The aftermath of Christmas!

The turkey had been eaten, the crackers pulled, the presents exchanged and opened. Now it was time to tackle the M25.

All was good when we left. We flew round the motorway.

From Junction 3 we chugged along slowly, the three lanes regularly swapping the lead. But that was OK. We were moving. And we were only a few miles from the Dartford Tunnel. The signs were saying congestion between Junctions 3 and 1. Then at the beginning of the slip road of Junction 2 we stopped. And we stayed stopped.

After a bit, the cars a few rows behind us started playing musical spaces. And the police car that had been sitting at the motorway side a few miles back, found its way to the hard shoulder and sped by, blue lights flashing.

We moved forward a short way.  There was more car dancing behind as a black 4x4 traversed from the outside lane to the slip road and disappeared down it.

“We could nip off to Bluewater for a bit?” suggested Mum.

“Do you want to?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“I think we’re as well staying put.” And we did. We didn’t move and inch for what seemed like an age.

Somehow we ended up just past the exit without realising how we got there and the cars had bunched up so nobody was going anywhere. I undid my seat belt and pushed my seat back. Mum looked at me.

“I may as well get comfy,” I said. We hadn’t moved in over an hour, despite the electronic road sign just ahead telling us congestion was causing a thirty minute delay.

Four cars behind, a man got out and watered the central barrier. Ahead, another man got out. But he was just stretching his legs.

“There’s a car up there keeps putting his brake lights on,” said Mum. “He keeps making me excited and think he might be about to move.”

I picked up my iPod and scrolled through the playlist. We’d been listening to the new album by Michael Ball and Alfie Boe but it had finished and started again.

“What shall we go for? Let’s have Classical Voices: The Musicals.” And Elaine Paige started to sing Memory.

The car behind switched his engine back on.

“Have you turned yours off?” asked Mum.

“No. I want to stay warm.”

I found my phone and investigated the internet, but it was no help in trying to find out what had happened, not that it would have made any difference to our predicament. Mum tried her trusty travel news phone number.

“There’s been an accident between junctions 2 and 29,” she said.

“That’s a bit vague.”

All of a sudden, the lights on the road sign went out and it changed. “Obstruction”. And above the right hand lane was an arrow indicating that it was closed ahead. We both cheered, then laughed at ourselves for getting excited about it.

But nothing else happened for about twenty minutes. Then we started to move. We got to 10 miles per hour, then 20, then 30, then 40.

“I’m getting dizzy with the speed!” exclaimed Mum.

We passed under the next sign which suggested two lanes ahead were closed. And still we kept moving. Strange. But who cared?

At Junction 1 we stopped. We were at the point where the traffic was joining. We were under the next sign that said three lanes ahead were closed. We’d got too excited too soon.

Then the signs changed again. All lanes were open and we were off. We sped home in no time. What should have been a nightmare journey, had somehow been quite relaxed and funny. And it finished with a cup of tea and a mince pie. Happy New Year!

I Love Lego

Last Friday, I decided that as I was in London, I should check out the new Lego Store. My sister and I were always building things with it as children, often competing to use every brick we had. My favourite creation was a moped I built for my Sindy doll.

On my way there I passed Somerset House and popped in to watch the skaters. They whizzed round, some with confidence. Others had the wobbles. Skating is something that MS has deprived me of. But I still enjoy watching people, even if I do get cold.

Then I went through Covent Garden. I caught the last song of a tenor busking in the downstairs cafe. His voice was at least as powerful as many professional tenors and I was sorry to have missed the rest of his performance. 

When I got to Leicester Square, I was pleased to discover that the Lego Store wasn’t as crowded as I had expected. There was a queue to enter, with security to regulate how many people were inside at any one time. But even that wasn’t too long.

The queue followed the window with the model tube train carriage in it. Looking out at us was a Lego Queen Elizabeth II. Entrance was through an Underground station entrance with an Underground symbol and old street lights. Inside there was another short queue to have your photo taken in the train. So of course, I did.

To the side was a Lego Underground Map and a train guard.

When I turned round I saw Big Ben in the window on the other side of the entrance. It sparkled as much as the real one and told the time accurately. Its height took it through to the floor upstairs, and it was from here that you could see all the detail of the clock face and the roof.

Weaving its was in and out of the ceiling was the Loch Ness Monster with sinister eyes, a top hat and, in its jaws, a black umbrella.

The lift was decorated to look like you were entering a tube train, and inside was a picture of a Lego man telling you to “Keep calm and play well”

As I wandered about upstairs, I heard a phone ringing. It was the Red Lego Telephone Box.

The Second Taste is Sweeter than the First

The second taste is sweeter than the first, and so it is with the magic of Swanwick Summer Writers’ School. I first visited three years ago. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but when I arrived I found myself in an inclusive, as opposed to exclusive, club, where I was welcomed in with open arms.

All these writers I’d never met before greeted me like an old friend. They talked of Swanwick Magic. But I was too bewildered and fascinated for it to have much effect. Like all White Badgers (Newbies with a white badge) I lapped up all the expertise that was on offer. I wanted to attend as many courses and workshops as I could. I was exhausted by the second day.

I confess I didn’t do much actual writing that year; I was too busy talking writing to half the 200+ other delegates, although I did find time to walk/wheel around the beautiful lake in the grounds on my little mobility scooter.

The Hayes Conference Centre, which has hosted the school for 68 years, is very accessible for those on wheels. My disabled room was big enough for my scooter, had a wet room and overlooked the lake! What more could I ask?

By the end of the week, magic or not, I knew I wanted to return. Even so, life intervened and it took me three years.

This time was different. I’d kept in touch via Facebook, so my fellow Swanwickers really were old friends. It felt like going home. The last three years dissolved into nothing. I had the same room again, I knew where I was going and how it all worked. I was now a yellow badger (I’d been here before). It was my turn to welcome in white badgers, especially if they looked a bit lost.

I was more sensible this time and took part in far fewer courses. My two favourites of the ones I did do, were Veronica Bright’s Flash Fiction and Troubador’s Cover Design and Marketing. I saw three of the evening speakers. John Lamont’s motivational talk on the first evening was a great way to start the week.

Doing fewer courses gave me time to do my other favourite thing and take lots of photos. I took some gorgeous shots of the lake. Some of them are included in this blog post.

I might have to retract the more sensible bit though. I signed up for the Procrastination Free Day. It was successful in that I was focused and wrote more than twice as much as I usually do in one day. But I also wrote for twice as long as usual and, MS fatigue being what it is, I overdid it. By the next day I had the beginnings of a migraine. So I reluctantly missed Page-to-Stage and went to bed straight after dinner. I didn’t get up again until afternoon tea the next day. The success was worth the price, but I’ll maybe not do it again.

But my long sleep restored my energy and I made it to The Dregs Party on the lawn. It’s the last day celebration, where everyone dresses in their finery, and drinks whatever alcohol is left. Then after dinner it was the panto. I will never again be able to hear The Proclaimers 500 Miles, sorry Words, in the same way again.

And the icing on the cake – I was shortlisted in the 100 words Flash Fiction competition.

The Swanwick Magic has cast its spell on me. There is no escape now.

The Spirit of The Games

With The Rio Olympics about to open, I thought I'd share with you the poem I wrote for London...

 

 

 

The Spirit of The Games

 

The five Olympic Rings

The symbol of the Games

Each a different colour

Every one the same

 

All the different nations

Together in one place

Competing to be the best

All vying to win the race

 

There are many different sports

Different events and games

All with different rules

And all with different names

 

The Games are like a jigsaw

All the pieces fit together

The different shapes and sizes

Are like the seasons and the weather

 

There is rivalry and teamwork

Competition and fun

In all the mad commotion

There are medals to be won

 

All the hopes and dreams

The hard work and commitment

It’s about national pride

And individual achievement

 

Different teams within one sport

Different sports within one team

Diversity in unison

This is The Olympic Dream

 

*****

 

 

 

A tour of Oxford - Part 2

We looked round the gardens in New College. Parts of Harry Potter were filmed here. I can’t remember which bit of which film it was, but a young girl standing nearby heard us talking and filled in all the gaps!

Graffiti is not allowed on the walls of the college unless you win a boat race. There were two such celebrations depicting the year and the team. Underneath one, it read “5 bumps” with a row of decorated oar fins. As we stood there trying to work out what that meant, a student appeared through one of the doors. “Do you know what 5 bumps means?” Sheila asked him. He thought for a moment. “I’m not a rower. But I think it’s how many times they “bump” a boat in front.” Arhh. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he said, and disappeared into another door across the courtyard.

The rearmost garden in the college is surrounded in part by the city wall, which pre-dates it by several centuries. The college founder needed to commit to maintaining it in order to buy the land. Every three years the Mayor and Mayoress of Oxford circumnavigate the wall-top path to ensure that the obligation upheld.

Inside the garden is a decorative mound commissioned by Elizabeth I. Although there are steps to the top it is forbidden to climb them. Around the edge are beds with flowers and shrubs. There were two gardeners tending them today and I left Lisa and Sheila discussing plants while I wandered about further. I know nothing about gardening and I’m afraid the green stuff in my garden needs to be able to look after itself if it wants to survive.

As I wandered back to the three of them, still talking, Lisa spotted a squirrel. “Huh!” said the gardener. “Your cute little squirrels are vandals. We planted 350 tulip bulbs last year. Do you know how many the squirrels ate?”

“249?” I ventured.

“Something like that! We don’t plant tulips anymore.”

Before we left New College, we visited the chapel. Standing opposite the doorway, with his back to the altar but twisting his head round to catch a glimpse, is Epstein’s sculpture of Lazarus. The carved stone folds of the bandages he is wrapped in are very intricate and the closer you study it, the more detail you discover.

On leaving New College, we passed Edmund Halle’s house, with its high up observatory where he studied the comet named after him. Also in that street is Oxford’s Bridge of Sighs, modelled on the one in Venice, decorated more like The Rialto Bridge. Then we were back to Broad Street.

Our last stop was a fairly recent addition to the Bodlean. Inside were two free temporary exhibitions. The first was entitled “Shakespeare’s Death”. It wasn’t actually about his death but about the many ways in which he portrayed death in his plays.

The second contained many historical pieces of writing and some early books with ornate bindings. There was the Magna Carta and the first recognisable map of the UK. There was a draft by Wilfred Owen of his anti-war poem and posters from the Suffrage movement. There was a sketch by J. R. R. Tolkein of Bilbo’s arrival at the Elves’ huts, an early draft of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and many other early examples of writing.

Lisa (www.wanderoxford.co.uk) left us at the entrance of the exhibitions. Our two hour tour had turned into almost three. She had entertained us and educated us, and we had only seen a tiny fraction of the centre of Oxford. Her enthusiasm for her subject was infectious and we caught the bug.

A tour of Oxford - Part 1

The next morning we met Lisa outside the Visitor Information Centre. She and her husband have set up Wander Oxford (www.wanderoxford.co.uk) and offer two-hour free walking tours of Oxford on most days. Her enthusiasm for sharing her knowledge of Oxford cannot be missed. Although she has lived in the area for thirty-two years, this is the first season she has started providing tours and we were her first private tour. Sheila had emailed Lisa in advance and she had adapted the tour so that it was accessible for my scooter. She had also researched the accessibility of various museums and found the most accessible restaurant she could. Zizzi’s in George Street if anyone’s interested.

 

Just along from where we started in Broad Street is a small cobbled square with a cobbled cross in the middle of the tarmacked road. This marks the spot where two Anglican Bishops were burnt at the stake in 1555. They are known as the Oxford Martyrs.

On the roof of Blackwell’s Art and Poster shop is a 7ft iron statue of a naked man. It was designed by Antony Gormley, he of The Angel of the North fame. When it had first appeared there in 2009, it had sparked numerous calls to the local police from passers-by concerned that a man was about to jump of the roof.

A short way further along the street, The Sheldonian Theatre is one of the first buildings to be designed by Christopher Wren. The ornate entrance on Broad Street is actually the back. On the pillars between the railings are heads, each one different. Hidden in the hair of one of them, opposite the door, is a stone wren.

Everywhere you look in Oxford, the buildings are decorated with gargoyles and grotesques. The difference, Lisa told us, is that gargoyles are functional (they usually spout water) and grotesques are not. Either way, they are weird, wonderful and fascinating.

As we moved round towards the Museum of science we looked up. In 2009, a series of crumbling grotesques were replaced with new ones, all designed by children following a competition. Among the nine designs were Tweedledum and Tweedledee, a Dodo, Aslan and Three men in a boat.

In a square around the corner, high up in the stonework, is an image of King James I of England and VI of Scotland in honour of his translation creating The King James Bible. The detail in it is exquisite.

The close by Bodlean Library, Lisa said, is a reading library but not a lending library. Many of the books it contains are too precious. Inside, is a copy of every English language book printed since 1911. Parts of the forever expanding collection are housed in rooms that had once been accommodation and new buildings have been built.

We moved on around the outside of the Radcliffe Camera building with its huge dome, and peered through the gates into the grass square inside Hertford College. High up on one of the walls is an ornate sundial. I was none the wiser as to the time though. There was no sun.

From here is a stone alleyway leading to the High Street in which is the door opposite the one C. S. Lewis staggered from drunk one night. Carved within and around it are images that inspired him to create the characters of Aslan and Mr Tumnus. At the end of the alley is a lamppost. Narnia was born.

In the High Street is The Grand Cafe, the oldest tea shop in England, having opened in the mid 1600s. It’s the place to go for a delicious cream tea. On the building next door is a blue plaque. “Who’s that for?” I asked Lisa. “I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s go have a look.” It celebrates Sarah Cooper who first made Oxford Marmalade there is 1872. “I learn something new every time I do this tour,” said Lisa.

That makes it sound like she doesn’t know her stuff. Don’t believe it! She told me far more about Oxford in two hours than you can imagine. All of it fascinating and delivered in a way that was both enjoyable and easy to understand. 

Next week we go to New College...