I have a Sat Nav built into my car – it’s fabulous. No more trying to memorize a map, taking wrong turns or setting off 4 hours earlier than strictly necessary.
When it works of course. We’ve all got our stories to share about the navigational nightmares. There’s time I just used the street name instead of the actual postcode and discovered that there was more than one street with the same name in the City of Nottingham – one on a completely different side of the city to the other. I also remember when it somehow thought it was in the US and tried to convince me I was only half an hour outside of San Francisco when instead I’m on an entirely different continent about seven time zones away.
I’ve learnt that it’s always best to double check exactly where you’re going BEFORE you set off and to know a rough set of directions. A recent trip ‘oop north’ offered a couple of alternative routes. Being a canny driver, I knew that going via Birmingham in rush hour through the road works was definitely going to be the poor alternative to driving ‘over the tops’ and taking in some stunning dales scenery. That route promised dry-stone walls, inquisitive sheep peeking through the gaps and the very best of rolling English countryside. There was the risk of getting stuck behind the odd tractor, but it promised a better view than the likely 15 miles of stationary traffic.
My Sat Nav by contrast actually wanted to see Spaghetti Junction, concrete jungles and traffic cones. I ignored her when she summoned me up the M6, then again when she tried to divert me through Rugby and I sensed her extreme annoyance when I continued to dismiss her pleas to come off the M1 at Leicester.
I’m a very law-abiding citizen normally (well, most of the time…). I do what I’m told. My Sat Nav lady just sounded so disappointed in me. I was sure I could sense a touch of exasperation in her directions and recalculations and I actually started to feel guilty! I tried to reason with her to assuage the feelings she was stirring up within me but I was met with a stony silence (I think she was trying to figure out how she could get me lost as suitable punishment).
In the end, I switched her off and followed road signs. They don’t judge…
The neighbours were always banging about at all hours.
Trevor despaired at the terrible cacophony that disturbed his sleep yet again.
There was a constant barrage of thumping, shouting, rattling, banging, music
and mayhem. Was he the only one that liked a bit of peace of quiet around here?
He wished for the umpteenth time that he had never moved
into this neighbourhood but he was too old and tired to move again. Instead he
resigned himself to another ruined rest and, easing his aching limbs slowly
into movement he made his way to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. There wasn’t
much to choose from. There was a fresh pot of peanut butter but he couldn’t get
the lid off. He stuck to bread and sipped at the lukewarm cup of tea that Lucy
had abandoned before rushing off to school.
The day stretched out in front of him bereft of suitable
entertainment. He missed Lucy when she was at school, despite the fact that
oftentimes she made more noise than a whole street of neighbours put together.
Speaking of which, perhaps he would pop next door and share
his displeasure at this morning’s rude awakening – even if they ignored his
noise protests he could at least have a nosey around at what was going on,
there wasn’t much else to keep an old boy amused around here.
He let himself out of the back door and took a furtive look
over their fence. Half of their kitchen appeared to be missing. A gangly youth
in overalls carrying a plank of wood smiled at him and saluted. Trevor glared
back rather pleased at the attention but certainly not about to show it. The
youth wandered over, clearly in a more sociable mood than Trevor. His goofy
smile didn’t shift even when Trevor started to complain in some detail about
the importance of sleep patterns for the elderly and how much he disliked the
noise of out of tune radios mixed with irregular hammer beats.
The youth reached over and tickled Trevor behind the ears.
It immediately shut the old moggy up turning his indignant meows into a
soothing purr. Maybe these neighbours weren’t so bad after all… at least until
the next time they woke him up!
I'm taking a feral writing course - a bit of running about wild across the keyboard. I've become so stale, my writing joints have stiffened up and I needed the proverbial kick-up-the-backside to get going again.
So, the next three weeks promise 21 responses to prompts written in just 30 minutes.
We start today with a short story.
Billy woke up upside down in bed. His feet had found the comfy spot on the pillow where hundreds of dreams had softened the fibres into the shape of his head. His top half was rather hot under the blankets and there was cat hair getting up his nose. No sign of Lottie though, she was no doubt about her morning business terrorising the neighbourhood dogs and grabbing an early breakfast from her feline victims.
He crawled out onto the floor, his hands landing on the pile of yesterday’s crumpled trousers and sweatshirt. His arms began to sag and his head hit ground level. From this angle he could see right under his bed. Mum said it’s where the dust bunnies lived but he’d never spotted one. Perhaps they were like the monsters and only came out at night. He saw something small and grey by the skirting board though. It was very still, maybe it was one of the mythical creatures or perhaps just his sock. He seemed to remember only having one on for most of yesterday. Billy wasn't really a sock person.
It was quite good fun looking at his room from upside down. He span around a little, keeping his balance by hooking a toe on the open drawer where Mum kept his t-shirts. She was always telling him off for never pushing it closed, but he was glad he hadn’t listened to her now. Under the window Billy spied a floating island of cars. Each bright vehicle was fitted with suction tyres that kept the wheels on the ramps and made satisfying squelchy noises when they moved around. It was a very jerky way of moving and not very fast but the drivers enjoyed it. Billy wanted a go, but first he had to get his head off the ceiling. It was stuck and the dust bunny sock was starting to crawl towards him. Friend or foe? Billy wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
He needed help. Fortunately Rainbow Bear was also glued to this strange woolly ceiling and within easy reach. Rainbow Bear whispered in Billy’s ear. His fur tickled in a nice way. Rainbow Bear was very wise. Billy drew in a deep breath – which wasn’t easy when you were upside down – and called for Mum.
Billy and Rainbow Bear watched as the feet came towards them. They were wrapped in pink fluff. A voice from above asked them what they were doing.
“We’re being upside down” Billy patiently explained. Sometimes he wondered if Mums really did know everything…. “My head is glued to the ceiling and I can’t get it off. I want to play with the floating island”.
Mum turned and twisted her head a bit looking. She put one leg on the bed and bent over. She balanced a hand on Rainbow Bear (he squealed a bit but didn’t complain – he’s brave like that). Finally she put both legs on the bed, stuck a toe in my underwear drawer (which was handily half open) and her plonked her head next to mine.
“I see it” she laughed!
“There’s just one problem though” she added. We both looked at each other. “My head’s stuck to the ceiling now too!”
I love those magic bedtime moments where you hover with one thought on the logical (I must get my car booked in for its MOT) and the dream (a metal stag chases you through a bluebell wood whilst singing My Way). At this point you either pull yourself back into wakefulness or slip into the Land of Nod.
Hello, hello! What do we have here? I can smell something seriously sweet and delicious but where the wasp is it? Are these actually flowers cause they look a bit like dragons...
Aha! I have located the source of that scent, it sure is intoxicating. The only problem is though, that to get at it appears to involve me opening up and then climbing inside the mouth of this dragon. Probably not wise, but seriously you should smell this stuff. I'm intoxicated!
That's it! I'm in. It's a bit dark in here. Anyone got a light? Eek, the mouth is closing... Help!
Phew! Made it out alive! Ooh, what do we have here? I can smell something seriously sweet and delicious...
I'm not entirely sure how I do it, perhaps it's a genetic thing or maybe it just comes down to years of practice; but the truth is that I can can't help but make mess wherever I go.
This time yesterday I had a tidy kitchen table. It was set up perfectly for its intended use - notably: 'eating from'. This morning, as if the fairies had come a-visiting during the hours of darkness, it has turned into this.
Yes, indeed it is the resulting peril that comes from taking an artistic course entitled PaperLove. It means I am allowed to pull out all of my many stashes and scatter them to the wild domestic winds as I breeze through my home on a creative high.
I have been saving many of these scraps of wrapping paper, receipts from foreign retail emporiums, old paper bags and brightly patterned scrapbooking sheets for a 'special occasion' and, dear readers, it appears that very event has arrived. Yet, despite the fact it has sat in a box for years just 'waiting', I am still strangely reluctant to use my precious. I suspect this is why I am sitting here looking at a pile of paper rather than a beautifully hand-crafted book made from the same. I have the rough pressed ragged edge equivalent of stage fright.
Time to take that handmade paper with real flower petals embedded in its glorious texture and make something. Avast me hearties. I'm off!
I was in Paris last week soaking up the sun, wine and the inspiration. I adventured around the art galleries with joy in my heart as I peered close up at the brush strokes of my art heroes. What I love most about staring art in the flesh is being able to see each piece exactly as the artist intended. It hasn't been shrunk or smoothed and bound into a book and what is often surprising is how 'rough' the work looks. You always imagine that each stroke has purpose, unlike my own which is often rather slapdash. Then, you peer at a Monet or Matisse and lo and behold, he paints a bit like me! Wow! It's a reminder that they were actually human too - not some mythical being. The genius of course is how it is all put together - that's something I'm still learning!
This month has been Jose Manual Merello month for me in my Magical Journal Journey as I worked on Maggie's chosen artist. His art is full of bold colour, pattern and an almost wild energy. You can spot the influences of Matisse and Picasso dancing across his canvas. It's hard to find out much about him, though this site has some of his writing which speaks of his passions. I borrowed a quote to illustrate on my page below.
For Maggie's book I let myself loose with a crazy palette and just let the paintings come. It's always a bit nerve-wracking working on a piece in someone else's journal but once I relaxed into it, I felt I was getting closer to Merello's techniques while still being me. I stopped striving for perfection and just made art. It felt good.
It's a terrible beast - it pulls me around the house performing tasks that really could wait; it sticks me in front of Facebook reading 7 ways get rid of a mobile phone in a horror movie and finding out what animal I was in a previous life. It makes me cups of coffee and feeds me biscuits and has me watching the wind shake the branches outside and wondering if it's worth hanging the washing outside.
And then, when I finally start on my submission, the old enemy makes itself known. It whispers into my ear that I'm not good enough, my story is of no interest and I'm wasting my time. I fight back as best I can but it retaliates with a bombardment of other ideas that might be better.
Will I ever be published in a Stampington magazine? Well, not without submitting something first that's for sure!
I'm thinking of sending a selection of these in. What do you think?
Apparently my camera has more computing power than Neil Armstrong and his pals had in their entire spaceship when they flew to the moon ... and back! That's kinda scary when you're trying to learn how a piece of equipment works. What if I got in a cardboard box with a rocket drawn on the outside and pressed one of those buttons I haven't tried yet? I might end up sending a probe out into space or taking flight to another galaxy. Imagine the photos!
Trouble is, if I presented a set of photogenic aliens sitting astride six-legged, hump-back beasts against a backdrop of pink bubblegum mountains, would you believe them to be real?
Only this week, I helped someone grow a plausible beard and put them into a sequined evening dress using nothing but the power of Photoshop. Are we losing our sense of wonder? Does nothing impress us anymore?
I am a writer, an artist and a dreamer. I am on a journey following my heart. It promises to take me to some incredibly exciting places. Won't you join me?
The latest trip is one you can all join. We're going in search of our Muses and when we find them we're going to have so much fun!
Come on over to my creative business - The Wright Brain Stuff - and harvest all the creativity you need from the depths of your imagination!