A March Miscellany

March begins with our wedding anniversary - St David’s Day - we take ourselves off for an overnight stay in a very comfortable hotel at Deganwy. Our room has magnificent views across the estuary to snow-capped mountains beyond, the sun shines, the food is glorious and the spa and swimming pool’s free to guests so we make the most of every second of our visit. After starting the year with so much illness, it’s wonderful to feel well at last!

Coming home, I find the latest (April) edition of The English Home waiting for me, with my words to Nick Carter’s gorgeous photographs of a sweet, nostalgic seaside cottage. Each commission presents a different challenge, but it’s always very satisfying to see the finished article in print. I’m currently working on two commissions for the magazine which are due to appear later in the year. Fiction-wise, of the novella I submitted in January, there’s no word. Perhaps with the current appetite for ‘grip-lit’, stories about two people overcoming misunderstandings to find their ‘happy ever after’ are out of favour? Whatever the reason, I’m more philosophical about the vagaries of publishing these days; I’m not going to give myself a headache trying to second-guess what ‘the market’ wants, but will continue to write what’s important to me.

March brings a new Llanelli Half Marathon, my tenth half marathon. It’s raining - of course it is - but not too windy. I finish in 2:06:37, sixth in my class, a result I’m happy with.

It’s also time to scrub the boat and anti-foul in preparation for the new sailing season - where did that year go?

Yesterday, we enjoyed our fabulous Christmas present from Lily and Russ and Rose and Si; tickets to see Matthew Bourne’s stunning ballet ‘The Red Shoes’. We rounded off our day spending a couple of hours with Bee before her bath and bed-time. Never has one small person wrapped four adults so tightly round her little finger… but little does she know that competiton's on the way - the first of her new cousins (all being well) is due to arrive soon!

Apropos nothing, other than a reminder to make the most of what we have, I really enjoyed reading Rebecca Rideal’s ‘1666: Plague, War and Hellfire’, a wonderfully vivid account of an extraordinary year. I still love the comfort of reading a few pages of nature writing before turning out the light, currently Robert Macfarlane’s ‘The Wild Places’, because I drift off to sleep feeling cosy. However, it’s Kate Gross’s words I keep hearing. Her ‘Late Fragments: Everything I Want to Tell You (About this Magnificent Life)’ is an oddly uplifting account of facing a terminal illness at far too young an age. She writes, ‘I shall end this by reminding you to put your superhero glasses on, to pay attention to the wonder all around you. To get your dodgy bottoms checked out. To always, always eat from your very best crockery, because where can we live but days?’

Happy Endings, New Beginnings

Blended families come with conflicting loyalties and at Christmas time nearly everyone has somewhere else they feel they ought to be. Throw partners into the equation and it gets even more complicated. Since Tom and I aren’t especially hung up about Christmas we’re happy to let our children go with the strongest flow, but I have to say it was a great delight to have the girls and their partners staying with us this year. When such moments are few and far between they become very precious. My stepsons weren’t far from our thoughts either, not least because we had the very happy news on Christmas Day that my elder stepson and his girlfriend had become engaged. Congratulations Dan and Gill, here’s wishing you every happiness together. Tom and I end a year that has seen the fruition of many years work, both of us crossing important thresholds within weeks of each other. I’m really looking forwards to seeing Turning the Tide published next year and it’s been so satisfying, after al

Reconnecting

I hadn't realised it until now , but it’s probably no coincidence that my last post was about our trip to Norwich, a city I’ve loved since studying at UEA. I wrote, then, that coming home was a hard landing, a feeling that took me completely by surprise as it’s been such a privilege to live in this beautiful, remote spot on the very edge of the west Wales coast. A trip to Skye at the end of October - Tom’s choice - with Ma, was a truly lovely holiday. The weather was kind, the colours of those breathtaking seascapes will stay with me, as will all the happy memories we made that week. And, because our small cottage had been so beautifully modernised and worked so well for the three of us, it was easy to imagine what it might be like to live somewhere different. If travel doesn’t broaden the mind, it certainly brings a new perspective. By the end of the year, Tom and I had decided that it was time for a change, time to move closer to a town (we are neither of us, as they say, getting

Fly Free, Dottie Do

‘How many days to my birthday?’ Ma asks. I do a quick calculation. ‘Eighteen,’ I reply. ‘Eighteen days until your ninetieth birthday.’ Ma pulls a face and shakes her head. Every sentence is hard work for her now, when each breath is a struggle. ‘You’ll have to write a book about this, you know,’ she says, with one of her quick, mischievous smiles. ‘“Carry On Dying”. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry.’ The smile fades. ‘Who knew,’ she adds wearily, ‘that dying would be such a palaver?’ It’s only eleven days since Ma was diagnosed with a high-grade, aggressive lymphoma, four days since she was overwhelmed with pain and breathing difficulties and was admitted as an emergency to hospital. Until a few weeks ago, she lived completely independently; shopping, cooking, cleaning and tending her much-loved garden. The deterioration in her health is shockingly rapid. The eight days preceding her death are a living hell, a constant battle with the ward staff to get Ma the pain relief she’s been presc

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