Boys are better than girls? I think not! was it the short hair that did it?

Living in a small village surrounded by boys I couldn’t help being a tom boy but I also think it’s in my nature. I was always being coerced into situations by my eldest brother, always against my better judgment and never in a lady like fashion, we would climb trees. We would string a line across two tall trees to make an aerial slide. To do this though we needed a small person to try the branch out first, to swing on to make sure it was safe. That was my brother’s reasoning. That small young and innocent person was me.

After climbing as far as I dared and was sure I could just about touch the skies, I duly swung on the branch which held my weight. I tied the rope and threw the line down. My brother tied the other end to the next tree so that when we reached the bottom we could safely drop to the ground. We had made a handle over an old pram wheel which we had taken the tyre off. The ridge this left fitted the rope well allowing us to free fall from one tree to the next. We had done this many times before; getting higher and longer each time.

Now this particular day the branch held until my Cousin Paul took his turn. He was one of the eldest and biggest. Well his weight got too much for the branch. We heard the loud crack and then they both came crashing down, breaking his wrist. At that moment I understood with clarity what my brother was really asking me to do and I refused to risk my bones for his idea of fun. My brother was a little upset over my decision and would goad me that I was just a mere girl. When I retorted back that he should give it a go himself sometime, his argument run out of steam. He then decided that we should have a shooting contest which would prove that I would never be as good as a boy. I didn’t see what shooting had to do with climbing trees but I had to prove him wrong. My brother had an air rifle that he practiced everyday with and I wasn’t allowed to touch. This didn’t seem to be a fair way to decide but I was so incensed by his view of me and my kind I felt I had to prove him wrong and agreed to take the challenge.

So there I found my self watching my brother take aim. With his allotted three shots he managed to kill one blackbird. I stepped forward and I told him flatly that I would shoot the poor bird through the head as I didn’t want the bird to suffer. He just laughed at me. My eyes were shut but with determination and resolve to gain my brothers respect, I took my first shot. I hit the bird through the head and killed it outright. I turned to my brother who had his mouth wide open in a very satisfying way and said‘I told you, if you want to get a job done, get a girl to do it!’ And stormed off like a pre-Madonna.

I thought this would be an end to it but like all flukes it became gossip around the village. This was compounded when my uncle Ian decided it was time I shot my first 12-bore shot gun. He showed me how to lean into this gun so the recoil would not hurt my shoulder. My elbow was just below his rib cadge. When I squeezed the trigger my arm flew back winding my uncle badly. This changed the trajectory and I hit two ducks that happened to be flying by. My brother now in awe of my ability reckoned I shot them with one barrel but I’m fairly sure I let both barrels off. My Gran plucked and cooked them in my honour. Best duck I have ever tasted, my Gran was a mighty fine cook.

 By the time shooting season was upon us the myth had became a legend, which I tried to distance myself from, knowing one day I would have to live up to it. I refused to shoot in the presence of my brother as I didn’t want my luck to run out. Beating on a shoot for Mr Spring early on in that season, it was a pleasant but chilly morning and I had dressed accordingly with many layers. We had stopped for lunch and I was leaning on a gate waiting for the rest of the beaters to catch up and go to lunch when Mr. Spring’s commando voice broke the tranquil air. ‘Good God man you’ve got to your age and you can’t tell the difference between the sexes, no wonder ya such a bad shot Sir. This lady, I’ll have you know is the best shot in the county.’ He winked at me as he went past and I caught sight of his humour dancing in his eyes.

I had been aware of a pompous man that spoke in that hard on the ear nasal way, portraying an aristocratic background. He was indeed a bad shot which had been annoying Mr. Spring all morning. I looked around to see what had taken place when I realised all eyes were on me. I had never known Mr. Spring to verbally and openly chastise a paying gun. It transpired that this man had been calling me lad and when I didn’t answer he got less than polite with his language.

There was great merriment over lunch about me being a ‘lad’ and my shooting capabilities. My brother revelled in the telling of the blackbird and ducks myth. Mr Spring came to have a word with me and we had a good giggle about it all.

He imparted some of his wise wisdom that day that I always remember when I encounter a pretentious sort of person. The worst of people are the ones that make you think they are above the rest of us. You have to learn to give your respect wisely, he told me. It sounded so easy and that man’s character could be spotted in a crowded room. But people are more complex and sometimes you just want to climb a tree or two and look out on the view, just for the sheer joy of it, or is that just me?

 Was it the short hair that did it?

Dad Mum Me and Jim

Contemplating marriage and bring up children do I have a right to be grumpy?

Contemplating marriage and bring up children after being told I was just full of frills on my puffed up fairy life and that I had no understanding of reality (I took this as a compliment I have to say) I watched the Richard Dimbleby Lectures given by Michael Morpugo (my hero of gentle thought) and was inspired. His ‘The Butterfly Lion’ gave me faith in how I look at things and as soon as I can I’m going to buy ‘The Kites are Flying’ that he based his lecture around. His books are written for children but defiantly have adults in mind.

I woke up grumpy one morning this week and by hook or by crook I want to stay grumpy. I deserved at least that, don’t I? I have a right to be how I feel, don’t I??  I feel surly and cantankerous, wizened and old and life-just don’t ever play fair!! My children are always saying this when they can’t get what they want and what is good for them is also good enough for me, so there!!! All I want is five minutes peace.

But my fairy just won’t let me be she fly’s around my thoughts and always lands at some point as a smile upon my face. You might say this is a good thing, that being grumpy is a bad thing to be but sometimes you need to vent and people definitely need to know you also have limits but The Fairy just don’t see it that way. My fairy is a beautiful flight of fancy with frills and a puffed up attitude to life, you just have to read some of my poems and stories to see that. She sees life in such a fanciful way with no basis in reality or that’s what I was told the other day. Is this true? Or is there a large dose of reality in her fluff and frills? So what was making me grumpy and why on earth did I want to stay in that state? Do you know, I can’t remember, so lost was I in another flight of fancy of Michael Morpurgo.

There are people right now starving, hiding from danger watching as others suffer so the rich can thrive. There will be many; who will be given bad news about a disease, that fighting will not cure. Some will be harmed through another’s hand. All these things have touched me and may others, indirectly or directly. For all of you out there that face these issues I pay homage to your tenacity to smile and your ability to hope.

I have no right to be grumpy, do I?

Patience they say is a virtue?

After a couple of weeks of little frustrations, such as washing machine, tumble dryer and dishwasher deciding they had had enough and quit working (I couldn’t blame them). I replaced them only to find the replacements had issues going on and we had to wait for their replacements. Then the car decided to have moments likened to a toddler having a tantrum, deciding it was going no further at the most inconvenient time! I know no time is convenient but when I had three places to be at the same time, making the calls while a line of traffic built up, with a tractor driver offering to push the car to one side for me while the children where shouting questions of importance, can make you a little overwrought and jaded around the edges. They just needed to give me time but they all seemed unwilling. Finally the car calmed down and started and the tight country lane was in full flow again.

Imagine then, how happy I was on that Friday evening to finally open a bottle of wine, escape upstairs and enter my in-a-sanctum of my beautiful new en-suit. Scented candles gave a pleasant and relaxing ambiance of a tropical beach. So realistic was the mood that I was sure even before switching on the shower that I could feel the water lapping at my toes. Alas it was not my imagination, there really was water lapping at my toes. My in-a-sanctum is no more. Life can be full of events that test your patience to the limit!

In the two years since this happened despite many men coming to look and scratch their chins and two new doors replacing the old Leakey one. I still have no flooring down, due to the leak that still persists through the seam in the door. I had said right from the start that I thought it was a design fault. Three men looked around at me, the shower man; the plumber and my poor husband, they indulged my theory only two years later did they believe it!

Patience they say is a virtue that will be rewarded, what I would like to know is when!

Mr Spring and the Jelly debate.

Mr Spring was a gamekeeper that I lived next to when I was growing up and I have written a few times about him in my blog (My Humble tribute and Twenty Men). He was tall, muscular and intimidating; as his blue eyes challenged you with a tinge of mockery.  When I grew to an age where the intimidation stopped being so threatening and became part of the fun of talking to him, we started debating issues that we both thought were fun.

Mr Spring’s wife had always kept a dog in the house but they always went to his shoots. Mr Spring thought that living in the house ruined the dog, made them soft and harder to work with. Amber was a boarder terrier of renown and as we sat there I felt rather indignant at this widely held belief throughout the shooting fraternity and thought he and they were wrong. We both agreed to blame it on the difference of the sexes.

Mr Springs very male approach to the matter was that if you gave too much of anything the clear rules and lines of acceptance are blurred any blurring makes the dog unable to focus on the job in the field. He said this as he was feeding Amber a jelly!

It now makes me smile at my arrogance, after all, I was living in London and had never fully trained a dog or wholly been responsible for one but I didn’t let this deter me. I gently reminded him that Amber had always been in the house and followed Mrs Spring everywhere and a better foxing dog could not be found. I could see in his eyes the dawning of this revelation. My thoughts were, that this was because a woman can give boundaries while in a home environment, men find this hard and I also thought that women can manage their feelings better. Its not the dogs fault the male handler finds it hard to love and discipline at the same time and I bet that the reason; on the whole, why after their dogs death a family find it hard to have another take its place, is because the men of the family can’t cope with the loss. Women are more able to grieve than men and so we are perceived weaker, when in reality we can grieve and move on better than our male counterparts. Anyhow I finished off, it may because you feed Amber too much jelly and she can’t move so well. He winked at me, as he fed her his biscuit of his plate.

In counter argument he announced with an even bigger twinkle in his crystal blue eyes (I brace myself for the battle of the sexes). When coming across a woman protester against blood sports shouting at him, he quietly and respectfully asked her whether she thought she was any better, stopping her in her tracks.

Not privy to the scene I quickly made a mental picture of it in my minds eye. Wooded area of idyllic tranquillity, beaters getting ready with their dogs Mr. Spring cap adorned and camouflage jacket and kaki waffle scarf protecting him from the bitter chill. Middle aged woman, towards retiring age stops car gets out ‘Skirt a swinging’ leaving five dogs in the back of the car barking excitedly while she was telling him how wrong he was.

When she asked him ‘what on earth do you mean by that? How could she in any way be likened to him and his antics’ (And at this point his broad smile could not get any bigger) He recounted to me what he had said. Five dogs in any car were too many but in a small car such as hers was fool hard for their safety and that of any other road user. ‘My dear lady’ I can hear his clear no nonsense voice still. Your dogs have been bread to chase pray. He had explained. The whippet for rabbits, your two Jack Russell’s for rats and such like, your lovely retriever, you are denying its right to retrieve and your two fox terriers for foxing. Apparently she was under the elution that because the terriers were small dogs that they didn’t need as much exercise as big dogs, so only took the small ones out occasionally. She was soon put straight by Mr Spring who went into great detail of why terriers are so revered by the shooting community. Their stamina and tenacity coupled with their daredevil approach to life, they most certainly needed a good five mile walk a day as they were kept at the heel of the farmer or ran and kept up with the horse and hounds. I asked him what she had said in reply, he laughed aloud and said they had spent a happy lunchtime talking about dogs and she viewed them a little differently, the dogs he hastened to add ‘not me you understand’ he winked at me ‘I’m still a barbarian’. We both laughed at that.

As we sat by the side of his fire, warm and cosy with Amber now on my lap I had enjoyed immensely the telling of the story and I asked him if he also told her that they can make good fireside companions. On cue Amber went back to her master and liked his face.

This poem is to all of us who have loved our pets.

The day I Lost my Shadow

I lost my shadow to-day

I noticed when I hung out the washing

A void that will not be filled

A presence so soft

A nudge so gentle

I noticed again when I walked

As I have walked

A million or more times before

A flicker of my shadow

I thought I saw

But my shadow

Bless her, is no more

My constant companion

Our linked and entwined soles

Shared space

Moments of peace

Solace in madness

She calmed my day

A wet cold nose

Meant time to sit and cose

At night when our home is quiet

Meant my shadow was waiting

A coffee for me

A bone for her

She would watch the kettle with interest

And concern if I walked away

A whimper ment she had waited too long

My shadow would pace me

To the sofa

Our rightful place

Though the void seems endless

The day my shadow

Laid down and to me was lost

I knew

I had truly been

Blessed

X

My very supportive family and a compulsion Takes flight a Tilly debate.

I have added a second part of the story at the bottom. Skip the first bit to find out what happens next.

My very supportive family make my day worthwhile. Oh Yeah! They know how to fill me with confidence and inspire me.

I was talking to Kev about going in for a competition that had; as part of its prize a mentoring scheme, he thought the mentoring was a good idea but told me to save my money on entrance fees as I was unlikely to win. Giving him the benefit of the doubt I thought he put this down to the fact that it was a big competition and there would be many entrants so it would be difficult for me to win. But that was my own naivety.

            Sitting down later that day he said he had given it some thought and while having a cup of coffee he elaborated on his comment earlier. I hadn’t asked him to and as my self esteem had dug its self a rather large hole into which to bury its self in, I think he should have drunk his coffee in peace; after all there is only so much realism a person can take.

            His thoughts concluded that while he enjoys my take on life as I see it, my short stories are not my thing and I should just write the odd poem and anecdote as a hobby and enjoy it.

            It gave me enough food for thought for a banquette for a thousand hungry guests. I will have to take time in digesting this, as I internally debate whether I should give up on the short story and novel idea. I would ask the other family members what they think but I would hazard a guess their answer would be the same. Thinking about that that really should tell me something shouldn’t it! WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE TILLY!!!!!!!!

            How so ever the short story should be 300 words but I wrote 480 so he’s right! I’ll let you decide whether it was worthy of writing.

I Watched as my Compulsion Grew wings

I watched my compulsion grow wings and take flight, I tried in vein to catch her but to no avail. I stood incensed; as once more I had been passed over for a promotion and it was given to the loud mouthed, unnatural red haired, tight skirted, bursting boosomed know it all; that knew nothing and the most aggressive office bully that I had ever met in my life. An unnatural compulsion to tell the truth, without a care rose like an out of body experience. It looked so beautiful and felt so liberating. I was transfixed on the spot at the splendour of it all.

            ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Her banshee’s screech hurt my ears. Slowly I brought my eyes down and focused on her thick makeup that clung to her features like a badly made mask.

            ‘No’ I replied dully and turned to go. She grabbed my arm to swing me around so that another onslaught of her abuse could be unleashed on me but my compulsion was having none of it. Without turning and with conviction and an inner strength; I had rarely felt, I asked her to let me go.

            ‘You stay here and listen to what I have to say. Just because you wanted the Managers job but they picked me;’ her face had screwed up into a contorted hag’s; which I must admit suited her personality well. ‘For obvious reasons, might I add!’ she continued. By now the whole office had stopped what they were doing. I looked around and back at the false nailed, boobs on stilts and before I could capture it, it took flight again and all my thoughts and truths whirled through the air zooming with zeal and delight. The crowd that had gathered were taking great enjoyment in my swooping and looping statements. I watched her face crumble and the mask crack in lines but I didn’t stop and as I reached the door, I bowed with exhaustion and exhilaration, as I closed the door on the stunned manager and delighted crowd.

            As the wings of my compulsion carried me home I kept saying to anyone who would listen, did I really do that? Flash backs of the statements I had made, amused me but if they hadn’t been truths they would have filled me with remorse.

            I thought by Thursday I would get a call; after all I was the only one Mr Fleming would talk to and then no one knew where the key to the supplies was kept or how to work the printers when they had a funny turn; which they did every third day or so. So by Thursday someone would have to eat a large piece of humble pie and ring and ask for help. Now I wonder who will be chosen for that deed and I wondered if a salary of a manager was enough!

THE END

P.S If you’re wondering who the boobs on stilts is, its Kev in drag!

I’m dedicating this to Julie who is suffering from man flu. I know Kev’s thoughts on my work will incense her beyond distraction speeding her recovery I hope and giving her some light relief. x

The second part of this story which I had no intention to write was asked for by a very dear friend who laboriously goes through my work when I send it out to agents. Unlike my family she firmly believes I will get published, with her and a few others they keep me going. That and my readers of my blog so many thanks x

            To Tina my name sake bless ya x

When a Compulsion is Liberated

            Liberation couldn’t last long, finances being what they were. Did I really want my old job back anyhow? Contemplating the issues I walked as I often did, in a semi trans-like-state when I heard a friend call. We had met a few times while she was walking her little lad, so friend was probably too strong word for it, acquaintance is a better description of our relationship. Apparently I lifted her spirits and made her laugh, a much needed thing when your child is teething.

            We had walked across the green some way and had turned to go through our favourite part of the village, a wooded walk through. Going parallel with the road I could see a car pull up, I thought I recognised the car but I’m completely hopeless when it comes to cars. Not wanting to appear rude and stare at a stranger I turned to answer a question Jane had just asked. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the screaming banshee stride on her stilts over to me. Acutely embarrassed, knowing from experience that she was going to get verbal again, I turned to apologise to Jane. I want a word with you her venom spat out.

‘We’ll wait’ she nodded to Tom in the buggy.

‘No I don’t think so’ I replied moving to protect Tom but I was too late as Boobs on stilts, nearly stumbling over him to get to me.

            I could see from her fixated eyes that she was out to get my eyes. Lord I thought she needed careful handling but what could I do with dog poo bag full of the stuff and the lead to my pregnant bitch in one hand? Somewhere in my mind I heard the voice of my son when he had taken an army day at school ‘bend the figures back to gain control. Well I didn’t argue as I’d already sustained a scratch high up on my right cheek bone. When I had full control she started to kick me as hard as she could.

            The thing that struck me was how quiet she was, not a murmur. Her eyes were fixed and with every sinew she had was out to get my eyes, to cause as much damage to them as she could. I bent her fingers a little further while I asked Jane to take my dog and poo bag.

‘You’re hurting me’ she wailed.

‘Sorry’ was my reply. I know, I know. It makes me laugh too but manors cost nothing. Well I was bending them hard to gain control and to stop her kicking me, so I relaxed my gip a little.

            So there we stood in a bit of a dilemma really. Quiet, nothing at all being said while I contemplated what to do. She had started to calm down, well she had too I was in full control. Bullies always think they can physically take on more than they truly can.

            I was not prepared to let her go close to toddler and dog. So I frogmarched her backwards fashion to her car. Jane shouted that she was on to the police and she should go and she retorted that how she could do that, nodding at her hands.

‘You think I’m letting go you’ve another think coming.’

‘I can’t get in the car like this’ she nodded again at her hands. She had a point. So I pushed her free and made ready for retaliation and was a relieved that none came. She hurled a few abusive remarks and left.

            I went over to Jane to check she was ok. Jane was reciting the number plate and handed me the phone to the police.

            When I had got home the police were waiting for me to take a statement. They advised me to press charges; even though it wouldn’t make it to court she would be flagged on police records for my safety and that of others.

            When they had come back from arresting her they could give no answers to why the attack happened apart from what I had told them of what had happened in the office she had said nothing. That was what perturbed me and the officer for neither of us thought what I had said was enough to warrant my eyes from being scratched out. The arresting officer said they had a hard time getting her to admit to what happened he said that only when they told her they had witnesses and that I had pictures of the intentional scratches and that if she did not admit to her part in it they would be forced to take things further did she admit to it.

            We laughed and though I was shaken, I was more embarrassed. Well the sight of two middle aged women having a scrap with a poo bag and a pregnant dog on a lead in the middle of a quaint village, well it is funny bordering on surreal.

            I also know that one day that Banshee Ninja and I will meet again. I wonder what will happen then?

Tink and Paddy

Tink came into season out of the blue, as often happens. All the studs I had lined up for her for one reason or another fell through. So what to do? I trawled through the internet went on walks and then I found Paddy. As he lived an hour away and the window in which Tink would be fertile is small, we didn’t have time to meet him before. So we went on her tenth day ( her most fertile time we hoped) to meet Paddy and his owner for the first time and to do the deed; if we were all satisfied and happy to go ahead. I was a little apprehensive but Victoria was great and Paddy was a star. If dogs could fall in love these two did.

            Now picture the scene: - Idyllic location in Suffolk, small enclosed dog kennel and three grown women looking on with embarrassment at two dogs mating, several times! You have to stay with them as the dogs stay attached for a while and this is less painful if they keep still. Victoria and I took it in turns to cradle the two dogs while this happened.
Paddy is a handsome Jack Russell, of about eleven inches high, making him the same height as Tink and looked a lot like Rip, (my first real dog experience and best friend when i was growing up), so I fell in love with Paddy too. Small dogs get a bad press about being snappy and possessive. Though I think their behaviour is more to do with the fact their owners seem to let them get away with a lot more than big dogs can and very often people put their un-wanted behaviour down to breed type rather than owner responsibility. Breed types have been made so that aptitudes are strengthened for certain jobs but if the handler lets the dog constantly bark or jump up and nip, then the dog will be unaware that this is wrong. Good, clear and constant boundaries delivered by an understanding and communicative handler gives you a good dog! Regardless of breed! I will climb off this particular soap box but will build it up again soon. Paddy was happy to see us and overjoyed to see Tink.

            After our first meeting with Paddy Tink spent the next two days close to the side door and jumped in the car with excitement but when we came back home she would whine her disappointment. My human heart says that she liked him a lot and I know this to be true, though my handler heart tells me this maybe because she was ready to mate and knows her time is right. Both, I think are correct, no animal or life in general is as one sided or simple as we would like to think and though animals see things differently to us (as we are now finding out with Dolphins) they also have many personalities and responsibilities to others that we don't understand yet. I think us humans are very arrogant; unless an animal or other human understands us, they are at fault and are lesser beings. Oh! Oh! Soapbox alert!!

            So all being well around the 25^th March 2011, this house will be a hive of activity and a mother will go on strike big time for a few months. I can feel Mr Springs smiling eyes look down upon me; my ideas and thoughts always brought a glint to his eyes (if you’re not careful Mr Spring, I will tell them about the jelly, Oh yes I will. Mr Spring and the Jelly to follow shortly, his fault his eyes dared me!)

            The responsibility is great and I know that I will feel this heavily when and if she is in pup but I think for me this is part of growing as a pet owner and human. Now I just have to tell my dad! Mr Spring had blue sparkling eyes that always glinted with challenge, my dad has a big booming voice of reason (his reasoning is the only way and wow betide you if you don’t listen).

 

So what sort of flight of fancy would make a mum go on strike?

This particular “Flight of Fancy” started many years ago when I lived next to a Gamekeeper called Albert Spring. If you have ever walked with a pack of dogs or have seen a handler that rarely raised his voice but communicated; what seemed like telepathically, then you would have this energy imprinted in your being.

            There was Miss Lovelace who walked her three Pekenese of Camberwick Green, Trumpton and Chigley; a Children’s program that still fascinates me and they have a brill web page: - http://trumpton3.homestead.com/TrumptonPt2.html I wanted to be her and have lots of dogs on leads at the same time serenely walking, elegant and in control; easier said than done, I know.

            Then there was Rip; so named because when a pup he had a thing about taking buttons of any shirt left lying around, he was my best friend when I was growing up. He was a little Jack Russell that liked to curl up with socks (specially smelly ones) never had a lead but would follow your heal everywhere until he got bored. We never trained him as such but he blended into family life perfectly.

            These three separate imprints later gave this “Flight of Fancy” wings. The catalyst was the passing of Grace my Lab and our first family dog. Even though all the family wanted the dog the responsibility was soon left at my feet. I have come to realise that I am the facilitator of all my families’ needs, requirements and dreams but when it comes to my dreams or wishes they are made to feel like silly fancies. Well breeding Tink could be seen as a folly; don’t I have enough work to do? They ask, I’m always moaning about it they say. Anyway there are many dogs needing good homes at this time of year, why give yourself the hassle and the worry of pups? I could give many reasons but the main two is that Tinks pups will make ideal first time dogs and a great companion too. She is small and her temperament could not be bettered. Secondly she will teach me how to be a good handler. You see when I’ve been trained up enough I would like to foster dogs and by having this experience I will find out weather the work load will be too much or that I haven’t the aptitude to do this sort of thing.

            Even though I talked endlessly about the fostering scheme to Kev when I had the opportunity to have a dog (well three) Kev said that he knew nothing about it? Perhaps selective hearing plays a part in this one or control? Oh I could so go on about this but, I will refrain; with reluctance! We also had mega problems with the drains here and this meant we couldn’t go through with it. Diggers and gaping holes and dogs are not a good combination. So all summer Tink and I was bereft of the company and all the walks I had planed. My children said I should enjoy the summer and that the whole thing would have been hard work, they were right, I knew the commitment and constraints it would put on them but thought the rewards out weighed them all. They obviously haven’t heard how a load might be best shared. They also questioned whether it was really fair on them as they would love having the dogs around – though it was made quite clear the walking, cleaning would be mine alone as it was my idea – when it was time to give the dogs back they would be sad and they couldn’t deal with that. This is when I decided to go on strike. Why should all the hard work, love and worry be mine alone? Why should I be made to feel guilty?

            So I’ve gone on strike or is it works to rule? When I’m asked - can you just do my hair? Instead of yep, just give me a mo, I now say-you’ll have to wait and you will have to help me out! Anything above and beyond the call of duty is now met with this reply. But Oh boy! This is such hard work. The problem is I’m the facilitator and naturally I would just try to help or sort out any issue arising but at some point I have to realise that their life support is my energy and time and they can breath on their own and do all the necessary, I’m just the easy and safe option with no effort or responsibility on their part needed. Will I ever get my fledglings to fly? Or will I have to kick them out of the comfortable nest? Come back soon to find out.

Have I Wishful Attitude to Life or Just Plain Silly? A Tilly Moment Debate.

Having to get the car fixed can be a nightmare especially when you live a mile or so from the school and have a son like Angus who thinks it’s a joy to bike. Even better when your mum has to peddle and you’re left in charge of the dog. Both boy and dog love the ride, not for scenery and the serenity of the bike ride per say, but the fact that mum can’t see what you’re getting up-to.

Angus asked if we could take Tink on our unplanned bike ride. I could not think of a reason not too and said I would try to find something to put our little bundle of fun in. Angus said he could hold her, but I explained that this would be a little dangerous to do. The only thing I had that would keep Tinker in was one of the spare haversacks, it had two separate zips. So there was Tink, comfortably sitting in it with her head between the zips looking with anticipation at Angus; that should have been my warning! But as ever too busy to pay too much attention to the little details easily missed, I looked down at my improvisation with some degree of admiration of my ingenuity. Pride before a fall springs to mind here, will I ever learn!

Where do I get the ideas for these sorts of capers, time constraints and a wishful attitude to life, maybe? Though I don’t think a normal haversack is quite the thing to keep the dog in, on a bike, especially when your young son can; unknown to you undo the zip so that the dog can sit on his knee. Even so, I could have coped with all of this, if said son would sit still and was not as heavy as he is. The fact is he knocks my bike off balance at the most inconvenient moments and then there was the cat, mayhem is not good for your soul. Surely, a Tilly Moment if ever I heard one.

Now Angus is a little older I intend to buy one of those attachable links from adult to child bike. Now I reason, if Angus is so far away he couldn’t possible undo the zips. I did think about putting Tink in a basket at the front, either way I have a harness so she should be more contained. I’m not one for giving up even after a few mistakes is this because I have wishful attitude to life do you think or just plain silly?

A Very Supportive Family? A Tilly Debate

I have a very supportive family so they tell me. Though sometimes I do wonder if this is true! So here I sit alone (at last) in the office and well………..ponder on this for a while and then I start to think…….

You see, I got up Saturday morning cold, yet chirpy, ready to write the next episode of Fluffy Slippers and Pom Poms and was almost done, when I was asked how my blog was going by my daughter. I knew that I had to stop writing; as the family in dribs and drabs were coming to see what was for breakfast. So I took time out and went to my blog page to have a look; this turned out to be a big mistake.

Well we went on the “Stats”. Like any Blogger I look at them all the time and find them fascinating, though I must confess I’m not sure how to read them properly. We were huddled around the lap top when up popped my page reviews (this is my favourite as I like to see what people like to read). My daughter was impressed until my husband pointed out eight page reviews was not eight people but just the number of pages one possible person had looked at (well this could be true but it’s the way he said looked at and not read, that I was upset about). ‘Oh’ my deflated daughter exhaled her disappointment. Well I said at least I have people coming back to read more. ‘Oh’ he said how do you know that then?’ I showed him the audience which shows you on a world map where people have visited from. Well every couple of days I have a Russian visitor who looks at different pages ‘Wow’ they all exclaimed and me and like a puffed up peacock I sat there very proud.

My husband leaned in to get a better look at the figures. Now Russia on my map covers a large area, it is all green, which looks very impressive. My ever loving husband (Oh, he can be so hurtful with his truthful analysis of any given understanding he has of a situation) stood up and pondered and then reasoned, well it only takes one look at your blog (notice he uses look not reads) to make the whole of Russia go green!’ I had never thought about it in these terms before ‘yep’. I reluctantly replied with a little resentfulness creeping in, I guessed it did. But look I said defensively, they did come back three times this week. At this very moment my oldest son walked in and took a look and then he offered his knowledge. Well he said “You know they have robots that look for specific words so they can attach an advert of relevance on the side of your blog? See look the last piece was your Balloon Poem and the ad’s are all for hot air balloon trips.’

They all looked around at me with their “bless her” faces on. ‘Anyhow’ Continued my husbands still reasoning, while he put a supportive arm around my shoulders ‘You can’t expect people from all over the world to want to read your work, you just keep writing because you enjoy it.’ He patted my arm and kissed the top of my head. We all laughed, me most of all, thanking them for their support and belief in my work.

So my debate within myself is: - why do writers write? Why do I write? And who do I think reads my work and does it matter if any of my work gets read.

Writers write for as many reasons as there are writers and readers. I write because I have to and yes it does matter that my work gets read. I make no assumptions about why you choose to read my work. And if I only get read by a scanning robot then my work is only good enough for that and I hope the robot smiled, is all I can say! But I  hope, against hope, that anyone of any country, who has stumbled on my pages and have taken the time to read my scribblings, that I made them ponder a while, gave them a chuckle or two and they ended with a  smile.

So do I have a supportive Family?

Well I think so. You see they see things from a different angle than me and make me question myself, perhaps I will never agree with them completely but that surely is what debate is all about a pool of thought to look at and ponder on but you don’t always have to jump in do you?