"Best foot forward son..."

Jake lay awake that night longer than usual, he left his curtains open so that he could see the huge flakes of snow that were dropping out of the sky bounce off his window and land on the ledge, it built up on the ledge until it's weight became too much then fell in chunks only to do the same repeatedly, the flakes caught the flickering candle light now and then and made it look like it was snowing twice as heavily, it looked so beautiful from where Jake was watching, all tucked up in a warm bed, tomorrow however it would serve as a timely reminder as to the harshness of Mother Nature when her full force is unleashed.
Morning came all too soon and with it the previous day's wonderful sunshine, Jake raced to the window to see how much snow had fallen last night, he tore back the curtains with all the excitement of a young lad about to be let loose in the most fantastic playground of all time, only to stand there open mouthed at the level the snow had reached overnight. It was above the kitchen window below Jakes bedroom and only 4 feet away from his own window, Jakes excitement turned to immediate fear,
"Dad!" he bellowed out,
"Dad!" once again he cried,
"Jake..what's the matter boy?" came the rather terse reply from downstairs,
"Th..th..the snow, it's almost up to my window!" Jake stuttered,
"Ya munna worry about that boy, I've sin it all afore, get thee down 'ere and eat your breakfast"  came Dad's reply, his unfazed attitude immediately putting Jake somehow at ease,
"How will we get out Dad?" said Jake looking rather worried,
"Same bloody way we dost every morning lad, through the back door!"
"But Dad" said Jake somewhat confused, "It's under the snow!"
"Well Jake me boy," said Charlie matter of factly "The way i sees it we can sit on our backsides and do nowt or we can get stuck in and dig our way out, either way those sheep won't feed themselves"
Jake sat down at the table and ate his toast and marmalade with little more said between father and son, the spitting logs of the fire and the slurping of piping hot tea became the background noise to their thoughts as both secretly contemplated the near impossible task that was to face them outside that morning.

It took over an hour for Jake and his father working non stop before they got to the end of the garden gate and a level of snowfall that they could actually see over and around. The sight that beheld him was completely alien to Jake, he recognised nothing of his home from this baron landscape that he surveyed, everywhere he looked the snow swept across fields and tree tops like an imaginary white ocean that went on forever, not a hedgerow was anywhere in sight, not a gate, nothing,  just wave after wave of white powdery snow. Charlie headed for the roof of the barn that could be seen jutting out of the snowy landscape and Jake immediately followed, without a word said they both got stuck in digging their way towards the stack of hay they needed for the days animal feed more importantly now than ever, for somewhere out there both of them knew the sheep would be huddled and their need for food would be critical. At last Jake and Charlie reached the hay and Charlie pulled some of the old pig iron off the side of the barn and bent the front over in a lip, he then tied some twine to the end to make a rein and they both loaded the iron up with hay and to Jakes surprise Charlie threw on an old black pot with a cast handle, immediately the two men set off across the fields to the most likely place the sheep would be huddled, the snow was soft and Charlie and Jake's feet slipped deep into it as they both worked hard pulling the make-shift sled across the fields, it was very tough work and Jake was soon out of breath so cold was the air he was continually gasping for, "come on boy, pull yer finger out" said Charlie "I am trying Dad, it's just i cant get any grip on this snow" said Jake almost apologetically, "well put yer best foot forward son and hop to it" came the reply, no less than Jake would have expected.

Charlie's hunch was about spot on, sure enough the sheep were huddled in a high corner of the field against a huge Oak that had acted like a buffer in the strong wind and snowfall during the night, on one side of the tree the snow was almost up to the lower branches, a good ten feet in the air, but on the side the sheep were huddled, the ground was but a few inches away from the highest level of snow, animals have a knack of knowing where to go when mother nature loses her temper, like an inbuilt survival mode that is inspired by pure instinct. They were more than pleased to see the two farmers and their usual wariness of humans was overwhelmed by a pure animal instinct to survive as they clambered through the remaining drifts in front of them to get to the succulent hay they were presented with. Jake counted the sheep and fortunately they were all here, although tired from all the digging and sled pulling the sight of the animals being fed was indeed a comfort and reminded both men just why they enjoy farming so much.
"With a bit of luck they will stay under this tree while theses damned storms are about" said Charlie,
"At least they had the sense to stay put on higher ground, let's just hope they don't try and move away from here" Charlie mumbled, though secretly he knew sheep had an awful habit of being unbelievably stupid.
As the sheep ate the hay like their lives depended on it, which it did, Charlie set about lighting a small fire and putting the old black pot on top of the ashes, he and Jake then filled it with snow so that the sheep had something to drink from, amazingly sheep would get dehydrated quickly without fresh water to drink despite the snow being everywhere, they filled the pot and sat it in the field and watched as tentatively one after another they lapped at the steaming pot, Jake topping it up with snow as they drank. "We had best leave them to it," Charlie said, "we can't get them to the barn even if we did want them inside, you cant round them up in 6ft of snow" and with that the two set off  for the farm buildings with makeshift sled in tow as the cattle needed hay in the big barn.
The cows were inside already as it was winter and Jake positively enjoyed feeding them in the relative warmth of the barn, the steam off the cattle rose into the rafters of the old wooden beamed roof, the cattle were always in a playful mood when there was snow outside, it seemed like they knew just how well off they were in the warm building with soft straw to lie down on and enjoyed celebrating that fact by kicking their legs in the air and bunting and pushing each other around, they always made Jake laugh as they seemed to have a character of their own, unlike the sheep who Jake thought were just plain stupid.

Dinner time came and Jake followed his dad into the kitchen. The warm air hit Jake like a cannon ball as he walked through the kitchen door, his cheeks went the colour of a tomato in it's prime as the big fire raged with the ever present black kettle hissing away on it's hanger pitched above the flames, Jake hated that damned kettle, it looked and sounded like it would explode more than ever today so he slid along the bench at the table until he was as far away from it as he could get, just to be on the safe side. Bread and cheese was the order of the day, with some pickled onions and beetroot, all produce from that years garden that was indeed, now very welcome. The large loaf had a huge orange brown crust on it that crumbled away as it was sliced, Jake loved the taste of the crust, he loved the way it crumbled as he bit into it and that oven cooked taste that only fresh bread can give you, Jake ate until his belly ached, it was a good ache though.
 Little was said for the duration of that dinner, but secretly the household was hoping against hope that the snow from last night was the last for a while, but like the day before it was a gorgeous sunny afternoon and yet again clouds could be seen in the distance, that was indeed an ominous sign and it made Jake a little frightened for what he would find the following morning, if Charlie was being honest with himself he too was a little worried that a weather pattern was starting to form...

Tribute to one of our own RIP John Searle Age 59.

Gone but not forgotten..John Searle age 59 killed while riding his beloved bike to school during Oct 2012. A more gentle caring person you would struggle to meet, a true gentleman in every sense of the word... this scarcely does him justice, but I needed to write something. To John.  


This morning you were late,
We knew something was wrong.
You are never late,
Your smiling face and warmest smile
They were never late.
The watches set as you rode by
They were never late.
You won our hearts yet scarcely knew,
We told you far too late.
We should have said just what we thought
Surely it can't be too late?

That morning part of us died too,
It will never be too late.
To say just what we thought of you.
We thought that you were great.
We will miss that cheery wave,
That smile that warmed the coldest day
Those apples that you gave away,
The children you just made their day
So many things we wish to say
But now the silence deafens too,
Shropshire owes a debt to you.
We do.
We will miss you John.
We do.

A problem thought about.

There are times, times in all our lives when we reach the very dark shadows that make up the less enjoyable side of life, mark my words you will get to that point on more than one occasion. For some, it is enough to send them into a spiral of depression and anxiety with the added feeling of little self worth stabbing you in the back on your way down, for others it is but a challenge that presents itself and must be taken on at face value with all the gusto of a soldier on the battlefield.  Whichever way you react, if you continue to suffer it will begin to wear you down, like a drill that hasn't the singular power to sink a battleship but left for a few weeks to make enough holes can be as paralyzing as the mightiest torpedo.
How we handle the tough times we get in a lifetime determine who we are and what we do with what we are presented with. Someone who would throw the towel in the moment a black cloud appears would clearly be a risk in management, as tough decisions have to be made sometimes and shying away from them is a crime in itself, on the other hand if that same manager has no idea of the depth of trouble or problem he faces then he can be a loose cannon and almost as big a liability as the person who immediately quits.
I myself always look at problems as a challenge with a twinge of mindful sadness that something has yet again cropped up in my life that needs my full undivided attention, sometimes it's an immediate fix and sometimes only a measured response over a longer period will do the trick, the only sure thing i have learned during my time on this earth is that worry will cloud your judgement and sap energy that you can put to better use elsewhere, so you are better off dealing with the issue head on, attack is the best form of defence.
That said, when you are in the middle of a firefight it's difficult to focus on anything other than the issue you have been presented with. Problems tend to have a habit of consuming your every working and playing thought and sometimes even your sleeping thoughts. If it affects your sleep then you are far more likely to be worn down quicker than if you can take it to the bedroom door and then forget about it, the last thing you need when faced with issues is less sleep. In my own case I have usually been able to sleep quite well when under pressure, more to do with the fact that i have been there so many times before and am now quite used to it, than anything wise or special about me. I tend to categorise issues into seriousness, if the problem can be solved the next day then there is no point in worrying about it overnight, if its something that will take a few days to put right then I will put it to the back of my mind, not forget it, perhaps even mull it over on the odd occasion, but on the whole I will monitor the situation and give a measured response.
The third grade of problem is the nagging one that won't go away, you can't easily fix and these, by their very nature are the one's that will lead you down a long dark path along which there may be very little light and precious few exits. These are the one's that test you.
 I view these problems in several ways, firstly, you are more than likely NOT the only one to have ever been in that position and secondly no matter how bad the situation there is ALWAYS someone worse off than you in life at that very moment and thirdly there is nothing more IMPORTANT to you than simply breathing...yes, I said, simply breathing, think about it for a second or two. If you now look at all the words in capitol letters on the page they spell out a sentence which I use to help me through the tougher times.  You will meet bullies, idiots, nasty people, clueless people, heartless people, all sorts with their own insecurities and issues, but you must focus on you, you are the most important thing in your life and never forget it.
If I was to offer one other piece of advice about the pitfalls of depression it would be that when you feel there is nothing but dark clouds ahead, take sollas out of the smallest piece of good news and magnify it as many times as you like, keep that positive thought with you for when the pressure is at it's worst for you, keep that one single thought and use it as your pressure release valve..bring it to the front of your thoughts and concentrate on it when the pressure is at it's worst, you will be amazed at the calming effect it has..
As you can tell, i am no Dr and even less a teacher, I am simply penning my thoughts about an issue that has been in my life's playground many times. If I have helped you get through your next major issue by only the smallest amount then it's been worth putting keyboard to screen, if it's been no use at all well, I thank you for taking the time out to at least read the article, as you know from the above, I will have no problem with handling that problem at all !.

I wish for.

That silence that i crave is here
That pin drop moment ever sought
That tick tock hear the clock moment
That hum of background hush

That silence that i crave is here
The TV light is glowing red
The phone though on is silent, dead
Just flickering lights and I

That silence that I crave is here,
That sky so dark yet witness still
Partner in my crime of hushed perfection
Stand on guard we face my insurrection

The silence that I crave is here
Be gone the thoughts of daylight shrill
Attacked from every angle still
When moments thought engulfed..

The silence that i crave is here
No money funded e'er a place
That spawned such words in loving grace
The silence that I craved is here.

The snow arrives.

A beautiful blue clear sky greeted Jake and his father Charlie as they fought their way out through the back door of the old farmhouse. The snow was so bright it made them both squint heavily until their eyes had adjusted to the bright light. The snow was around 3 feet deep all over and was very hard to walk in, it came over the top of  Jake's wellington boots and made his feet cold almost instantly. The snow was very powdery and soft, it managed to get into Jake's clothes, down inside his collar and up his sleeves and when the breeze blew it flew up into Jake's face which soon started to sting, it would be a very hard morning for young Jake and his father.
At the first field they came to Jake untied the old twine that always kept the gate firmly shut so that he and Charlie could carry the bundles of hay through to the by now very hungry sheep, but having untied the twine Jake found the gate almost impossible to move, he pushed hard against it but just slipped on the snow that compacted under his feet, Charlie came over at once and they both lent into the gate and eventually opened it pushing the snow up into a line behind the gate as they pushed, the sheep were waiting very impatiently by now and they almost knocked Jake over as they ran up to him to get their fill of the dry dusty hay that they had brought from the barn. Jake stood and looked around the flock as his father counted them, they both checked that the animals were walking OK and that they were all present, Jake also took this brief respite to glance around and look at the rest of the fields and the old farm, everywhere he looked it was white over, even the hedgerows had disappeared in some places, but he could make them out mostly, like crazy paving across the countryside dotted with small holdings that could be seen for miles in this clear weather aided by the long wisp's of chimney smoke floating upwards from the cottages and farmhouses, for a brief moment Jake thought about that huge warm fire at home and how wonderful it would be if he could just sit by it even for a minute or two, but sadly it was not to be just yet, "better give me a hand shutting this gate young Jake" said Charlie in a matter of fact voice, Charlie was a man of few words but when he spoke it was usually worth listening to, in fact advisable, so Jake immediately ran over and helped Charlie push the gate until it clanged against the old oak post and Jake proceeded to re-tie the old "bindertwine" around the gate and the post. "Bindertwine" was so called as it was a multi-twined string that actually looked like grass itself, indeed at one point in time it was made up of reed grass or "bents" the long straight yellowing grasses you sometimes see in a green field. They were intertwined and used to tie up the sheaf's of hay that were cut and processed by an old static machine called a "binder" hence the name "bindertwine".
As they walked to the next field to feed the sheep Jake asked "Dad, will it snow again tomorrow?"
Charlie replied "the sky is very blue Jake, i would have thought it's more likely to freeze" the sight of clouds building up in the distance said that Charlie may not have all the answers but Jake was happy to go with what his dad had told him so they set about feeding the rest of the sheep.

By dinnertime the feeding had all been done and the ice all knocked off the drinking tanks for all the animals on the farm and the two weary farm workers headed for the warmth of the farm house and a welcome break,but as usual Jake had one more chore to do before dinner and that was to collect the eggs off the chickens, Jake went in to the chicken hut and there he found the majority of birds sat in the warmth of their stalls, preferring that to going outside, chickens find snow very irritating as they are a bird that likes to scratch the ground and ferret for bugs and spare corn hulls both of which were a good 3 feet underground so the inside of the hut was a firm favourite for today. Jake moved the birds gently to one side and felt underneath them for the warm eggs they had delivered during the night, the bird's seldom bothered making too much fuss as it was a daily occurrence seeing Jake but an odd peck on the hand every now and then was quite regular  and sometimes the peck was even hard enough to draw blood, but being a smart lad with all animals Jake knew which ones were liable to peck and hurt so he would shoo them out of the stall before grabbing the eggs, it wasn't the best way to gather the eggs though as the chickens would kick and break them as they scrambled (excuse the pun) to leave their stalls, all this was a very far cry from today's mass egg farming methods, but effective none the less.
With a basket full of fresh laid eggs and an empty belly Jake headed for the farmhouse, he opened the door and immediately the warmth of the old fire hit him as he walked in, Jake kicked off his wellington boots and his wet feet made footstep marks across the cold concrete floor of the hallway, "get those wet socks off Jake!" mum cried "You will catch your death with feet as wet as that!" she scolded, "sorry mum" Jake said apologetically, the snow keeps going over the top of my wellies, "well tie the tops with some bindertwine when you go out again" said Mum..."cool" thought Jake, that was a great idea!
"How hungry are you?" his mum cried out as Jake was tugging as hard as he could at his soaking wet socks, trying to peel them off his feet, "my belly thinks my throat has been cut Mum" Jake cried out, "well get in here and have some of this bread and cheese with some of my home made chutney, we can soon alter that" she smiled knowingly at Charlie and winked her eye. Jake sat down at the table and as always, a small prayer was said before they all tucked in heartily, little brother Sam who was too young as yet to be any help on the farm sat next to Jake with a bottle of milk and some rusks that had been soaked in milk and broken up by his mum Janet, he was a bit spoilt compared to Jake's harder upbringing but Jake loved his little brother all the same.
After dinner Jake was allowed to play for a while, of course with the weather conditions like they were then snowmen and snowballs were the order of the day, the sheepdog going crazy as Jake threw snowballs at him that disintegrated the moment he caught them, then he spent a few seconds trying to find what Jake had thrown before Jake had rolled up another one to do the same thing again, the poor dog was worn out in minutes!. Jakes other love was for horses and the old mare that Charlie used in the fields was always cared for and ridden by Jake, he strolled over to the stable and checked her water trough was not frozen over and unravelled some of the sweeter dust free hay for his favourite animal on the farm, He rubbed her down as she chomped on the hay, pausing now and then to shake her head and main in appreciation, Jake had a passion for all animals but he was very good with horses in particular, he had been riding from a very early age, Charlie sitting him up on the mare's back when he was barely a toddler, Jake was at home with horses and this would be a passion he would keep throughout his life. On finishing tending the old mares needs Jake stepped out of the stable and noticed something had changed, the bright sunlight had disappeared and in place of the previous blue sky there were clouds gathering, they looked familiar clouds to Jake who had seen snow clouds gathering many times on this remote hillside location. Jake knew snow would once again be coming and it would promise to make the following day even more of a task for himself, Charlie and the animals scattered around the small holding.
  

Sense of Duty

 The open fire crackled and spat in the living room, the smell of the burning logs filled the air as Jakes mother laid the crockery out on the kitchen table as she always did, it was always the very best china for tea, there was never any question of that, it was finely painted white china with a blue swirled pattern that was so light to the touch it seemed that it would break in your very fingertips. Jake sat at the table and held his hands together as his mother said grace, as usual a huge lump of cheese was the order of the day with home-made farmhouse loaf and fresh butter which had been churned that day by his mum Janet, she was a hard worker, always wiping her chapped dried and sore hands on her apron and constantly wiping her brow of the sweat from the heat of the old stove and the sheer amount of hard work she was always asked to do, but she would not have it any other way, in those days everyone had a sense of duty.

 Just then, at the back of the kitchen the pantry door swung open and Charlie walked in with some milk freshly taken from the cows that morning and placed in an old chipped white enamel jug. Charlie sat at the table, he was always first to eat as head of the household, it was never in question, his big thick strong fingers reached out for the butter dish, a white porcelain dish with a small lid on it, it seemed a very strange place for such a pretty ornate dish in such labour worn hands but Charlie would soon take two or three huge cuts of the butter to spread on his thickly cut farmhouse loaf and then hand it to Jake who would spread it really thickly on his fresh bread also, he loved the taste and throughout his life that simple pleasure of "bread'n'cheese would never leave him. On the odd occasion when they could manage it Jake and his father would go out and shoot some rabbits for tea, they would be loath to eat them as it was additional income and really was a treat indeed, for the shot rabbits were mostly sold for market so that some money for clothes and rent could be found. On this night though it was bread and cheese washed down with tea courtesy of the old black kettle hung on a frame over the log fire that Jake thought was always ready to explode, and he was never comfortable getting too close to it, especially when it came to the boil and started to hiss loudly. It was always on the boil, there was always a cup of tea available at the farm, always.

Jake played with his little brother Sam awhile after tea, teasing him incessantly with a ball that he would pretend to throw and hold on to at the last minute, to which end Sam would scream out in protest thus earning poor Jake a scolding from his mother.
 Jake soon grew tired of playing with his whining little brother and knowing there would be stock to feed early next morning he climbed the stairs to his bed, it was just after eight ‘o’clock and as he was passing his bedroom window he peeped through the curtains and his eyes lit up as he did...for there, caught in the reflection of the glass against his small candle he could see it was just starting to snow !.  Indeed, by the time Jake had washed his face in the cold water bowl on his dressing table and towel dried his face a quick peep through the curtains once more revealed the extent to which it really was snowing, Jake stood there for what seemed ages just watching the ground disappear under a white blanket, he then slowly turned and tip-toed to his bed and blew his candle out and curled up under the blankets for the night, as his head hit the pillow he could smell the mixture of sulphur and wax reaching his nose from the extinguished candle and it made him feel good, Jake pulled the blankets around him tightly and muzzled his pillow, he felt safe here, this was home.

The next morning at around 6 am Jake opened his eyes and yawned and stretched, he slid his bare foot out of one side of the bed and shivered as it felt very cold outside. Jake suddenly remembered the snow he had seen the night before and raced to the bedroom window to look outside. Indeed it had snowed and oh my it had snowed, very heavily, there was at least 3 feet of snow on the ground and though it looked beautiful Jake also knew that it would make today’s chores that much harder...

A little about me...part 3.

Inside the Nag's Head there was always a warm welcome from George the landlord and his wife Sal, they were a middle, to old age couple but had a wonderful sense of humour and always had a welcome smile. The pub was right next to the auction yard at the time so trade was always good in the week, Ludlow, like many Shropshire towns was essentially a country market town and had a wonderfully diverse population as a result, something now sadly lost, along with the auction yard and the pub which is surprise surprise a bloody Tesco. It quite astonishes me that we have the new slogan "farmers mart" in our small towns nowadays, it was never heard of before the big supermarkets as county towns were all one bloody big "farmers mart" before they moved in and destroyed the very fabric of the surrounding communities and starved the Town centre shops of their life blood, big supermarkets run by money men have no feeling for local communities despite their protestations to the opposite, they are only interested in profit, the community will always come second, as, instead of the wealth of the town being spread around locally it is gorged on by one leaching plc company that feeds it's directors and shareholders, hardly the work of a caring company and I am afraid "farmers mart" is there as a complete result of the supermarkets strangling out their opposition.
Anyway, I digress, as you can probably tell i am not a big supermarket fan and i will not shed a tear at their falling profits, quite the opposite. By now, myself and Tater had been in the Nag's for a few hours when we decided to call it a day, after all i was off to a job interview the next day so i needed to get some sleep sorted, it was quicker for me to go straight back to nan's house but instead i followed Tater back to his house up the Corvedale as it seemed like a good idea at the time. When we got back to Taters house we had a couple of cans of lager and to be honest i was a bit tipsy, in fact hardly in the right condition to ride a motorcycle, but being 17 I was already immortal so i didn't let it worry me too much.
 At about midnight i said my goodbyes to Tater and jumped on my bike, i was raring to go and felt really good about the job interview tomorrow and having also had a few sherbets even better. My guess is you have an idea as to what happened next, as i was riding back home across the back roads so as not to run into Pc Plod i actually ran into something else, a post box. I had a huge slide in a farmyard and hit a wall on the far side of the yard with a postbox sat in the wall, the bike sat on top of me and i just lay there for a few seconds until this searing pain started to register with what was left of the grey matter in my head, I kicked out at the bike and it stopped for a few seconds as i clambered to my feet, still pissed and still thinking this is all ok, no problem, pick the bike up and off we go, but it wasn't that simple. That pain in my right leg came back again and so i looked down, my brand new black Levi cords had been ripped from ankle to ankle revealing more than what "The 'Butler' would ever see and there was an awful lot of blood running down to my ankle which i knew was not there before, remember i was pissed.. so i pulled the remains of my cords over my knee and discovered this huge burn, which by now was introducing itself properly to that small amount of shaken and stirred grey matter I had left, despite the alcohol. 
I stood there for a minute or two trying to appraise the damage, not only to me but also my means of transport, the bike. Although a little mis-shapen in almost all departments it did actually start, so i was halfway there. I jumped on the bike and my previously straight leg while standing up, turned into a bent leg when sat on the bike, but trust me it didn't feel good so it was immediately straightened again and off i set, not to Nan's but back to my mate Taters.
I remember very little about that ride home, needless to say it must have looked a trifle odd with my one leg straight out in front of me and no trousers on, i couldn't wear them as they were flapping in the breeze and hitting my burn which was by now causing me a little bit of discomfort it was fair to say.
I arrived at Taters place and tapped on the door until someone came down, it was Tater himself who opened the door, he squinted and looked at me, then looked at my lack of trousers and jacket covered in farm shit and laughed as if it was the last ever joke he would hear, not long after that laugh rang out around the quiet cul-de-sac his mum Barbara came down to see what the fuss was all about and took one look and burst into laughter as well, all this time i was stood outside in the rain with a leg that was telling me it wanted amputating and quick and stinking of farm shit while soaking wet and cold.
 Eventually they stopped laughing and brought me inside to the kitchen where Barb grabbed some cream and a bandage for my leg. She dressed the wound and cleaned me up by which time i was pretty damn sober and pretty damn sore. I stayed the night at Taters and made my way home in the morning, i didn't go next door to my family as there would have been hell to pay if they had found out i had fallen off my bike.
Morning arrived and my leg was in agony, i was later to find out that as it was a severe burn i should have soaked it in cold water for a while but instead it was just dressed and covered up, something that I would live to regret for quite some time. I surveyed the damage to the bike which always looks worse in broad daylight and myself and Tater affected some repairs enough for me to get back to my Nan's. I jumped on the bike in a borrowed pair of jeans and headed off, not at all in the right frame of mind for a job interview but i could not miss it.
Arriving at Nan's i went into the kitchen and Grandad was sat almost asleep at the breakfast table with his pipe going, the warm Autumn sun that used to shine through the kitchen window at that time of year warming him up nicely as he dozed, he looked up as i walked in somewhat startled but his heavy eyelids closed once more almost immediately and he was soon away with the fairies. Not so Nan, who was cleaning upstairs so i went up and showed her my war wounds almost immediately from that previous night and she was horrified at the burn on my leg and immediately took me downstairs and put my leg under the cold tap, which was only 12 hours too late but better late than never i guess!, then she grabbed a packet of something out of the First Aid box, she tore open the packet and took out this brown coloured patch that looked like a miniature fishing net which she duly stuck over the affected area and to be honest it felt good. It was Penicillin Gauze. Now, for those of you, like me, not medically trained then it seemed a very good idea, keep it clean and stop dirt getting in the burn area as well as sooth the wound. You would think that wouldn't you?. Well, yes, but the trouble is with a gauze is that when you take it off at night it will be stuck to whatever you have attached it to and a deep burn on the inside of a very soft thigh is not the place for a gauze, so instead of the burn healing in a couple of weeks i had 2 months of agony until a Dr who was examining Nan one afternoon happened to spy the bandage while i was wearing shorts one morning and enquired about what i had done... after he had supplied the right dressing and ointment it cleared up within 2 weeks, proving Nan's don't have ALL the answers!.

Getting back to the immediate aftermath of my crash and explaining to Nan that i had hit a fox and it caused the crash and I was only doing 40mph etc none of which she believed for an instant as she knew damn well i only used 40mph as a means to get to 100mph, but i had to regain focus for my job interview at 10 am.
 So, bandaged up with my time bomb of penicillin gauze on my leg i rode into Ludlow for my interview. Arriving in the farmyard the farmer was walking across the yard and looked somewhat puzzled at the shape of my bike, which, it was fair to say was a little on the strange side with the exhausts pointing in different directions and the handlebars looking like a cobra dancing out of a basket of smouldering Marijuana, i thought it best to answer his question before he asked it, "I hit a fox last night and it errr..made me fall off" was the excuse i offered, but it was all too obvious the farmer didn't believe me any more than Nan so not the most auspicious of starts to a job interview i must admit but at least i had managed to get there.
The interview went really well and in no time we were chatting away and i found myself hoping i would get the job, i duly left with a polite handshake and the farmer said he would let me know as soon as possible if i was the successful applicant and, true to his word, by the time i had arrived home he had rung at Nan's place and said i could start on the Tuesday if i wanted the job...perhaps at last things were going to start going right for a change, but as i have learnt in my life never expect an easy ride, it just makes you complacent...

To be continued.

A little about me cont...

The following days at nan's house were very strained to say the least. Nan didnt have the best of health and had enough pills around the house to keep a small chemists shop open for a week, but she did cope with her ailments quite well, even if it was a known fact that the last thing you ever did was to ask her how she was.
This would result in you having all the gory details of every illness and operation she had been in or had over the previous 40 years. I wasn't in good books for quitting my job and Nan had her way of showing it, everything I did or said over these next few days would encourage a comment from her with regards to my job, or indeed lack of, i could not escape either as i lived under her roof and was fast running out of money.
 One night, about 3 weeks after my walkout a local farm worker came in to the house and implied there may be a job going on a local farm in Ludlow, quite a big farm and one that he himself worked on.  It seemed there may be some light at the end of the tunnel.
I went back home to my parents house on my motorcycle that evening, back to the village i grew up in and around, Munslow. It was the archetypal English village with stone cottages a shop and Post Office and a war memorial, it once had a vibrant school that i had attended along with my siblings but it had long since been turned into a private house. Riding in to the village i turned off the B road and headed up a steep bank, past the Church on my left, then around a sharp right hand bend and up another small bank until the road levelled off, to my right then was a tennis court owned by the Francis-Moores, they were a very well to do family who were seldom in the village, but as children we were allowed to use the court anytime, amazing generosity when you think abaout it, could you ever imagine such a thing these days?. Turning a tight left hand bend i passed a style at the top of a field on my right, i had been through this style every day of my Grammar School life to catch a double deck bus to get to Ludlow and every day to get back home, it was like an old friend who you see once in a while, nod your appreciation to and drift on.
At the top of this road sat the small council estate that i was raised on. Nothing fancy, but it was home for many years and I have many memories of such great and sometimes not so great moments of living there.
My parents house was No.1, it had a small drive down to a wooden garage and was very plain and ordinary. The views from the rear were simply fantastic and always a source of inspiration, this was my back yard, this is where i grew up and had spent almost all my life thus far, it was a friendly face amongst a world of strange ones, a welcome bosom on which you could lay your head without fear. I was home.
Being home was not always a welcoming experience in every way however, despite my wonderful memories and fantastic care-free childhood. I had grown up and I was becoming a young man, a young man with attitude and a feeling of wanting to be a rebel against the people who I had grown up around. I liked motorcycles, wore leathers, grew my hair long, stayed out all night, drank, smoked, you name it I was up for sampling it. To my Chapel raised father and school mistress mother i was a huge disappointment and I knew it, I had shown great promise at school but as my Grammar education continued i fell behind and could never catch up so i started playing the class jester, the idiot, it was an easy role to play and required no effort. I now had a chip on my shoulder that said something like "all grown ups are miserable" and that was to stay with me for a long time.  Mum seemed pleased to see me when i walked in through the old blue door with frosted glass as most of them were in those days, life had become tough for Mum of late, she had been the victim of a stroke at the age of 42 and it had wrecked her teaching career and her life, she couldn't move her left arm and leg very well and her speech was affected, back then stroke victims had a tough time, her life had been turned upside down and that had spread to the whole family as she had to be cared for by someone, mostly by my poor sister Caroline who always seemed to be there to bail the family out in times of crisis but got little thanks in return, she worked very hard to help mother recover, an angel by any other name but a daughter too. I told Mum i had quit my job, of course she already knew because i was living with her mother, my Nan and they talked, but at 17 you don't think of such things readily, she said "oh dear what are you going to do ?" as if it were a travesty on a grand scale, "Oh something has come up, i have an interview tomorrow"
"oh really?" Mum said in a mumbled manner, trying to speak as normally as possible despite her obvious physical problems,
"yes, its another farm, in Ludlow, seems a pretty sure thing"
"oh well, at least you will be working again" came the reply, i sensed that she would have loved me to have said i was going to be an airline pilot or a solicitor, but no, it was farming again and after all, hadn't she and father been the ones to push me in to employment the minute i left school? what more could they expect from this boy other than a wasted life?.

I heard a car coming down the drive, it was Dad's Austin Allegro, it was such an ugly thing but i guess it got the family from A to B, Dad worked part time self employed catching moles or putting fences up, whatever he could do to get by to be honest, it wasn't a great living but Mum did have her school pension which was a great help. Dad walked in and didn't say a lot, he didn't think much of me and didn't mince his words or try to hide it, he would be sarcastic almost immediately and try to get me to react, most of the time i did and Mother would end up crying in the middle of the argument for which i would get the blame, or sister perhaps if she was in earshot, I already carried the burden of being told i had caused mum's stroke because i had left home at such an early age and I had put mum under so much stress. With no-one to tell me otherwise i carried that with me, in my heart even now i still believe part of it is true, despite many attempts from people who i love and love me to dispel such a theory. It was just another example why myself and Dad could not live under the same roof, instead of nurturing he would criticise and use his superior strength to brow beat, he could sting with words in an instant, his wall of insults knew no boundaries when he was losing his temper, you got exactly what came to his lips warts and all, many's the time i simply walked out mostly in tears at the thought of such a lonely existence and how bad a lad i had really turned out despite all his best efforts. Worthless is the word i was thinking just then. I felt worthless.
I said "Hi" to Dad and he mumbled something about my losing my job but i refused to rise to it and with that i slipped next door to see my old mate Tater Davies, his name was Pete but as he was growing up his high forehead left him with the nickname "spud" and it has stuck even to this day. I looked up to Pete, he was a great bike rider, a mechanic and above all he was different and he made me smile, he had a leather jacket with so many badges on it was unreal and a pair of motorcycle boots with huge stainless steel wear pads and shin protectors on, he was 6ft 1inch with long hair and was mostly out of work at the time, but to me he was a great friend as it was always Pete i would go round to if Dad got too miserable... as was the case that evening.

Tater (Pete) was just off to Ludlow on his Kawasaki triple and asked if i was coming, i immediately agreed and slid round back home and shouted to the folks that i was splitting to Ludlow, again another sarcastic bunch of mumbles came forward but i paid little or no attention to it, it was the norm.
The ride down the Corvedale road to Ludlow is set in biker history. It is a tight twisting B road with junctions everywhere and tractors that spring out of fields in a heartbeat, but it held no fear for me and Tater, this was our turf and we rode that stretch of the Queen's highway like we had stolen it. Very soon we were in Ludlow, catching up with a few more biker mates in a pub called The Nags Head, ironically it's now a bloody Tesco's..

tbc....

A little about me...

I guess the first rule for any writer is to write and write regularly, something that isn't always that easy when you are running a business or have a family to take care of, when it's both it becomes nigh on impossible, but writing is a bug that doesn't suddenly pop up and bite your ass one day, it is with you all through your life, you just need to recognise it, some people do this at an early age but for some its not that simple as like me they can have their artistic leanings put on the back burner while they try to make a living out of any job they can find.
I left school with one English O level and a wide eyed ambition to see the world. Money (or lack of it) saw me end up on a small hill farm tending 1,500 sheep at 16. I guess the novelty of your first job takes a little while to wear off, mine was no exception, I thought i had found happiness but, as has been so often the case in my life, I had only reached a stepping stone. I tried all my early life to emanate my big brother and sister by getting a job on the land and settling down to what my beautiful County had to offer but it would not take me long to soon realise that beautiful as she was, Shropshire could never hold me.
After a seemingly endless 2 years on the hill farm i got fed up of the constant arguing between the boss and his son and the contradicted orders that came my way so one day after yet more double orders, i just grabbed the spade i was using to dig a ditch with and walked back to the farm yard, threw the spade in the log shed and told them to go and get f#cked.
It was one of those defining moments in your life you always remember, not that i am proud of what i did as its no way to leave your employer, but it said a lot about my state of mind at the time as i was actually a polite well mannered lad, if a bit wild, but could give as good as i got, so in a way perhaps it was somewhat deserved that day.
The following morning i woke up in bed, i was living with my Nan at the time as i had done since i was 15 turned 16 because me and Dad could not get on at all. We were always arguing and it was leading to some pretty brutal stand-offs so i left to live with Nan and anyway i could walk along the fields to get to work so it all worked very well, until of course that morning.. when Nan shouted up the stairs, "Tom (farmer boss) is on the phone he says if you are there by 9 a.m you can have your job back!", of course being 17 and full of spirit i said "stuff him i ain't going back there" to which Nan did not reply, but it said a lot about what i could expect when i DID get out of bed.
Nan was definitely the one who wore the trousers in the house, Grandad was always telling jokes and laughing and seldom got upset about anything but when he did Nan knew exactly when to keep quiet. Grandad would usually defuse most situations by going outside and cutting logs for the ever lit Rayburn or just standing outside with his pipe and staring out into the wonderful flowing Shropshire countryside, he always wore a pinstripe like shirt with the sleeves rolled up and braces that crossed over at the back, he always had turn-ups on his trousers and mostly had his hands in his pockets, his trusty pipe and 2 ounces of "Franklyns" tobacco were never far away, he smoked quite heavily but i guess that was all part and parcel of life for that generation, typically he would have wellingtons with the tops turned over, which to everyones amusement he wore everywhere, including on the beach at Tenby one year!..
Anyway, I sloped downstairs at about 9.15 and Nan was busy cooking and cleaning as usual, the air was thick with things Nan wanted to say, but you could tell she was just waiting for the opportune moment, she was very much like that, waiting for the right opportunity to arise and then she would wade in with what she thought about the situation with all guns blazing...not always the best way to treat a head strong 17 year old!. The wafts from the oven of the fruit cake Nan was making smelt delicious and i sat at the old table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in silence. It was like Nan was daring me to speak first so she could angle the conversation towards work, but it was the last thing on my mind that was for sure...
I went outside and walked into the front garden where Grandad..as always, was chopping logs, his big calloused hands grabbing the end of the split log and lining it up for the next hit with the axe always a feature of how i remember him, he didn't say a lot, Grandad would rarely get involved in such things, he would just natter about the weather or about the next door farmer, anything but confrontation, that was how he was.
I spoke about the weather, my motorbike, the geese, (which they always kept for a Xmas cull) in fact just about anything other than leaving my job that morning. That suited me and Grandad just fine, but I knew that at some point Nan would be let in to the conversation and all hell would break loose, not something i was relishing but in some way i thought i deserved it, underlining yet again the proportion of blame i was carrying at such an early age.
I grabbed some logs from the pile that Grandad had just cut and walked in through the door, the smell of baking still wafting through the kitchen as i stacked the logs in a wicker basket next to the Rayburn, Nan had her back to me and was still silent, I couldn't let this continue, so i backed my arse to the Rayburn and twiddled the stainless towel rail with my hands behind my back and spluttered "I am not going back"... this is what Nan had been waiting for, this was her moment to go in for the moral speech and take the higher ground and i braced myself for what was to come..."You will never stick at anything or get another job as good as that" and with that she walked into the living room to light the fire.
I was left stunned, I didn't know how to take what she had said to me, she seemed resigned to it, she seemed to almost accept (though begrudgingly) that I was not going to return. I walked in to the living room behind her, "I will Nan, I will find something a lot better, you just wait and see"... "I doubt it, nothing will ever be good enough for you" came the reply, I realised this was a battle I was not going to win so i retreated upstairs to my music, Michael Jackson's Thriller album in vinyl played the soundtrack to the rest of my day while I lay on my bed in a strange yet perverted way proving just what Nan had said to me, that i would never make anything of myself, it was a hard lesson for a young easily influenced lad to carry and something that only to this present day do i fully understand was not a real failing of mine...but it would haunt my forming years and leave scars that would heal but always be a memory...

To be continued...

To die or not to die?.

Recent events that have transpired have brought the death penalty back into the spotlight once again. It's a very emotive subject, not least when the abduction of a child is involved.
I get the feeling though that many UK residents would actually support it but, given the choice between the death penalty and a "penalty that fits the crime" I think most people in reality would actually prefer the latter. Killing people with such diseased minds that allow them to carry out such atrocities is not a deterrent in itself, otherwise Texas and the like would be the safest place on earth. The truth is people will still carry out such heinous crimes regardless of the cost to themselves be it death or life imprisonment so it doesn't add up to kill just to appease the few who are baying for blood. I think most would like to see "life" meaning "life" and the more serious continuous offenders locked up for longer periods, something that has been wanted for many years.
I also think that a degree of consistency in sentencing is required where judges all sing off the same hymn sheet and make sentencing more transparent to the general public who (to be expected) get exasperated when seemingly murderous villains end up with a 5 year sentence and they will be out in 2.5, i think 5 years should be 5 years and i also think concurrent sentences should be abolished so if a villain is tried for two crimes where he gets 4 years for one and 5 years for the other then he should get 9 years, that would install confidence in our judicial system and send a clear message to so called "gangsta's".

If after all that you still demand the death sentence then let's take a look at a little game called consequences.
first of all you get yourself a hardened villain who has beaten up an old woman and fled with her jewellery and cash from the house,she dies of a heart attack 4 days later, he has just been apprehended by Pc Plod and is in a cell after the court case awaiting his sentence. Would you kill him?.
Then secondly, we have a villain who has grabbed a youngster off the pavement and ended up murdering the poor little soul for his own gratitude. Would you kill him?.
Then we have the lorry driver, he is driving backwards onto a loading bay one night when a group of lads are playing dare and one trips over as he runs behind the lorry, the truck hits him and kills him. The lorry driver is deemed responsible. Would you kill him?.

My best guess is that you all answered yes to situation number 2. Possibly some of you will have answered one and two, but doubtful many of you will have answered yes to all 3.
The fact is someone died in each of these scenarios, they are all open to different interpretation and obviously they are made up for examples but technically they all could happen. If the death sentence is in place for murder then one and two are goners, but it's three that would worry me the most when it comes to corporal punishment and that is the "what if?" question.
What if it was just an accident?... for instance what if the guy who picked the child up was actually returning him home to his parents and while at traffic lights the boy was snatched from the car and the villains never seen again..and by association the man was hanged?,  what if the crook in the old ladies house was actually the man who was odd-jobbing for the old lady and disturbed a burglar who fought his way out and left the old lady for dead..?
"What if" stops us doing things we may regret. It's a human safety net and our mind uses millions of "what ifs" a day while deciding not to touch the hot kettle or stick your fingers in a mincer or poke a biro in your eye, it's all to do with self preservation and a select amount of questions we ask ourselves BEFORE we attempt something. The problem with the death sentence is the "what ifs". What if you ever get it wrong. There is no parole from the house of God, there is no early release date for good behaviour. you die, you die. End of.

I happen to think that the death penalty does belong in the past because of it's sheer brutality and complete lack of what it was designed for and that's as a deterrent. As a civilised society i think we are above such base thinking and our thirst for justice would be much better served by sentences being handed down that are relevant and truthful in their description as well as being able to fit the crime and also prison being rather less comfortable for those who are already attending the lock-ups at Her Majesty's pleasure.

Recent events stir up many emotions and it's quite understandable, but we are not judge and jury where the taking of a life is concerned and I hope we never will have to make that decision, any of us, but please let's DO see these people doing prison time that fits the crime and a tougher regime inside our jails. That would satisfy the vast majority of people i may dare to say and leave us living in a society of tolerance not vengeance.

The fight for democracy

There does seem to be a small problem of late that is rather worrying if you are a bit of a stickler for attention to detail. Admittedly and, I am sure most of my close friends will back me up on this, attention to detail is far from my forte. In fact i am scarcely left in charge of a set of keys or important documents for any longer than is absolutely necessary for fear of them disappearing in a Bermuda Triangle (that occurs spasmodically above my office desk). But something has caught my eye of late and my ever wondering mind (it only gets let out on it's own on very special occasions) keeps returning to this subject and that is the word 'democracy' and how it equates in today's terrorist induced paranoid society where we are watched on every street corner.
Now, there are those that scream "CCTV should be banned!" "it's an invasion of privacy!" yet when something happens where we have 5 year old April being potentially abducted for instance we scream "where was the bloody CCTV?".
My heart goes out to April's parents and family, as a parent i cannot even imagine, or indeed would not even want to think about the terror and heartache they are currently experiencing but as I was saying, CCTV cannot be something we pick and choose, but at the moment i believe democracy is a word being used far too loosely by governments of the day.

Lets see, Wikepedia says "Democracy is a form of government in which all eligible citizens have an equal say in the decisions that affect their lives. Democracy allows people to participate equally—either directly or through elected representatives—in the proposal, development, and creation of laws.

Correct me if i am wrong but when was the last time you saw the above in action?.  If we take for instance that red hot potato always guaranteed to stir emotions, Europe. It is without a shadow of doubt that if a full scale referendum were to be held tomorrow we would be out of Europe as a Country faster than a whippet escaping from a dog's home run by a Korean restaurant company. We would exert our right to vote and walk. So, if I am right you have now joined me on the bench of "so if we live in a democracy why are we still in Europe brothers?". Indeed, that is my question and as we have seen time and time again we are refused that right.
The fact we are refused that right is bad enough, but the reason for us being refused a fair and democratic vote is because the government consider it far too big a picture for the simple man in the street to vote on...so in other words they are protecting us from ourselves.
This somewhat flies in the face of the above quoted Wiki description of what a democracy is. If we go with what our beloved and large majority of ever crooked bunch of MP's tell us our world as we know it would implode and the universe would crumble and actually they know best. Of course, we know they don't. Successive governments have swindled this country out of our gold, our taxes and our dignity and yet they still rule. Democracy is all about freedom of speech and having an equal vote, but when was the last time you had a say in local government or any council business without being guffawed out of the room by a bunch of "we know better" upper class twits or socialist activists from the local council estate who are about as close to socialism and all it stands for as Mugabe is to the Zimbabwe NFU.
So, the reality is our reality has been written, not by our own dear people who are pushed from pillar to post and forced to listen to "lies and then damned lies" but more hauntingly by a book that started with "the clock had just struck thirteen"...yes you literary types out there you guessed it... 1984. It's alarmingly accurate and ever more relevant as the government stress themselves on a daily basis to save us from ourselves.
My idea of bringing up and guiding a child is to allow them to taste a little of what they shouldn't so they learn. In other words if you let your infants grow up in artificial surroundings then they will never learn anything, the same goes for the people of this country. MP's are trying so desperately hard to make new laws to protect us and "help" us but in reality, just like the CCTV i mentioned earlier you cannot be everywhere at once and protect everyone 24/7 so you have to use a little known human trait called common sense, or we end up with a dictatorship.
There is in reality, absolutely no reason why a referendum on Europe couldn't be called for by the end of the year, but it's more likely a Martian is gonna pull up in front of the Rover camera and say "I thought they went bust, can you still get the parts for that?" frankly it ain't gonna happen.
So that leaves all of us in the West with a bit of a quandary, because to be fair if we cant be trusted to manage our own affairs in a democratic and fair minded manner how the hell can we crusade into other countries and preach about human rights..?  As always I do have a solution to the problem (other than not voting) and that is to make life very uncomfortable for your local MP...they hate being chased down the street and being mis-quoted, (justice if you ask me) so go on..be a devil and make them work for the king's shilling as it were!.

And so to reality once more..

The old saying that all good things must come to an end was surely written for this very Saturday morning, if it wasn't, then rather selfishly I wish to claim it. It was with a heavy heart and a total disbelief at the speed at which the 5 days had gone that I met the sunrise that Saturday morning. As always i got up early and lit the fire, went for my walk and stood there with a mind that for once was clear of clutter and thoughts of what i should or shouldn't have done over the past few days. Instead my mind was just blank, contented and at peace with what I had achieved and the reality of the wonderful people that had all come together and met at this place. I was a very lucky man and one day I hope that I can achieve that place again, it would sadden me to know this would be the only time I achieved such inner peace.
Again at the top of the drive i lent on my gate, once more the valley below us was slowly coming to life, there were lots more cars in driveways this morning, testament to it being a Saturday i guess. The usual dogs barking and the odd tractor on a hillside reminded me that out there somewhere life was waiting for me to rejoin and face reality.
I wondered back to the cottage and opened the door, Chris was there as always and he and Hannah were just disappearing for a quick fag as always as Magis and Heidi came into the kitchen, they too looked a little saddened but we were all trying to just get on with things as normal without thinking about it too much. As always Malcolm the housekeeper was there checking we were ok and looking after all of us in his own inimitable way, he really was a rock during the stay and i regret not telling him so, i may write and do just that.

I watched as taxi's arrived and hugs were given out and the promise of swapped e-mails that would replace the close natters and the laughter we shared together were distributed. It was about twenty past Nine and John walked in through the door clutching a copy of his book "Amandes Bed" and he beckoned to me to follow him into the long dinner/lounge room, he turned around and offered me the book and said "I said ye culd have wun an here it is, I hav' inscribed it an signed it far ye and i denny went payin far it"
"But John, I can't expect you to let me have your work and not pay!"
"Aaaah now just hold on Dave, ye supplied tha Scotch last neat an' I usually do that so this is fa you in return"
I accepted the gift graciously as John's work was payment more than enough for just a bottle of Scotch, even a £50 bottle of Macellan.
So, once more i was left stunned by the hospitality and the warmth of all those I had spent the week with and as i was putting the book in my holdall John quipped "Ye can rid the inscription if ya like" I immediately opened the book and John had signed it and there under the heading and title of the book he had inscribed,
"To Dave,
'The Shropshire Lad MkII'
All the best
John"
 Once again that lump arrived in my throat and I thanked John and shook his hand I said, "Thank you John, it was a real pleasure to have met a proper gentleman" I meant every word and I hope he knew that, John Aberdein is one of those rare men who will never forget their background or let fame intersperse his love of what really matters and that is people. For a council house kid from Shropshire his words and kind actions were the stuff of dreams and I appreciated them more than he will know.

At that, I was ready to tackle the long drive South before I became a jibbering wreck. It's strange how such times affect you but I guess i was ready to accept all that this course could offer and jumped in with both feet, hence the wrench when it ended. I truly was sad to be leaving but life goes on. I shook hands and hugged and said my goodbyes to all that morning and I still remember it as if it were 10 minutes ago so vivid is my memory of that day. I jumped in the truck and drove slowly up the drive away from the wonderful Moniack and it's ever present ever changing beauty, away from the tranquility that never before had i managed to find, my heart sank as i reached the top road and i sat there momentarily and looked back, a piece of me was still there in the cottage, still sat by the log burner with warm feet and hot coffee with pen and paper in hand with all my new found friends around me, laughing and enjoying each others company, but just as i was beginning to feel that lump in the throat again i caught sight of a vehicle coming towards me and I had to move as i was half into the road, i accelerated, waved at the people in the car for slowing for me and reached for the radio to play some music, it was over, a long journey was ahead of me, to take me back to where I had begun this journey of discovery.
Sad yes, but a lot wiser and with a heart that had been lifted to a place not seen since my childhood and for that I will forever be indebted to the Arvon foundation, the staff at Moniack, John and Morag and last but not least my wonderful fellow students who made this trip all the more memorable.

I shall always hold a special place in my heart for that wonderful time.  Dave J.

Moniack the final day cont...

I have to admit it was great to jump in the car and head for Loch Ness for an hour or so with 8 other students. I did two runs to the Loch and I parked the car after the second run outside the Loch Ness visitors centre situated about halfway up the Loch. The weather was beautiful, crisp but sunny and the sun reflected off the almost mill pond still Loch like something sent from heaven.
 We crossed the road to the Loch under a purpose built tunnel and came out to a jetty where the boat trips were starting from across the Loch. They didn't seem that busy but to be fair it was obviously later in the year. We all walked off the sloping concrete to the Loch's edge as if drawn to it by some magical power, we stood there and just took in the view and the air for a little while, after the intensive full on writing atmosphere in the cottage it was great to just let your spirit wonder for a little while. We soon started being 'children' and had a great time looking for 'skimming' stones and shouting with whoops of joy when we managed at least 3 skips in a row, silly yes but all the more enjoyable for it. Gemma bless her the youngest of the bunch was handing me stones to skip across the water more akin to a house brick than a flat saucer but what the hell i threw them anyway, which made us laugh even more when they just sank to the bottom of the Loch as soon as they hit the water !.
 I do wonder what some of the tourists on the jetty thought of our shenanigans but to be honest we didn't really care. Magis,Hannah,Chris,Kelsey,Gemma,Olivia,Nuala Jo and myself all the firmest of friends had a wonderful time, we all came back to Moniach with huge smiles on our faces and it strengthened that bond we had all built between the group. I returned with a bottle of Macellan 15 year old whisky from the 'oak' as a little present for later on that night.
When we returned to Moniack everyone got stuck in to the final preparations of their work which they were to read to the rest of us after dinner. It was a nervous time for many including myself as it would be the finale to a week of lessons and guidance from two of the very best tutors in their class and none of us wanted to disappoint. Tonight's dinner would be Haggis, I have to admit i refrained as it's not to my liking, but there was Spag Bol available for those who didn't want to partake of the National dish.

We all sat down for dinner and as usual we were all in a great mood but it was tinged with sadness at this our last dinner together, we had all just sat down when a housekeeper poked her head around the door and asked "are we all seated?" the answer was pretty much a 'yes' from all.. "good then" says she, "we have a little surprise for you all".. and with that the outside door opened and in walked a piper to bless the eating of the Haggis, for once my iphone was in the right place at the right time...
I have to admit I was glad at that point that no-one had actually turned around and spoken to me, because i had a lump in the throat that would have choked me for sure. tears welled up a little as the young lad played the pipes and we sat and enjoyed the spectacle all twinned with the knowledge that reality would beckon once more in just a few hours. Indeed it was a sad but poignant moment, one of many on this voyage of literal discovery I was to experience thanks to Arvon.
A hearty round of applause followed the end of the piper's tune, indeed it was a wonderful touch to a wonderful evening. We all ate heartily and enjoyed our meal and apparently the Haggis went down a treat, though for me the Spag Bol was equally as delicious with a side helping of garlic bread.
After dinner we all sat around the lounge settees again and some stayed at the dinner table with a glass of their poison, I put the 15 year old Scotch on the table in front of John and said  "will this do young John?"
With that he picked the bottle up and studied the label for a few seconds, then quipped to Morag,
"Morag, will ye look at this, it's fifteen year ald Macellan, as writers we could only eva aspire ta the 10 year old and in young Dave walks wi' a bottle 'a fifteen year old jist like that, we're in tha wrong job fa sure!"
At that we laughed out loud and i immediately popped the top off the sacred brew and poured those that wanted it a wee dram, it was good, very good, but i have to say the company was it's equal if not better.

With the wine and whisky flowing it was time for the stories to begin, we were in for a wonderful treat of stories and lifetimes that melted our hearts and left us in astonishment at times, from Magis's story about villagers in India that poison the milk of a new born girl because "they don't want Doctors" (girls cost a fortune to raise in India and some villages still condone poison for female babies) which left us all so stunned and yet full of marvel at this wonderful lady who had stood up and read this to us as if she had read out loud for years, it was heartfelt and tragic yet inspiring to listen to, we were treated to semi-biographical stories, suicide, army heartbreak, working girls and even a school teacher's day which was wonderfully portrayed in Chris's story, who was so dry and yet so funny we all laughed out loud.
I stood up and read a couple of poems that I had written a while ago, one was about the craziness that is religion and the other was about my adventures sat on a dragon's tale, both of which can be found on this blog site, I also read out Bess, the poem that has hopefully started me off in a new direction thanks to those wonderful tutors on the course, it went down well and I was honoured to have been given the opportunity to read in front of such a great group of people.
Once the brilliant readings were over we all sat down and attacked the wine and the whisky, our tutors helped us with any other outstanding questions, but soon we were all just chatting and enjoying the evening in good company, putting the world to rights about everything from politics to writing.
The evening drew on and the log burner flickered in the corner at half it's normal rate as it slowly burned itself into a pile of ashes, a few had already headed for bed as they were catching early trains and some goodbyes had already sadly, been taken care of. The few of us left standing (or sitting) polished off the rest of the wine and whiskey and bade everyone a good night... it was indeed a sad time for all of us.

The Saturday of goodbyes... to be continued.