Book Signing

Hot news this week - my first book signing for Caught in the Web is arranged for Wednesday 4th July at Southwick Village Post Office Tea Rooms.  I'll be there between 10.00am and 12.00 noon, so if you are about, pop in and see me and have a coffee.
The book is selling fast in the shop, by the way, so I have to order another load ready for next week.  This is taking up a lot of my time - perhaps you've noticed how I've been neglecting my writing but I intend to get more disciplined and make sure I have time each day to write at least a few hundred words.  Only time will tell whether I'm successful.

Morecombe

Sitting on the sullen Morecombe sea-front
Pondering on the loss of lives
On that beautiful horizon
Pale blue hills gaze silently back.
We watch the tide
Slide away
Revealing the sand banks
That human greed
Cruelly took away
The misery of their hope
That dark night.
Then, turning away
We explore the derelict halls
Of the Winter Gardens
And wonder at its beauty
Long ago neglected
Now - piece by little piece
Being brought back to life
By human perseverance.
We place a coin in the begging bowl
Smile at the monument of Eric
Make our way back
Past seaside shops
Now selling wheelchairs
For the ancient visitors -
One-time mill workers
And miners
Who keep their annual pilgrimage there.

2012 Grand Tour

8th and 9th June
Whatever made me think that it was a good idea to travel by motorbike to Scotland in June?  Thinking I'd chosen the best month for a warm, dry holiday.
On the 8th June we travelled from Southwick to Langdale Lakes in Lincoln in winds of over 60 miles per hour.  Wondering whether we would ever get there in one piece, we eventually did and had a lovely evening with Karen and Tony and set off early the next day for Barnard Castle.  During this journey the wind was less fierce but instead we rode through tremendous rainstorms with thunder and lightning.  The roads went from dry to three inches of bouncing water, then back to dry again.  It was like riding into a dark hole at times with the clouds reaching the earth.
We stopped off after crossing the Humber Bridge at Beverley and had a beer in the White Horse pub, an old fashioned pub with old fashioned prices - know locally as Nellies.  This is a must if you like good beer and quaint places.

Langdale Lodge - Lincoln

Lily Hill Farm

Eventually we arrived at our first B and B which was Lily Hill Farm and were welcomed by another Karen with freshly made scones and a lovely comfortable room.  It was on a par with Karen and Tony's B & B at Langdale Lakes, set in the  countryside - a working farm with views of sheep and horses from the windows.  The nearest pub was about 1.5 miles away - luckily it had stopped raining by the time we were ready to eat so we walked to the pub - The Morritt Hall Hotel - an interesting place with connections with Dickens.  Nearby is a place called Dotheboys Hall - Dickens visited this place and featured it in Nicholas Nickleby apparantly.  The George and New Inn in the novel was modelled on The Morritt Arms and it was here that Squeers and Nicholas alighted for Dotheboys Hall where Nicholas taught.  The bar is decorated with paintings from Dickens novels.  Whilst we were eating, in the next bar was a wedding reception with a very loud "pub singer"  and as the door between the bars kept swinging open all the men in the bar took turns trying to shut it - the spirit of Dunkirk!

Langdale Lakes and Lodge

Just having a couple of relaxing days at Langdale Lodge in Lincoln, staying with Mark's sister and brother-in-law.  We've had a brilliant time away, although quite hectic at times and two nights here is just what we need to refresh ourselves for the journey back down South tomorrow.  Set in a wonderful location, amidst two fishing lakes, Karen and Tony run a little bed and breakfast and the fishing lakes, of course, but even without the fishing this is the perfect place to go to for a relaxing time away.
Once we get home, I will be posting some photos of our journey to Scotland, the Isles and the North of England, so keep your eyes peeled for pictures of this lovely place.

A Shilling in My Pocket

I'd take a shilling from my pocket
Skim it across the muddy Solent sea.
But there are so many shingles
On the shoreline -
I can't quite reach
The edge of the water.

My arms stretch out
But the world seems so far away
At times like these.
And as for time -
Well I don't know where it goes.
Certainly seems to fly across oceans
When I'm in need.

I'll find that shilling
And spare time to wonder
Where it all came from
Where it goes
And what happens should it sink
To the bottom
Of that muddy sea.

So many years
Not knowing
What's beneath the murky waves
Dreaming of those brilliant beaches
Where toes sink in sand.

The sharp reality
Of stones underfoot
Brings me back to the now.
I slip my hand in my pocket -
The shilling's gone.

Red

Red is the colour
Of Roses
And Valentines
And shiny red apples
That fall on the grass.

Red is the colour of
Cheeks in the winter
Of Santa
And Stockings
And my favourite dress.

Red is the sky
On a hot summer evening
The sea during sunset
The colour of jelly
And little girls' ribbons
They tie in their hair.

Red is the colour
Of lollies
And brollies
You carry about
And then leave
On the bus.

Red is the colour
Of buses
And passion
And the blood that is surging
When you give me that look.

Red is the night-time
Under the covers
After the lights out
When I'm reading a book.

Red is the colour
Of cherries
And garters
And memories
Of tiny bikinis I wore.

And red is the colour
Of shoes with stillettoes
I once took a turn with
Across the dance floor.

Red is the colour
Of lipstick on mirrors
Of giggles
And girlfriends
And painting my nails.

Red is the colour
Of anger
And shame
Of taking the blame
Of the handprint
You gave me
Across the left cheek.

Red is the coat
That I wear in defiance
Red is the tongue
That is numbed into silence
Red are the words
That are trapped
In thought bubbles
That float into sunsets
Like bright red balloons.

Red is the colour
Of wicked
Of danger
Seduction and pleasure
Of yearnings
And warnings
That all come too soon.

Red is the river
That flows from my head now
That blinds me
And binds me
And pushes me further
Than ever before.

And red is the colour
Of freedom
Of healing
Of knowing it's past now
The memories fading
No longer red-raw.

Glassy Brittle Shards

Looking through the pain
Of plain
Sheer glass
Into the night
A black felt blanket
Draped against
The mountain white
The moon-washed shadows
Flow rivers
Dark
And light.

My eyes in pain
As I strain
Against
The glassy brittle shards
Of remembering
That Black mountain
Wide-eyed
Snow dripping
Shadow forming
In a battle ever lost
Against light.