My Book - ten years in the writing

Socialise and chat about other areas of your life
:ohmy: :ohmy: :ohmy: :ohmy: yes, a lot of work - that's why I haven't finished my book either !!!
The day before princess di was killed a certain female fleet st type wrote a piece attacking her ,remember reading it .
the book is about her hearing about the death on the news and she trying to get the copy back from the motorbike
courier she had given it to.
Need a few things to figure out .She contacts the courier company to ask for it back ,but they can't
get hold of the courier ,so she has to ride on the back of another couriers bike going round all the places the courier might be .
As i say there are a few things i have to work out ,for example why didn't she used a fax machine .
Anyway might try and start on it.
Haven't got windows office ,but i have libre office ,don't know if i can type it on there and then cut and paste a copy over here .Plus there might be bad language in it ,don't think the mods will like that ,the **********************s :D

Wasn't in London when she was killed ,i had moved home to Shropshire in April or May 97 .
I remember that day well, I had my beautiful collie cross dog PTS and was in tears all day, never heard a word of news until the day after as I was wrapped up in my own tradegy. The next day I found out most of the country had been crying with me for totally different reasons.
As a bit of a news adict, I seem to miss the big stories. I didn't find out about 9/11 until the day after because I was on holiday travelling in the the air when it all happened, never heard at the airport, nor the hotel that night and wasn't until the following day my friend spotted everyone elses newspapers that we caught wind of it.
The storm in 87 passed me by as I was over in Florida and so it goes on. Sorry - I digress.....
When we were watching the procession the day of the funeral ,Malcolm was well impressed that i could point out all the land marks before the guy doing the commentary.
Mary, That was brilliant. Really enjoyed it. Keep it coming.
Irene_1509 wrote:
Thu Oct 19, 2017 8:26 pm
Mary, That was brilliant. Really enjoyed it. Keep it coming.
In that case Irene, from Falkirk - a place I love, especially the Wheel, and the Kelpies, here is a bit more........

In the three months that had passed since my unlamented Mother had joined my Father, I had thought of little other than this moment, this day, when, at last, I would become free to be my own person. Beholding to no one. Fully entitled to my dues - my Council pension that I had worked so many years for, my pay back of the joint estate of my parents. Oh, Yes! Life was now going to be as I wanted it to be, not at the behest of any other person.

I started my car and off we set on its last journey. The man in the car showrooms had been a convincing salesman, probably thought he could sell anything to a unknowing female such as myself, but I had done my home work and I was not going to spend my money on any heap of modern rubbish. I had decided on a model that would save me money in fuel consumption, needed only a low price tax disc and would hopefully give me trouble free motoring for years to come – oh, yes, and it was very bright yellow!

The removal men had already loaded up their van when I arrived back at the Victorian pile that had been my newly married parent’s home when they moved in 70 years ago. It had not changed in that time, apart from essential maintenance that Father always insisted upon. It was still large, gloomy, and old fashioned. No central heating, just the one bathroom, and old cooking range in the kitchen. I smiled with self satisfaction – I had always hated the place, the abundance of hydrangeas that kept the sun light out from the sitting room windows, in particular. The couple who were buying it, had mentioned straight away that the garden was going to be stripped of plants and shrubs. Decking, they said, and hard landscaping, whatever that was. The inside was going to be opened up, walls knocked down, and minimalism was the order of the day. That was fine. I did not care. The only thing they wanted to keep was the stained glass window in the front door. That pleased me as it was just about the only thing in the house I was remotely fond of. I often used to sit on the stairs in the hallway, as a child and imagine myself walking to freedom along the glass path and between the trees , over the green hills and into the distant orange mottled sunset. Yes, I liked that window and was glad it would be staying.

There was not a great deal in the removal van – I did not want too many reminders of my past life. I was going to head off to my new home, in my new car, for my new life, and the van would follow at its own pace. The roads were quite clear even at this time of day, and an evening drive down to the Dorset village that was now to be my home, should not take more than a couple or three hours. It would still be light when I got there, I thrilled with excitement at the prospect ahead.

Two and a half hours later and I was slightly less happy. As I was driving along the A35 towards Dorchester my mobile rang. Oh, yes, I had some of the trappings of modernity, you know. It was the removal people. The van had a flat tyre and they were stuck somewhere just the other side of the Avonmouth Bridge. The driver, a dismal sort of chap, and his mate, had decided there was no way they would get to Dorset that night.
“ Be alright, Missus” he said, “ We’ll be with you bright and early in the morning, don’t you not worry” Was I going to worry about them? I think not.

A few moments later and I arrived outside my cottage in the quaint village of Puddlemere. As I walked up the random brick path towards the pretty stone built cottage I was more and more sure that I had made the right choices. Gone was the cluttered Victorian house I had been conceived in, gone were the obligations to the dour couple who somehow had managed to conceive me. The thought of that made me chuckle. Knowing my parents as I did, I could never have envisaged such a situation arising, for give the pun. I suppose I loved them, or did I? Maybe it was just obligation and habit. It matters not. As I reached the cottage door, I no longer cared.

The key was just where the estate agent had said it would be, second geranium pot on the left of the door. As I lifted the pot, some miniscule wildlife scuttled out of the darkness beneath. I turned the key in the lock, gave the door a shove, and started my new life. I looked around my domain. It was clear that the estate agent had been correct when he said that this had once been two tiny cottages, set as it was on a slope, there were steps between the sitting room and the large kitchen. Two hundred years old, he had said, but it felt much older to me. It was clean and tidy with a fire set in the grate. It was now late summer, and as the sun was setting, I began to feel the chill, so I put a light to the fire.There was an old sagging chair by the wood burning stove. Needless to say, the stove was cold and unwelcoming, but late afternoon sunshine drifted in through the window. I took off my fleece jacket, and sat down, pulling the jacket up around my ears like some babies comforter. The sun was warm in the top of my head, and in seconds I had drifted away, into the most peaceful sleep I had ever known.

The sheer unadulterated luxury of being able to sleep without hearing that vicious rapping on the wall, as Mother demanded yet more attention. Even after these few weeks, I had not got used to the quietness of uninterrupted slumber. As my thoughts ebbed away, I imagined the warmly cheerful wood burner, lighting up the room, and reflecting bright, shiny coloured baubles on the Christmas tree that I knew I would have this year, a real one that could live on in the garden after the festivities were over.

I jumped! Suddenly I was awake. I opened my eyes, forgetting for a brief moment where I was. I shivered. It was dark outside and, as yet, no curtains to draw against the late autumn chill. What on earth had awakened me? There it was again, as I realised it was the iron knocker on the door. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but it slowly dawned on me that it had been long enough for my worldly goods to conclude their journey down the M5 and into deepest Dorset.

Rubbing my eyes, I answered my door. Yes, there outside, was the removal van. There was barely enough room for it to park tail end in to the cottage. There were three men on board. In minutes they had lowered the tailgate and begun to unload, bombarding me with questions, wanting to know just where each chair and box was to go. I do not like men. The only man I had ever had any dealings with was my father. These three seemed polite enough when they spoke to me, but I did not like the way they kept calling me 'Missus' and 'Love.' I stood by and watched as they heaved and pushed some of the larger pieces in through the small wooden door. The youngest one was quite good looking, I suppose, in a modern sort of way. He had thick black hair and a metal bar through his eye brow. I thought it looked most uncomfortable, but it didn't seem to bother him. He had two silver ear rings in one of his ears, and none in the other. ‘Funny thing fashion’, I thought He must have caught me looking at him as he gave me a broad wink and laughed.

I scurried into the kitchen away from his laughter, and opened the box marked 'utensils'. I quickly switched on the electric kettle and busied myself making three cups of tea. The cups were white china with small pink flowers on, and matching saucers. I put a few biscuits on a plate and, balancing all on a tray, carried it into the front room where I placed it on a packing case. 'For you' I mumbled. 'Ta, Sweetheart' said the oldest man. He picked up the china cup in his big beefy hand and swallowed it down in one gulp. As I went back into the kitchen to drink my own, it occurred to me that big hands like that would have been more at home with a pint pot than a pretty china tea cup.

Thankfully, the intrusion was soon over, and my goods unloaded. The men, with their sweaty, hot smell, had left. They thought nothing of me, nor did I of them. No doubt as the removal van climbed the hill out of the village, they would have been making ribald jokes about the poor sex starved old spinster who had never felt the touch of any sort of man, let alone men like them. I blushed as I imagined what they were saying.

I had found my slippers in the box meticulously marked, 'slippers and shoes' and went upstairs to the main bedroom and set about making my bed. Oh, yes, I had my Egyptian sheets, and my orange and yellow duvet cover that perfectly toned with the curtains, all still sat in the box marked 'Curtains and Cushions.' It was 9.30pm by the time I had unpacked a few essentials, and had a sandwich. I had brought enough food with me to last me a couple of meals. One thing my parents had taught me was to always be prepared for any eventuality. The one eventuality I had not been prepared for was that of the two of them living until they were almost one hundred years old, practically a full century. In retrospect, the realisation was terrifying. Sixty years I had been in their grasp, their late surprise, their only child, first as a 'pet' to be fed and nurtured, and educated, then as a biddable servant, and, latterly a slave.

Oh, how good life was now. Here I was in my own small cottage, in an equally small village, miles from anywhere. What a wonderful journey of tranquility and peace the rest of my life was to be.

to be continued..... if you wish!

thanks for asking :P
Hi ,Mary ,i have to do it ,i will start soon on my own story .
david c wrote:
Sat Oct 21, 2017 4:02 pm
Hi ,Mary ,i have to do it ,i will start soon on my own story .
Jolly good,David, just a few minutes on my own at the start of the day, and things start to almost write themselves - it's when the day starts and the caring starts and the phone calls, admin and doctors and other stuff gets in the way......... :dry:
I wrote a lorry magazine for 20 years, 20 of A4 sides every quarter. Regarded as the best of it's type in Europe! Funny thing was I knew nothing about lorries, I had a Sierra for 8 years and never learned how to lift the bonnet. Well if you were married to a man who mended the largest trucks and diggers etc. in the world, there was no need. (Think of the big stuff that they move on Outback Truckers). However my OH bought an old lorry, which he restored, and then at shows we were asked where we found the spares to do the job. I started what was going to be a little club, just 20 members, 2 sides of A4, wouldn't take long, would it? It ended up with 300 members world wide, all interested in one make, long gone now. Someone said to my OH at a show, "I don't know where X gets it from" to which my OH said "I don't think she knows either!" I would sit in my room upstairs with a blank template, and it more or less wrote itself. I took the technical stuff from handbooks etc., and usually at shows I would offer someone a hot drink. As the drink was cooling down, I 'd ask what they'd been up to, what had broken, who they had seen etc. and then put it into some sort of order. There was always an element of desperation and perspiration too! I really loved the challenge, don't miss the hard work, do miss the creativity.
That's amazing BB - you could write on anything, if you can write so much on lorries - I thought I had misread it at first !! well done you x