Glastonbury – An Ode to Mud

Glastonbury – An Ode to Mud

2016 was a special year for Glastonbury; no, it wasn’t Adele, Brexit or even an anniversary no one knew remembered; last year was special because of the mud.

Yes, the mud.  It was beyond horrific, one minute liquid and slippery, the next like quicksand.  It didn’t just eat your wellies, your socks and anything you accidentally dropped, it also ate at your soul, turning it as murky brown as the stuff you were covered in.

The horror came back to me yesterday when I was searching through footage for this year (I’m one of the social media volunteers for Theatre and Circus), and then my prayers to the weather gods began for a very dry Glastonbury.

Because I’m a sharing kind of girl, here’s some “highlights” of the mud – enjoy!


After cooking, rest 5 minutes

After cooking, rest 5 minutes

I’ve just completed my third and final draft of my wee ghost story; it’s been a difficult birth and a long time coming, but I’m far happier with it now than I originally was. It might actually make sense which is fantastic!
The next step, which I’m terrible at (or really good at if I’m procrastinating), is letting it sit and rest, like a piece of steak grilled on the barbecue.  I have to forget it, forget the issues I had with it, and let it become a vague memory. I really am terrible with this, so I’m giving it until next Saturday when I will open the story again and find my way to the fourth and final draft.  
A lot of writers recommend this, and to be honest, I think it’s necessary; sometimes that fantastic phrase you thought was going to change writing as you know it, turns out to be this malformed monster that’s eating your story alive. So, yes, it’s a chance for you to forget your dear ones, assign your pretties to ex-lover status, and in doing so allow them to live or die on merit alone.
So what am I going to do with the next six days?

– fix that terrible spelling mistake in my snow video (I hate February, it seems to be a word I’m incapable of spelling)

– Research cockney speaking. I can hear it in my head, but it doesn’t look right on paper!

– edit a charity video for Just Play. The founders are friends of mine and spend a lot of time at refugee camps all over the world giving kids a chance to just play, which  sounds simple, but is almost impossible unless you create an environment where it’s ok

– edit some Glastonbury videos and start posting them online.  

– this also involves my fave, editing the mud video. Yup, you heard it right, the mud video. Because unless you were at Glasto ’16 you don’t understand mud.  

– Working. Yup, my job which is 2/3 of my life at present and eats up most of my time

– Gym. I have to get fit again, I miss jumping up and down a lot!
I’ve also been encouraged by friends to actually send my story in for publication, so I won’t be posting it online – maybe I’ll create a nice photo story instead. Don’t worry, in 6 months time, when the publications have turned it down, I’ll put it up here. The funny thing is, I think it might be a part of a much bigger story, which will take time to create, and 6 months is a perfect amount of time for me to sort this out!
So that’s a lot for 6 days, so, as always happens with me, it will be mostly working, a bit of gym and some editing. Oh and maybe me wandering speaking in a bad Cockney accent.

Post title here

Post title here

Yup, I’m feeling 100% original tonight.

So I have to admit that I might not be ready to release my wee ghosty into the fiber optic tomorrow, actually there’s no maybe, it’s not happening.

I am plowing on, but I’m halfway through the second draft right now with no clear idea of how I feel about it and whether anyone will want to read it.  As a homage to Charles Dickens’ ghost stories it will be a poor effort, but it will be an effort.  You get credit for turning up and handing something in, right?

Actually J.K.Rowljng pretty much said you did, and she’s like the Dumbledore of writing.

I will post something tomorrow, perhaps a poem, I have a good one about codeine but I can’t find the last line.  Perhaps someone out there could help?

Codeine, you make me twitch and float,

My internal monologue out loud I quote,

My dreams are rainbow unicorns ridden by a fairy,

Or rivers of chocolate – dark not dairy,

But, as much as I love you there’s one small issue,

It makes me cry and I need a tissue,

For when I go toilet that’s when I find the gap,

For the porcelain beckons…

And then nothing, it’s like  I’ve got writer’s block or my creativity is constipated in some way.  Sigh.

See you on the morrow…

Arrival: Mancunian style!

Mind the Gap – Editing

So I’ve just read the wee little ghost story I wrote on the weekend, an I’ve just realised that it’s going to be even “wee-er”  soon enough, as half of the descriptions are repeated or unneeded.  I’m not even sure if it will even be endearing, but next Tuesday I’ll at least have something to post.

The questions I have to ask myself are:

  • Will you miss half of the descriptions?  (Answer: No, the second half of almost every sentence I’ve written is far less cliched and far better than the original)
  • Is it ok to fall asleep reading your own work?  (Answer:  Jury is out on this one.  I might give it a pass this time, I’m actually recovering from an ear infection)
  • Are the character’s believable?  Or, the age old question, “Is it any good?” (Answer:  I’m not going to make millions from it, and I’m not sure it has legs, but as long as I capture the mood of a mid-Winter evening stroll through Bloomsbury then I’ve nailed it)
  • Is there more I can add to make it real?  (Answer: Yes, there are little Twilight Zone moments that will help this)


It’s much shorter than I remembered, which isn’t a bad thing, but considering how much I’d like to trim, it might end up being a very short paragraph!

Tomorrow, I will slice and dice;

Tonight I ponder and dream.

A short story – finding your way

Over the last month and a half I’ve stopped and started writing a number of stories, but last night I thought back to an idea I had when I was in London, which has led me to trawl back through my travel diaries, and today I found my next short story (which actually wasn’t what I was originally looking for!)

This one is a little less magical and a little more supernatural, but is in a similar vein to one of Charles Dickens’ ghost stories and is about where he spent much of his life, Holborn and Bloomsbury.

I’d written a first draft in my diary, which I’ve now transferred to my Note Pad, and I’ll start editing it.  It has legs this one, and teeth, I look forward to recreating it!


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Day 13 – London and Honour

Day 13 – London and Honour

I’ll admit it, I’ve been a bad writer, it’s been 13 days since I wrote anything or thought of anything other than indignation and anger, and what I’m beginning to discover is that I’m not very good at expressing myself when I am like that.

Which will explain the emptiness of my writing journals from June through to December last year!

I don’t like washing dirty laundry in public, and I don’t really have anything constructive or wise to say about what has happened, so sorry, if you’re looking for some great philosophical piece about forgiveness, then you might want to look elsewhere.  Right now if I was going to post a meme, it would have an awful lot swear words and you could be forgiven for thinking I had some form of written Tourette’s syndrome.

Let’s just say that something happened some months back, and I fell out with someone who I thought was my friend, but it turns out they didn’t ever feel the same way and actually went around spreading rumours about me lying.  And 6 months on I’ve only just found out about it, and I am seething because this person couldn’t just leave well enough alone, they had to pick at the sore until it became infected.  And I want to be done, I honestly do, I seriously thought I was, and then I found this out, and now I’m seething again because I protected this person, I told very few people and all because I really cared about them.

I’m really trying to let go, and I think writing is the way to do it – if my mind is happily employed in creating something, then there’s no room for that anger and those negative thoughts, because I want to move on, and I want to forget.  I really do.

So here’s a little poem in honour of friendships forever lost:

Let me write you a romance,
Let me write you a song,
Let me list all the ways
That this all went wrong.
And at the end of it all
There’ll be no hate to see,
And I will forget the pain
And you will leave me be.


And now I’m just going to post that photo again, because sometimes you find beauty in something, and you have no idea how that was created.

The British Museum is one of the most stunning buildings I’ve been in, let alone the amazing artefacts there!