tits, great-tits, goldfinches, a few sparrows.  This morning I saw my old friend the nut-hatch.  Nice to see him back.
I think I've just about recovered from yesterday's marathon shopping expedition with my Mum.  She's 83 now and still gets about but needs a shopping trolley to keep her going.  Unfortunately, shopping trolleys, my Mum and a crowded Salisbury market don't mix very well.  Mum knows exactly where she wants to go and makes a bee-line for it without too much thought for those who also may be trying to get somewhere.  (Sorry Mum).  She always looks at the fish stall but she's very choosy about what she buys - then it's the cheeses followed by the man who sells poultry and venison, honey and pickles.  We always look at the Farmers Market part as well and, of course, the Olive man (or woman as it was the case yesterday).  Mum always buys artichoke hearts and olives stuffed with garlic.
As for me, well, I usually get a couple of cheeses - there's a nice sheep's cheese made locally - and some goat's cheese.  So much cheaper than at the supermarket - you can get three cheeses for £1.00 or a lovely big portion for about £2.50 - and it's good cheese.  Sometimes I buy a pot of local honey although as I live in Hampshire I feel a bit of a traitor buying honey in Wiltshire - I did draw the line yesterday and said 'no thank you' to a pot with the label "Made in Somerset" though.  To eat honey locally to your home is supposed to be good for you I'd heard. ??  Then I always visit the chicken sausage maker's stall.  He always cooks up a few samples which I can never resist.  Yesterday I tasted the chicken with tomato and herb.  Never really fancied these before but I can tell you, they were delicious.  Other flavours are Garlic, Old English,  Spicy Chilli - I've tried most of them - Old English is the best.
By now we were both quite ready for some lunch but as it was only 11.30 we decided to browse in a couple of charity shops first.  Now this is an activity I enjoy and as I'm setting my new novel around people working in a charity shop I always feel I'm doing a bit of research as well as having fun.  One of the things we've noticed about charity shops though is the price-hike.  (is that the right word?)  The first shop we went into had second-hand paperbacks at £3.25 each.  You can get new books for that in most supermarkets now, so it's a bit much.  Mum bought a skirt but when we left she said something to me about the prices being more than they used to.  The shop was nearly empty and thats probably why.  I said I thought it was a shame that the charity shops were pricing themselves above what people who needed to shop in them could afford.  You can get a t-shirt in a store for a couple of quid and they were selling them for nearly £5.00.  To prove the point in the next charity shop we entered it was packed full of customers.  Many of the stock items were good products - a hardly worn M & S top for £3.99 for example.  And their books were only £2.50.
We had lunch in a nice Italian Restaurant - Prezzos - near the cathedral close.  It was a very nice meal served by a lovely young waiter who looked after dear old Mum and me very well.
Of course, by the time we'd eaten and got back on the road to Tesco I was pretty pooped to say the least.  But Mum needed to stock up on loads of things so it was an hour and a half later before we got her home.
I eventually got home at something past four, put all the shopping away and collapsed on the bed for an hour.
It was Erin's birthday - 19th - so I had loads to think about - you know, stuff like 'Nineteen years ago at this very moment I was in labour', and all that.  Then you get to think about the years between and you wonder what happened to your little girl.  Still she is growing into a lovely young woman.
We had chocolate cake with candles after tea and later went to The Golden Lion to celebrate with a drink.
Now - interestingly enough - there are four people who live in the village with birthdays on the 20th March.  They all live within about a hundred yards or so of each other.  The first one is 79 years old - the second is a lady who lives on the terrace (don't know her age and anyway you don't tell the world how old a lady is).  The third is Erin and the fourth is a lad of 16.  And they were all in the pub at one time or another last night!  Alan who is 79 had arranged a birthday party which coincided with the pub's Jazz Night, so there was music as well as a large cake in the shape of a hat baked by our very own village baker (Bob at the Post Office), Alan had brought along two black bin liners full of hats and many of the crowd were wearing random ones during the evening.  The landlord had laid on platters of home-cooked chips (that's fries to some of you).  They were delicious as was the cake.
But we were all very tired - Erin had gone clubbing on Monday night with her Uni friends and had very little sleep - well not her usual twelve hours - so we left the pub by 10.30 and were in bed by 11.00.
Am feeling much revived and ready to venture to Southampton today with Erin for a big shopping trip - to buy her present.  Phew!!!

Tuesday 20 March 2012

Watch this space for news of the greatest birthday party of the year in Southwick!
Too tired to write tonight.......
having a quiet time with the blog today.  This is due to having spent the day with Mum trekking around Salisbury Market and being completely knackered.  But tomorrow I intend to get on a write about today.  I'm sure you can't wait to hear about my day.
Just off to the pub with my lovely daughter who is nineteen today, and lovely man of my life, Mark - more later.

Monday 19 March 2012

Hello to all you lovely people who are following my blog.  If you are enjoying reading Caught in The Web - I'd really appreciate it if you would be kind enough to purchase a copy from the Kindle Store.  It only costs £1.69 UK or $1.99 US.  You can buy it anywhere and download Kindle onto any computer, iphone or smart phones, ipad, laptops for free if you don't have a Kindle.  I'm trying hard to sell as many copies as possible and would love it if those of you who have read it would do a review on Amazon for me.  Only a few words needed - but would make a lot of difference to how the novel sells.

Many, many thanks.....
And another snippet of my new novel:


7 - Geoffrey
He’s lying on his bed, head under the damp sweat-soaked sheets, trying to keep out the noise.  All morning he could hear the hum of the heater seeping through the vents in the wall above the bed, wondering how safe it really was in this place.  He couldn’t get out.
He wasn’t locked in his room but the front door to the building was closed and would only open if one of the nurses waved a key fob over the little red light on the wall.  He’d stood there watching the light turn to green and heard the door click open.  The nurses would turn and tell him to stand away from the door before they tried to pass through.  But it was OK.  He didn’t want to leave yet anyway.  It was just the noises in the vents that were getting to him.
Why was he here?
Because of what happened in the shop he guessed.  It was only a charity shop so he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.  Everyone else who worked there took things home without paying for them.  He’d have given them the money for all the toys he’d taken home if only they’d asked.  And the little boy who’d wanted to buy the Lego set was alright, wasn’t he?  He’d only meant to frighten him a little bit - was only playing.  He hadn’t wanted to hurt him - it was just the noise the boy made - it really got to Geoffrey.
The nurse was at his door.  He looked up and saw her peering through the slats on the little window.  Checking on him.  ‘Go away, go away, go away,’ he thought to himself, too afraid to speak out loud.  Why did they have to keep watching him all the time?  They called it “Obs”.  He was on fifteen minute obs apparantly.  That meant that wherever he was on the ward, someone would come along with a clip-board every quarter of an hour to see where he was and what he was doing, tick the board and move on to the next patient.  Nights were the worst.  He’d be trying to sleep and the light would go on in his room - the slats on the window would slide open and eyes would stare in at him - just to see if he was still breathing he supposed.  Sometimes he held his breath - just to see if they noticed.  They never did.
What a lovely day yesterday was - Mother's Day breakfast at the Post Office Tea Room with Mum and Dad-in-law followed by an afternoon of dress rehearsal for the panto which starts on thursday.  The rehearsal was a bit of a shambles - as all dress rehearsals seem to be.  One of my costumes, whilst quite effective, is most uncomfortable to wear.  It's never a good idea to agree to wearing a bald head wig and beard is it?  The wig's alright but the elastic on the beard rubs over the tops of my ears.  The other outfit is OK - a nice trouser suit with a pair of court shoes, but I seem to be in the beard more often.

I had three brilliant Mother's Day cards - two which made me cry tears of emotion, and one tears of laughter.  Thanks Kids.  I especially enjoyed the card with the message from Cliff Richard belting out in the restaurant.
We spent the evening having dinner at The Hunters - many photos taken and much laughter.  We finally got home at ten exhausted and full of good food.
I love my family so much.

Today I need to get back into writing - but just for now, here is chapter six of Caught in the Web for those of you who may be interested:



Chapter Six
Peter was worried.  
Things hadn't been the same since Karen had started working in that place.  When he thought about it, he supposed that it had all began to go wrong when she'd had that operation.   He hated coming home to an empty house.  Ever since he was small when his father had left.  Mum said he was too young to remember.  But he did.  How could he not remember the shouting, the crying and that final bang of the door as his father went out for the last time?  Afterwards, it was the silence that got to him more than the noise.
He’d come home from school and rather than play indoors on his own he would hang around in the Co-op where his mum worked.  She never came to sports days to watch him run and hardly ever came to school plays.  Peter would watch the other mothers cheering on their children.  
The knot of resentment which he'd kept tight in his chest was re-ignited when he was away at University and she'd told him that she was fostering a teenage girl, an orphan.  When he came home that summer, he couldn't even bring himself to look at the girl.  
'You couldn't even look after me properly,' he snapped.  'How can you look after someone else's child?'
‘That’s not fair,’ she said, recoiling from his anger.  ‘I’ve always done my best for you.’
‘I was never good enough though, was I?  She’s a girl - is that it?  You always wanted a girl and you got me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.  You were all I wanted.’  She reached towards him but he pulled his arm away.  ‘Karen hasn’t got any family.  She needs a break.  You’re not here much now anyway.’
‘So she’s taking my place.’
‘Of course not.  Just give her a chance, please.’  She paused.  ‘This will always be your home and I’ll always love you.  No-one could take your place.’
Peter glared at her, knowing that she was lying.
The realisation that the girl was making his mother happy made Peter even more angry.  He felt the pain of jealousy and rejection as he listened to her singing around the house and the two of them laughing together in the kitchen.
He went back to university each year infested with resentment towards both of them.
When he'd finished his degree and came home he was still feeling the same but was surprised to find that Karen was growing into a beautiful woman.  Peter realised that he wanted her.  He thought she'd make the perfect wife, shy, innocent, and always eager to please.  He made it his business to pursue her - woo her -  he showered her with gifts and flattery until she finally agreed to have him.  And she had been the perfect wife - until recently.
The doorbell rang.
His mother stood on the doorstep, leaning towards him for an affectionate hug.
'I thought I'd just pop in on my way home,' she said.  'It's been a while since I've seen either of you.'
'Karen's at work, so it's only me.’
'Shall I put the kettle on then?'  Margaret was already on her way to the kitchen.  'What time does she finish?'
'She won't get home until ten at least.'
Margaret looked at him and smiled.  'Oh well, I suppose that's shift work for you.’
'Bloody annoying actually,' he retorted.  'She's never here in the evenings any more.'
'There must be times when she finishes early.'
'Yes,' he said.  'Only she's tired in the evenings when she is here.'
'Oh?’
'I don't know why she's being so stubborn,' Peter went on.  'It's not a proper job for a woman.  She comes home stinking of that place.'
Margaret was making the tea.  'Got any biscuits?' she asked.
'In the cupboard above the toaster.’
Settled onto the sofa a short while later, Margaret poured the tea and handed a mug to Peter.
'Come on,' she said.  'Stop looking so miserable.  Karen needed to do something a bit more challenging after all she's been through.  She'll be alright.  She's young and hasn't had much of a life.'
'That's not true!' Peter argued.  'She has everything she wants, whenever she wants it.  All I ask is for a wife who's here for me.'
'Sometimes a woman needs to do things for herself,' Margaret pursued.  'To follow her own dream, you know?'
'I work hard to give her everything she needs,' he said.  'It's just being selfish, thinking you can follow your dreams.  What about my dreams?'
'What about your dreams?'
'I just want to be a proper family, with a wife and children.  No-one's interested in what I want.‘  He paused.  ‘It was the same when I was little.'
'That's not true,' Margaret sighed.  She sipped her tea, trying to find something to say which would ease the tension.
'What about Karen's days off?' she asked.  'She can't be working every day.'
'Of course not,' he snapped.  'She has a couple of days off every week, but they're not always at the weekends.'
'Couldn't you take time off in the week and go out for a day together?' Margaret suggested.
'That would be difficult,' Peter complained.
'Perhaps it's what you both need though,' Margaret said. 'Spend some time together doing something nice.  You must have holiday time owed you.'
'I don't know.’
'Well think about it at least,' Margaret urged.
She stayed another half an hour, making small talk, asking Peter about his job and trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that had settled between them.  Eventually she made her excuses and left, promising to drop in again later in the week.



Saturday 17 March 2012

We had a great time last night - ventured out of Southwick - two miles away in the village of Boarhunt is the venue of the Boarhunt Blues Club.  A tiny village hall - home for the past ten years or so of the Blues Club.  Last night the band was OO-BOP-SH'BAM, who played an amazing selection of 1940s Lindy-Hop, blues, 1950s Rock 'n Roll.  I couldn't keep my eyes off the two incredible saxophonists - how does anyone play like that?  Also in the band were lead guitarist, keyboard player, double bass, drummer - whose wild playing split a drum-skin half way through the first set, and of course, the lead singer. Brilliant!
If you're interested in brilliant blues music of all types, the club meets once a month on the third Friday - you don't have to be a member, just check out their website at http://www.boarhuntblues.com.

Friday 16 March 2012

Last night was the last full rehearsal before the Dress on Sunday.  As always it was a bit of a shambles: Not everyone was there for a start - but we carried on regardless and managed to rehearse most of the show.  I really do need to learn those songs properly!  Anyway - it should be a great show - typical of Southwick village - a Pantomime at the end of March!

After the rehearsal we went into the local pub - The Golden Lion - for a drink to unwind.  The place was pretty busy even though it was after ten o'clock, some diners still finishing their meals as well as several drinkers in the main bar.  The strangest things happen in Southwick - one of the diners requested that one of their party should be able to sing a song at the end of their meal.  The Landlady shrugged her shoulders and said, 'Why not?'  (They do have a music licence).  It was quite surprising though when the woman drew from her handbag a wad of sheet-music and then proceeded to sing Opera!  Now, we are used to Jazz, acoustic guitar and such, Blues and Rock and Roll in The Goldie, but I think this was a first!  She sang well although I am no judge of Opera and she was rewarded with a round of applause and much cheering.

I feel privileged to live opposite The Golden Lion - steeped with history - it is the famous pub which was frequented by Churchill and Eisenhower during the second world war whilst they were planning D-Day.  Southwick is dubbed 'The D-Day Village' by many and we are quite used to Veterans travelling from the US to visit.  Southwick House was originally the home of the owner of the estate.  It was taken over during the war by the Admiralty - and was never given back.  It was HMS Dryad for many years until they left a few years ago, leaving the place empty.  Now it's been taken over by the Tri-Services and has been renamed Southwick Park.  Visitors can still see the Map Room where D-Day landings were planned.
Most of the houses in the village are owned by the Estate.  We call the owner 'Squire' although I don't believe he has a title as such.  We often see Mr. Thistlethwaite around the village.  This place is famous locally for the red doors.  Whenever I tell people I live in Southwick, that's usually the first thing they ask -'Do you have a red front door?'  They find it highly amusing.
It's a great place to live if you don't mind everyone knowing your business.  It helps to enjoy a bit of gossip - and we all look out for each other when the chips are down - usually.

Thursday 15 March 2012

I have been working on the new novel this morning.  Thought you'd like to read a snippet of it.


Kevin
A new member of staff started this week.  Her name’s Gem - I remember her hanging around in the shop last week.  I thought she was interested in bric-a-brac at first, then when she dropped the china rabbit I realised she was just a time-waster - probably in the shop to get out of the rain.  I was quite surprised when she had the gall to ask Catherine for a job.  I’m not sure whether I’m going to get on with her - she looks a bit like a druggie - got that seediness about her.  Catherine doesn’t seem to see it though.
Gem was in here yesterday and she’s due back in this afternoon.  Catherine says I have to try and get on with her - help to show her the ropes.  I’m not sure about how this will effect our little team.  New people are always difficult aren’t they?  I think it’ll be alright if she stays in the back room sorting stock - but then again - can she be trusted not to take the best things and hide them in her bag?  I’ll have to keep a close eye on her, won’t I?

I've set this one in a charity shop - am still working on devising characters and exploring how they interact with each other.  Each chapter is from or about a different character's point of view.  I have a vague plot in my head but am allowing the characters to form the story so don't know for sure where it's going yet.
You'll all be pleased to hear that the Electricity men are at this moment re-filling the hole in the village, sweeping the mud up and preparing to take away all the green fences that they put up to stop us locals from getting too close and peering into the hole.  This will be a relief to us all and we'll be able to enjoy peace once again, especially those who come over to Southwick for a nice bite of lunch in the village pub.
It will also mean that the idiots who drive through the village at ridiculous speeds without having to slow down to get past the hole will be able to put their foot down on the accelerator once more thus causing us to risk life and limb trying to cross the street.

As my home is directly opposite the Golden Lion, this will of course mean that I can sit in my garden again without the sound of diggers and dumpers rambling past and watch the diners in peace.

Last night's performance of Private Lives was pretty good.  I only say pretty good as it was the first night and there were quite a few small hitches - ie. the lighting could have been better, and some of the cast skipped a few lines apparently, although if you didn't know the script - which I didn't very well - it was hardly noticeable.  The audience loved it though and there were many complementary utterances as people came to the bar at the interval and after the show.  It's certainly worth coming along to watch if you like Noel Coward.  And if you don't, or think it's dated, come along anyway as it really is very funny.

Titchfield Festival Theatre is in St. Margaret's Lane, Titchfield, Hampshire.  There is a web site which is worth a look at with many wonderful photographs of past productions and information of all the forthcoming shows.  I have the dubious honour of being in charge of the costume department which means I spend a few hours a week mucking about in the makeshift room which is filled with lovely clothes.  When I was watching the show last night I couldn't help repeating to my daughter every time one of the cast came on in a new outfit - 'That was one of my costumes', or 'I sorted that one out'.  They did all look amazing.  Some of the outfits were hired from Chichester Festival Theatre which is only about 30 minutes drive away so I can't take all the credit and anyway I don't really do anything other than dig out several items from the store, put them on a rail and let the cast chose from the selection.

Wednesday 14 March 2012

Have spent the morning taking up trousers at the theatre ready for tonight's performance of Private Lives.  Such an exciting life I lead!
I must say I'm looking forward to doing front of house tonight - a chance to see the first night - to watch the cast trying hard to remember their lines.

For those of you following my novel Caught in the Web - here is chapter five:


Chapter Five
Evelyn couldn't tell you how many years she'd been lying in this bed, with the changing seasons showing through the same old window frame.  The summer sun too hot, the winter chill too cold, seeping through the gaps in the frame where the window never quite closed properly.  The curtains were thin, letting in more than enough light and more than enough drafts.  Nothing ever took the middle way in this place.
The ache somewhere in her chest was still there although the memories of why and what, where and when were muddled in her mind.  She couldn't remember what it was that she'd done to be kept here for all this time, or even if she had been here for very long at all.  What had happened to all the people who were important to her?  She'd long ago stopped asking.
Every day was the same, waking early to the noises of the other ladies' protests.  The repetition of life had brought on a numbness which started at the front of her head and spread throughout her whole being, making her unaware most of the time of what she was doing, eating, wearing, even thinking. 
Evelyn didn't talk much any more.  She'd talked too much once and that was probably her downfall.  So she'd stopped.  Dumbfounded they'd called her at first, then “Idiot” but none of them knew her really.
Her mother had visited her in the early days. 
‘Come on Evelyn.’  The nurse had brought her a dress from somewhere.  Not the usual clothes she wore which were of worn and faded cotton.  ‘Let’s get you dressed.  It’s visiting day.’
And she’d been walked down the cold corridor to the entertainment hall.  The vast high ceilinged ballroom was set with trestle tables.  There were already patients sitting at some of the tables, their visitors awkwardly leaning on their elbows across the tables, looks of concern on their faces.
As the nurse steered her towards the hunched woman sitting alone at the table half way down the room, Evelyn felt a deep fear.  Her mother stood up as she reached the table.  She felt herself stiffen inside as her mother embraced her.  They sat down at the table, the nurse standing guard at one end.
‘How are you keeping?’  Evelyn’s mother asked.
But Evelyn couldn’t find any words.  She looked down at the table and picked at the broken corner of the surface.  Her mother prattled on about something - gossip about the neighbours - the weather - she couldn’t remember.
Awkward Sunday afternoons filled with pain.  Then gradually the periods between each visit grew longer and longer until the time came when Evelyn realised that a year must have passed since the last visit.  It was on her birthday.  The daffodils were yellow in the garden outside the window, so she knew that her birthday must have passed.
Evelyn wondered if her mother had been coming and she'd just forgotten.  She couldn't ask anyone as that would mean breaking out of the safety of her silence.  
They'd tried to get her moving out of the ward once.
'You need to be rehabilitated.'  A different nurse this time.
She'd just stared, a feeling of apprehension pushing its way into her mind.
'You've been here too long,' the nurse continued.  'You're institutionalised.'
Evelyn wondered what that meant.
In the small room at the top of a flight of stairs several women from the ward were sitting around a table knitting brightly coloured wools into ill-shaped squares.   She’d sat watching them whilst the nurse cast on the stitches and then handed the knitting to her to continue working with.
'There you are, Evelyn.  Nice pink wool,' said the nurse.  'You can knit, can't you?'
Evelyn said nothing.
'It's just squares,' the nurse said.  'Garter stitch.  You know, just plain knitting?'
Perhaps it was the colour of the wool, or maybe the sound of the clicking of the needles as the other women worked.  Evelyn couldn't really remember what happened.  She only felt a raging anger erupting from somewhere deep inside her head which clashed with the pain in her chest, before she heard a loud screaming and felt herself being forced down into a black pit by the three nurses who had jumped on her.
When Evelyn woke up again it was early morning.  She could see the sun rising between the boiler-house chimney and the water tower through her window.  Her arms were sore and bruised.  She could feel a hard painful lump on her right buttock.  She was naked under the sheet which barely covered her.
Two nurses came into the room.  One carried her clothes, the other wheeled a commode.
'Get up, Evelyn.'  They dragged the sheet briskly back, lifted her out of bed and sat her on the commode with a thump.  She was too drowsy to protest as she sat there naked, not bothering to hold on to her dignity. 
'Come on, pee!' said the nurse.  Evelyn found herself letting go.  The relief to be emptying her bladder overwhelmed the shame of her situation.
The nurses dressed her as they chatted.
'Are you playing in the darts team tonight?' one asked.
'Yeah,' the other replied.  'We're playing The Miners Arms, aren't we?'
'Are you getting the bus?'  
'The seven o'clock,' she replied.  'Evelyn get your arm in here,' she went on, dragging a dress over Evelyn's head.
'I hope they do a good spread,' the other nurse said as she pulled Evelyn's stockings over her feet.  
Once dressed, they swung her back on to the bed and left the room, the metal commode rattling over the uneven floor as they went.  Without even giving a glance back at her, the nurse swung the door shut and Evelyn heard the key turning in the lock once more.
She sat for a moment, then got up and looked through the small window into the ward.  The other women were walking about, following their own patterns of survival.  She sat back down and waited for her breakfast.  
'Lock me up forever,' she thought.  'I don't care.  It's safe in here.'  
Eventually she heard the door opening again.
'Well, Evelyn.'  The charge nurse entered the room.  'Are you feeling better now?'
She noticed out of the corner of her eye that he had someone with him.  The ward doctor standing with his back to the window.  Evelyn looked at his silhouette and fleetingly wondered what his face was revealing.
'Now Evelyn,' he said.  'We can't have this type of thing going on in our little O.T. Department can we?  Such behaviour won’t get you anywhere.'
Evelyn said nothing.
'I thought I could trust you,' he went on.  'Can you explain yourself?'
Of course she couldn't explain herself.  Evelyn looked at the clouds behind his head, scudding across the sky.
'I don't know what came over you, Evelyn,' said the charge nurse.  'One minute you were happily sitting with the other ladies, and then without warning, you attacked nurse Smith with a knitting needle.  Lucky for her they managed to pull you off before you hurt her.  What was that all about?'
Pink wool and babies' booties.  Evelyn was silent, the only thing in her head - pink wool and babies' booties.
They didn't take her back to Occupation Therapy the next day.
She stayed on her bed chasing the memories out of her dreams, staring at the clouds, wondering where they were going and trying not to think.  When she closed her eyes she could see the pink wool winding around her body like a giant spider's web, encasing her in a trap that she could never escape from.  So she kept her eyes open, staring at the sky and hoping that it would all go away again.
Eventually it did fade into the past and now Evelyn was safe and comfortable in her world.  Nothing ever happened apart from the occasional outburst from the other women.
She’d stopped wondering if her mother would ever come to visit again, content to forget what life had been like before coming to this place.  Other patients went out on trips, but Evelyn preferred to stay in the safety of her room.  
'Just in case,' she thought. 
She was unaware of time moving on.  She never looked in the mirror so had no idea of how she was growing older.  In her heart she was still the bewildered young woman she had been when she arrived here so long ago.
But now her world was changing.  She'd been lying in her bed when the new nurse had spoke to her.  She didn't understand the feeling of shock and fear that she'd felt when the nurse had touched her.  She only knew that she had to stay away from her.


And don't forget you can read the whole novel on Kindle for just £1.69 - or $2.99 US.