The Life and Love of The Beast

The Life and the Love of the Beast

Walking into a car showroom for the first time...is like being in a Toffee shop and wanting everything off the expensive top shelf!

There before you, in glittering array is every status symbol, in every colour, in every format you could wish for...and that’s what it usually stays like...wishes :)

Getting my world back on track after an acrimonious divorce was hard. Amongst many things divorcees will be aware of...is lack of money. Well I worked hard, sorted out my children and then it was time for me. I went to a showroom and looked at cars.

The car show rooms was huge, Fords own but with other cars available too. I was definatley in the sweet shop!

I sooooooo wanted the black 4 x 4 that sat looking like a hungry monster. But that’s what it would be fuel wise so that was a no go.

I really, really; liked the fast little sports car but that was impractical and then. I saw her 'The Beast'. Not too big, lovely colour (Pepper Red I will have you know. Not just ordinary red, a Ford Focus. The salesman knew me, understood my needs and explained the practical side of the vehicle. Ford was a huge manufacturer, so repairs would be easy to get done. Economical, good responses, ‘here’ have a spin in it’…oh I did and fell in love. Just, with a tweak here or there, just, within my price range and she was mine!

I felt so proud of that car, she was everything I could ask for, easy to drive, roomy inside and she looked posh...I hadn't managed 'posh' for years so it was a really big moment for me.

I drove around feeling 'posh' then took her to my daughters to show her off and then piled her and my son into the car with the children and off we went to my Mothers...who was also...delighted. At last she would be taken out for Sunday lunch in a car that wasn't held together by elastic bands and rust.

It was 2002, February and the delight of that car filled every day as I went to work, visited people, especially Mum and generally drove my beautiful car into the ground.

Sadly, that year I lost my brother and during that period of time I had also lost my home and my sense of direction and car and me...well we went and had an adventure. We drove up the M6 and as the gauge read half full we hooked a left off junction 41 and began a two-year adventure in the Cumbrian mountains and valleys that influenced me for the next decade.

For two years I more or less lived in the car. I slept on the back seat and parked in out of the way places and me and car had some really great conversations. She was an incredibly good listener. I would moan and she would quietly hum along, sending little blasts of hot air from her heating system, blowing soothing little draughts of sympathy. I cried, wailed and moaned in that car more than once.

When my brother’s headstone hadn't been erected I spent every night parked in the layby alongside his grave, watching and bemoaning his demise. When life was too difficult I would be found driving off into the hills in Cumbria, visiting Castle Rigg, hiding in fact and she (car) loved the adventure.

She never had a name she was ‘Car’ or ‘Beast’ because when her engine roared it was a magnificent sound to me. Purring along the motorways was quiet and efficient but starting off and having to move fast she was ace. Impressive in fact and more than one person wanted to know ‘what had I done to the engine’…nothing at all, she was just a very good car.

Then I moved around a lot and so did some of my family and car became the removal van, the facilitator of escapes, moves and mini adventures and again...she came to the rescue for friends and family alike.

A man pulled out from the left and decided to park, right in the middle of the road to turn right, but he hadn’t left enough room for oncoming traffic to stop…I hit him with a dreadful crunching sound. I had ‘seen’ his actions and applied the brakes immediately, his manoeuvre hadn’t looked ‘right’ so in some ways I had already begun avoidance action. I turned my car slightly to avoid head on collision, worried my sister would end up with the engine in her lap. So we hit with my right wing ‘corner’. The shock wave slammed through and my ankle crushed but everyone else was okay bar a bit of rough whiplash that would heal. But my car had been seriously damaged and had to go into the Ford workshop. Her return was much appreciated, especially as she now looked brand spanking new again and completely overhauled.

A phone call at daft o clock and me and car sped to the rescue of a friend with a *boyfriend* who wouldn't go home. The mobile would ring and someone, somewhere would need me and away we would go.

My adventures continued unabated:-

Then I came to Harlech, once again I had been homeless but this time not only did I sleep in my car, I used her to move myself a hundred miles away and got myself into the local College or Coleg as it is said, in Harlech...and found my spiritual home.

Car became the enabler for me to visit Mum as often as possible, holidays for my grandkids, picking up *stuff* and making life generally easier when you live half way up a mountain and I took her for granted.

She rescued me when I needed dental treatment in an emergency, driving me to sunny Liverpool every week for 3 months, took me to hospital for all sorts of tests and generally kept me in good health.

Then parking became a problem and she went to live on my friend Kerri’s driveway and she became *The Beast*. The boys loved having her around, me and Kerri managed great shopping trips. The boys washed, polished and cared for every tiny inch of her still shiny paintwork.

She was a symbol, of new beginnings, a new status and new opportunities. And after twelve years’ service it was time to say goodbye. I never thought about it ‘as such’, not until I made a small post about her, and then as I began to write here in this blog.

In those twelve years my little car, my beautiful Ford Focus had become almost a living being. I knew all of her little foibles, could make her my home at any given moment and she had enabled many different adventures for me along those twelve years.
As my only vehicle she created time and space for me.
I grieved in her, I sheltered in her and I travelled from Carlisle, Edinburgh and down as far as Gosport, Portsmouth and Bournemouth, often in one day.
She was the car that got me to my grandchild’s bedside in an emergency, to my children and my friends.
She enabled me to stay in contact with family, drove me to work and in moments of deep despair…………. she took me to my mountains.
In her I wrote my first full book which is now published on Kindle.
In her I learned how to be quiet within myself, to be free of old ways and embrace a new me.
In her I learned to breathe.

Through owning her I gained a respect for Ford and their innovative designs, I grew to appreciate how easy it is for someone to lose concentration and on more than one occasion her quick response to my own actions avoided some other driver’s stupidity from causing me ill. She was, and remains in my thoughts, perfect.

I can only keep those memories polished now, and one day, I will find her like again. The Beast is now in some spare parts sanctuary, or in a collective heap in a yard, but she is no longer on the road and to this day.........I miss her.

What to wear. The Last Great Adventure.

Me in the forest copyright Susan Morrison Jones

 

What 'do' you wear when tramping around the country ?

Good boots for a start !

 

I am fortunate to own good boots, mine are great for walking in, if a little heavy because they are 'proof' against falling stones, sharp objects like knives or pointed stones (and chainsaws for that matter) and have soles that will take my entire life time to wear down , even if I walk miles every day.

 

My full length wax proof coat, made by Dryazabone is 22 years old now and still going strong. windproof, waterproof and warm it has a sheepskin lining for really cold weather and covers me literally from head to toe. I still need my sheep herders hat, commonly called a Stetson which it isn't but people don't always know what the history of even a hat is .

 

The rest of it isn't a matter of survival so much as personal taste and of convenience.

 

I am currently designing a coat and trousers which will accommodate my personal needs. I always need pockets and I always need warmth otherwise my arthritis will halt me in my tracks. Even in summer I have to keep my joints warmer than usual, so shorts and short skirts are not happening in my wardrobe.

 

I have to discover the right underwear, stuff that will wash and dry in a heart beat and I need to find the right T shirts that won't require ironing. Cloth that will shake dry and stay fairly representable is a pain to research but I am getting there.

Finally I have to decide what to have as a style...which isn't really much of a decision, I'm a hippy, have been since the age of fifteen so that isn't going to change much.

 

So the wardrobe must be small, economical, easy to care for, easy to wash and dry and have some style to it.

One sewing machine and a load of fabric later...and I am sewing away quite happily .

 

Stage three...........the routes to take and places to visit.

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Almost ready . The Last Great Adventure

Harlech Castle copyright Susan Morrison Jones

 

 

The majority of my decision making was begun when I lived in Harlech. The view from my bedroom window, of Harlech Castle was always an inspiration to me. Its magnificent outline as the sun set behind its stone edifice would cause me to stop for those breath taking moments of beauty and simply look. Feel the history of the place, wonder about the many people whose lives had been affected by its presence in the beautiful Welsh land.

 

Those thoughts inspired me to continue searching and continue contemplating  our history. Britain's influence in the world currently, has waned . As a nation we have shrunk from being the mightiest in the world to becoming a small pocket of peoples whose lives and mixed up, messed up politics have become 'of interest' but no longer anywhere near as influential as it once was.

 

We are, as a nation, a peoples of diverse backgrounds and many cultures. We have grimly held onto some of our heritage but do not, by any means, support all of it. Many people, when discussing our pasts have shame for the involvements we had, as a nation, in dominating, subjugating, over lording it in other lands. We can see positives and negatives for our spreading our ways throughout the world. Religion is as involved as our quest for new land. Never the less, our rich history is , in part, one of the influences in my own itchy feet and desire to travel, learn and become part of my own historical journey.

 

I am almost there, almost ready to 'go for it'. I had to return to St Helens to create a base. In part I wished to be closer to my sister Pat and my little Mum. The need to connect and be a more physical part of their world is very powerful. Mum is 88 years old now and a magnificent representation of how strong a woman can become and how influential as the matriarch of my family. Her steady influence and guiding has been a core to my world the whole of my life. The other part of my needs, was simple finances. I needed to earn enough to buy the van, to fit it out with the necessary equipment and to re-train my dogs to be less aggressive (having lived away from other animals they are not social beings) and to behave in different ways with new commands.

 

I also need a small amount of finances to support my journey beyond simply affording diesel and food. It is necessary to have contingency funds for breakdowns of the van (if they happen) and sudden needs such as having to return back to my stamping grounds for any particular needs.

 

This is all on track. Alongside the necessities of creating a home for my current use, from scratch, from needing to buy cups and plates and the like, to getting a permanent roof over my head , it has all been a matter of work, earn, spend on necessities, bank what is possible, pay off what is needful and back into the cycle again, week after dreary week.

 

It has been.........interesting.

 

Now I am discussing the plans for the fitting out of the van, at last, it is almost within sight. I can see the first steps of the journey as I begin here, in St Helens, to research part one of my journey. I am already visiting Liverpool as and when I am able. Going to the great Picton Library to look into my genealogy, my grandparents came from many different parts of Britain to find work there and it is a huge part of the families history. Its been revolutionary to seek information of their origins, the work they did and their part in forming the family ties I am a product of.

 

I've begun so many different layers of the foundations and am so pleased with myself. Currently I am creating my wardrobe for the journey. That also has to be special in its construction. and that's a different blog altogether...but the first real steps are under way

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees !.

 

 





Making the money box

Cat copyright Susan Morrison Jones

this is Cat, he sits on the floor by my sister’s chair and he eats money. every penny, every pound, disappears through the tiny slot and is swallowed until the grand opening.

You can't open him without destroying him. It was a deliberate ploy, if getting the money out means breaking Cat open, then it is a little bit of thinking time before the hammer gets used and a reprieve is generally the result.

He was made to hold £1,000 in mixed coins and paper so he is a hungry little devil. One of a kind whose presence has the real cat (one Baldrick the B'stard Jones, part Main Coon and evil personified) going ballistic. He doesn't like Cat at all and will stalk up to him to stare into those empty eyes and swish his tale a bit.

Cat was made from papier Mache covered with plaster of Paris and a final coating of No Nails then painted, he is tough, he can take a few knocks and to deliberately smash him is going to be a tough call for anyone still less someone like myself.

I made him for my sister, she has her own plans for the future and I am in the process of making myself one, it will be as individual as he is and as unbreakable, currently however, my savings amount to very little and lie inside a tiny china piglet who luckily for me, has an easy access opening, but the time is coming when my finances need locking down and so, as with all hopeful one day millionaires...I shall start that new money box and get crafting.

The Last Great Adventure and Independent Means

copyright SusanMorrison-Jones

The image on your right is myself 24 years ago. A focussed and pretty young looking 40-year-old. Life hits you between the eyes when your growing older, at 64 (image on your left) I have a fair few issues to deal with as I grow old.

One of those issues, is finances. Like a lot of Mum's my children have had all I could spare and beyond. It’s a parent trap we can all fall into, but I believe waiting until your dead to gift your children finances, jewellery you haven't worn in decades and paintings you never even notice on your walls anymore.........is selfish. So my children have had it all and I am now at the 'rock bottom' end of the scales personally.

Not that I am suffering, indeed no. I have a roof over my head, good food in the cupboards and a fair amount of positive views to my life. But I am what is called an Old Age Pensioner. With a small pension due me on a weekly basis. Before anyone thinks 'oh' pensions are not out of the people’s purse, I paid into that pension scheme for decades it is my entitlement. That’s obvious from my statement here, an old thorn in my side. Just as the National Health is a thorn but digression isn't needed so back on track......

I need to fund myself during my adventures, beyond what my pension will provide and so I obtained a small job to pay for my stationary life style as it is now and began to create ways to fund myself in the future. It takes a while to establish a following on Facebook, Google Plus and other social media channels. It also takes a while to establish yourself as an on line funded personality. That’s what my Google Page is all about. Seeing me.

As I gain a following and visitors I am learning what interests and what bores my possible audiences. What creates a buzz, what is a fat zero interest ripple and according to my data I will bring all that knowledge into order over the next few months. It is also important to me that I record the process as I go along. These blogs are a 'warts and all' series of blogs, images, thoughts and feelings. They’re the 'real me' so I don't lie in them, I don't procrastinate about what to write. I let rip.

To enable my adventures, I need Independent Means, money or help that is freely available to myself and responsible only to myself. I would LOVE a millionaire to say 'here girly go adventure' but that is so not going to happen, I can't rely on miracles I can and will rely on me....so I started a long term series of blogs, links and ideas to do just that. I haven't connected anything to advertising or any cash returns from any formats as yet...but I will eventually. Every little penny, cent or pound or dollar is going to be needed eventually.

To that end I began publishing my books on Kindle and as a result I now have three books online, more to come. These books have been sat in my PC for a long time, my promise to publish them for my 64th birthday was fulfilled. Now I need them to earn their keep.

I also began a programme of saving in a separate account for the adventure. I have a whole £30 in there so far. If you knew how difficult that was to manage from a place in life where I was completely homeless, you would feel the emotional high this has caused me.

Further I am growing plants from seed, potting them up and they will be sold next year when they are healthy and established plants. I am also creating a series of videos of that process and how to turn an 80p packet of seeds into £50. which sounds ridiculous but ten packets of seeds and a bit of time is £8 becoming £500 and every little will help.

My paintings continue and i will do the odd commission or sell the occasional one here and there.... that adds to everything.

I will add the adsense to my blogs and create more videos on youtube asap...that will add a little every now and again. Pay Pal and I are about to become firm friends.

I am buying, doing up and selling on, some material things which I hope to garner another 500 and so on. I have three years left and in that time I need to make £20,000 and I will.

So I am proactive and eventually I hope to master the publishing thing with Kindle...would love those books to go viral but they won't. I have to be realistic, there is not one swear word, act of violence or sex scenes in any of them. They were written from the knowledge my grandchildren would want to read nana's books and my Mother would too...so nothing naughty, just adventure and history bound into a storyline. Never the less they now have a presence on line and that’s important. If all they do is create £10 it’s a tenner I didn't have before.

So its Tally Ho again

Here’s the link to my books if your interested.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Fingal-Village-Book-Susan-Morrison-Jones-ebook/dp/B01FWPZQJC

Catch Up on The Last Great Adventure

The Universe is mine copyright Susan Morrison-Jones

Trying to stay focused on The Last Great Adventure is really difficult. Life continually throws you curves, matters to distract, confuse, deter.... but every now and again something momentous will happen to me and my focus is back. Needle sharp and revving to go.

In recent weeks I lost a dear son in law to sudden heart failure and a good friend to a long drawn out illness ending in his demise. My son in law was a lovely man and far too young to have left us, but in that single emotional trauma lay the lesson 'tomorrow isn't promised'. In my friend’s demise came the reminder that my mortal coil cannot stay fixed at 'time yet' because it isn't, never will be. But it is so very easy to put things off until tomorrow and if that tomorrow has been denied you, then of course the list of 'things to do' no longer has any importance, it is defunct.

My determination to set off on one last adventure, the greatest of them all had waned of late. I have been very tired, very challenged over smaller issues and the idea, the difficulties and the aspects still in need of attention just swamped my enthusiasm enough to quell it.

A series of blood tests had revealed a dangerously low level of Vitamin D in my system which did manage to at least explain my continuous tiredness. It also linked to other physical issues such as a massive increase in the pain I feel from various ailments, but it was, as an experience very debilitating and had squashed the old me into a dark and depressing corner. Now being addressed fully, never the less that too was a lesson in self-care which I had not employed for some time.

I need a little time, I hope that time is granted me, to catch up on my adventure plans and sort out other things. I will endeavour to do so in the next few weeks.

I made my choices and original decision to attempt a full road trip around and criss crossing the whole of the British Isles for when I am 67 at the latest. By then I had decided that my health and fitness would just about manage to fulfil its purpose and I would be young enough to enjoy the experiences. But I had a five-year time line to work towards gaining the right equipment, the right vehicle and the right amount of financial support to fund myself.

That was almost two years ago now and I am galloping towards that 67 mark quite fast. I am now 64 nearly 65 and I am, in part, able to say I have managed some of the criteria necessary but not the whole of it. I have found a stable place to rent, a job to ensure I stay put for a short while and a whole gamut of information’s, maps and ideas.

Ahead of me is the finances being made stable and enough money to purchase a vehicle suitable for me and the dogs to live in as we tramp across the Isles...they are, I suppose, the biggest challenges.

From designing my own wardrobe (I know the hardships of homelessness and long camping trips) to get suitable clothing for roughing it, being presentable and being comfortable. To equipment I will need, I am almost there or in the middle of doing it. The fund raising for the rest is going to be a strict way to live for a while. No sudden expenditure splurges or destructively expensive bills can be accommodated. If the car dies, it stays dead, I can't afford to pay loads of maintenance for this vehicle and save up to buy a motorhome. If I have a pile of debts I can't save so I am ending a cycle of living on my overdraft even as I write. It began to feel (at one stage) as if I were back in the old days of being a student again, making one penny do the work of five.... but I AM getting there. Just a tad tired currently, but still keen to carry on.

Dora’s' Daughter the Explorer....is moving forwards.

London Work Miracles and Mates

                                      Euston Station and the start or another mini adventure.

I set off from Wigan station and arrived at Euston relaxed and ready to work as hard as I could at my new Demonstration Contract at a brand new warehouse behind Wembley Stadium.

Being a 'Demo Girl' has been an amazing experience from learning how to cook in the tiniest of spaces to meeting Joe Public with its many facets and faces. But this mini adventure had me in the very heart of the capital and heading towards Cricklewood.

Several hair raising tube journeys later I arrived at The Crown

in Cricklewood. its a very imposing building, looking a tad incongruous with its pretty architecture and its oh so modern additions.
its set back from the main road with a good sweep of driveway and a lot of attention to detail with its cast iron posts and chains, the cobblestoned drive adding a little to its imposing frontage.

Set to one side is the additional building to the original. I can hardly call it an extension ts absolutely enormous and as imposing in its own modern way. Keeping faith with the current fashion that any extension must bee seen to  be from a different era, with all the bells and whistles it has truly beautiful aspects to its structure.

I entered the reception area and was immediately seen too, my electronic room key handed over in a neat little paper wallet and off i set to discover what had been booked for me.
I admit that having had several horror stories whispered in my shell like (ears) I was a tad apprehensive.
I passed the indoor swimming pool promising myself a swim later,

A promise I broke after half a pint of lager and an amazing evening with Jean Lowe, my colleague and several very kind gentlemen who bought our drinks and entertained us generously without a single word or gesture out of place.

The room was lovely. I can't say it was anything other than that. Ensuite bathroom, generous bed, good carpeting and the TV was a decent size.

A telephone, iron, hair dryer and sundry other little helpful additions ensured I was more than pleased.

Most importantly the coffee tray was full and I sat down and enjoyed a drink before changing and heading to the bar to meet up with my new colleagues . What an AMAZING bunch of people !

Jean Lowe is my colleague from the north and she has worked the demo route for a long time and took pleasure in introducing me to so many new people, it was hard to put names to faces at first but I soon ironed that out and we had a really good series of connections.

I've said more than once that I love my little job, I go to a place where literally everyone smiles, hello, good morning, can I help you, do you need anything..is always in the air and whats even nicer is that it is all genuine. I didn't know what to expect from this new crowd, Men and Women from all over the country, diverse characters, Individuals with 'demo' stamped right the way through them. We share a common gene of genial companionship, communication, people 'people', but that isn't a guarantee of acceptance..............I needn't have worried.

AMAZING is about the most overworked word when describing an experience but for me, quite genuinely...it was amazing. These people, total strangers bar for one person, welcomed me into their hearts and not once did I feel anything less than welcome, part of the team. Yvonne McKeown and Lianne Beverley Snape were particularly lovely to me but then more and more people added to the chain of friendship. fa too many to mention now...but I will, as time goes on.

We sat through the first evening saying hello, old friends leaping into each others arms for hugs, squeals of delight as  people re-connected and then bedtime. Oh that bed.mmmmmmmmmm it was heaven. Crisp clean sheets, lovely soft pillows, space, lots of space. Morning had more people arriving, more squeals and giggles and hugs as connections took place once again and then it was meetings and a god awful buffet and then........................V.I.P. Night and the opening.

Manic is about the only way to say it, people, food, demonstrations in multiple figures, people rushing here and there and then exhaustion as we staggered to the coach and back to the hotel.
The chatter started low on the coach, a gentle hum as people began to wynde down and then there was a buzz and a hyper giddy moment as people began to relate incidents and issues and suddenly the roar of dozens of people all hyped and still raring to go......wow!

Tuesday was no less frenetic and it was a 14 hour shift as well. We all staggered onto the double decker bus at 7am

and we would stagger back onto it at 9.30pm later that day. apprehension had all of us quiet , organising, running schedules through our minds,
We had an hour long wait before we could get into the warehouse itself but we all had to be present and correct and then it was our showtime.
By Wednesday things calmed a little but then the sun beat down oppressively and 30 degrees of pure heat hit us whenever we had our break or lunch......thank heavens for air conditioning.
By the evening we had successfully launched Wembley and we had a few hours before we would need to pack for home and we spent it......partying of course.

By the next morning there were a few sore heads, one or two gamely had stayed awake all night and several of us had drunk more than our usual limit but the frenetic work schedule was now over and more normal hours would resume. Some of our people stayed on till next Monday, but many of us had flights to catch back up to Scotland or trains to take us miles away home. I was on the train for 1;30 so by ten o clock I was packed, ready and sat out in the sun baking myself and drinking reams of coffee to stay awake and alert.

My bag was bulging with odd little things I had collected over the previous few days. Never the less that little bag held four pairs of trousers/shirts, security jacket, two hats, two aprons, three blouses, dress pants, dressy up dress, shoes,underwear, swimsuit (never did go to the pool) jumper,cardigan, sundry items of personal care, makeup,a large biscuit tin, my kindle, phone, charger, first aid kit, medication,and 'stuff' including my gorgeous hessian new bag courtesy of the hotel, a couple of chocolate bars and some mints and my purse with all the relevant proofs of identity and of course the bak card ................


Jean and I headed off through Cricklewood, stopping by a rather dilapidated small caravan blaring out a decent Bob Marley tune for a quick dance and a shuffle then on to the train station.
Several tube journeys later and we found ourselves back at Euston with an hour to spare (so we thought)

What better than a fast lunch and a little drinkies ...........which we duly did. We discovered Gino D'Acampo so of course we had to have some pasta (deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelicious) and gorgeous bread and a couple of lagers to help it all down.

finally we made it home.

Next year its Reykjavik, if I am chosen to join up again.......well thats another adventure entirely.
Miracles, I forgot to include the miracles.

Successful demonstrations are when you have not only displayed the item/ food/ self in such a way that the product sells fast and furious throughout the day. An empty pallet is considered a huge boright links to make your display good is genuinely exciting. For me, my pallet emptied fast and was refilled enough for me to feel I had done a good job. That was a small miracle.
That I managed to find my way through tube stations was another miracle because the reason I have had so many adventures in travel is literally because I can't read maps or guides as well as some and get myself 'lost' a lot.
That everyone got on so well, and everyone was so kind was a small but gratifying little miracle too. For nearly 100 people, some complete strangers to the group like myself, to integrate immediately and remain fast friends afterwards was another little miracle.
and lastly...to have survived London traffic in the rush hour, on a double decker bus through some of the smallest, narrowest streets. With my heart in my mouth as various narrow escapes provided me with gasps, hold my breath and eyes squeezed shut seconds along the way...is definitely...a miracle.

Affording an Adventure

My plans to continue with adventures is...well continuing!

Finances are the issue currently. I have taken on a job that will give me the time to do all the planning, sorting out maps and creating the itinerary. In the meantime I am adventuring around the local area and discovering places I have never seen. Its been fascinating so far.

I started with my local area to give myself a little more confidence in driving through unknown territory, especially without a sat nav and loaded with required paraphernalia including the dogs.

.
Caesar is biggish in size and bouncy, always wanting attention so he has to learn how not to get on my nerves haha. He needs a long walk usually but recently his shoulders have begun to hurt and that has made a difference in how long he walks for.
His bouncing around days are over.

Jake is different again, only small in size but he is my watch dog and will bark if anything or anyone is too close to my car. he is 8 years old and a fiesty little chap. He needs more time out and about than Caesar, mostly due to his actual breed but never the less he is a vital part of my early warning system for safety.








We have journeyed for just a few miles and then further and further with the occasional night in the car to test the comfort and the wisdom of my adventure and its possible hitches and glitches.

Liverpool was the big test, it is going to be a difficult process for all three of us because though it is close to my current home, it is a big big city and expanding all the time.

I am researching the best possible sources for various pieces of equipment and then come the next summer...we will journey further afield. Training in effect.

Adventures here we come.

I speak English and this is my Arse.

While I may not be the most educated of women, I am someone whose perception of life, the Universe and everything , has not been crafted by computers. games, apps and attachments.

Little plastic thingimagigs that ping me, poke me or generally interrupt a damned good conversation with a ring tone ; (to alert me that someone has posted a message of some description on a social website of no particular importance). These amazing relatively new inventions did not interrupt my every living moment.

 My sleep was never disturbed by someone logging into a website which kindly ‘alerted me’. Though what is kind about being woken at 3am by a screeching  bing /ding/ping escapes my understanding even now...I was thankfully, in my youth, the recipient of 8 hours solid sleep in a nice warm room devoid of flickering screens, The absence of hums, pings and dings , remains a fond memory. There was absolutely no evidence whatsoever of telephones, i pods, i pads , TV’s, Music Centres, MP3’s and the like, throughout my formative years and subsequent teenage moments. In essence I slept the sleep of the innocent and pure...beautifully.

I grew up with conversation as the main core of events in the day. Conversations with my parents, sibling, and even...bate your breath please...........with my teachers.

Those conversations are now almost a defunct part of societies personal  and interpersonal communicative actions, instead ‘we’ send images via Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. We text entire conversations in capital letters, single letters standing for whole words and what is fascinating is that from child to aging old Nana we are reading fluently what has become an entirely new language in itself which is almost universal to our world and its individual nations no matter what ethnic language is spoken.

OMG! R U OK.FGS.PM.ASAP.
16 LETTERS to ask Oh My God Are you okay, For Gods sake Private Message me as soon as possible.

What continues to amaze me is that I too am becoming proficient at such messages and then again, I find myself more and more disgruntled, more annoyed than ever because the spoken conversation is also adopting and adapting to this new phase of communication. We are beginning to speak in shorthand.

I am not simply upholding English as my Mother tongue, I am waving a flag here for all languages, because the rot has set in amongst us all, with Franglaise and Spanglaise and the list is endless. The purity of our personal languages is being eroded. I am all for an easier communication, it is good that so many people can now communicate , but a little part of me still wants to preserve the language of my youth.

This is my arse! I said, not my ass, not my ‘bits’ not my situpon...my arse. Such a wonderful word, savour it as it spreads its enunciation across your tongue...arse. As Prince Harry said, it is a proper word for your backside and I cheered when he used it.

I came fifth in the race...because there is an F there, right there in the middle but we hear fiTH, or my absolute personal dislike siCth we have an X missing, have our tongues and teeth become so lacking in ability we can no longer pronounce the X in a word..siXth surely. We don’t say secual we say sexual, don’t we ? so why did poor old Six get a letteroctomy?

It is my sincere hope that out there, in the world are like minded individuals who will preserve the spoken language. In all its richness and quirkiness, it needs protection from the encroaching and admittedly handy little shorthand for the texting and the social media junkies.

I will, where appropriate,defend English from erosion of  its' richness and the beauty of its language which has become the focus for lazy tongues and idle minds.

Or, as I suspect, am I turning into a Grumpy Old Woman.........................

A Gesture of Sorrow

                                                                My Brother David

Always supposing I have declining years. We all face annihilation in one form or another, well if my life gets cut shorter than I thought would happen...I will just have to make sure I have everything still compiled and recorded at the least in a rough format before I start my journey...one cannot prepare enough and that is exactly what I shall do...prepare.

Of course I should begin at the beginning really, what happened was that my baby brother David was killed in a traffic accident. He was just 34. I cannot describe the terrible sense of loss or the events of that night without hurting all over again, sufficient to say, my family were devastated and my little Mum and my sister and I, grew very close as we supported each other through the mechanics of burying our loved done.

It was a dark time and not very pleasant to dwell on. Following the drawn out wait of the local council grave diggers being on holiday for Easter, after a two week wait for the Coroner’s report following an autopsy we eventually managed to give my brothers body the final rest he deserved and the following weeks were spent with distraction techniques for us all.

On one of those distraction days we sat together in a pretty little garden centre and I went to buy coffee and cakes. On my return to the table Mother offered me the money for the drinks and cakes and I refused. What followed was a five minute delicate but never the less argument where Mother tried to get me to take the money and I insisted it was my gift to the day.

It ended with my sister intervening

 ‘ Mum, so Sue has to take time off work, so have I and neither of us have much money, but right now, today, Susan has ten pounds she wants to spend on us, and tomorrow, it isn’t promised, we found that out the hard way, so let her buy you a coffee and a cake Mother, it’s her gift and it’s her pleasure, lets enjoy it eh’.

We sat down with a sigh, the awkward moment passed and a lady sat at the next table said quietly, I have been where you are, I wish you all peace and smiled sadly. A tiny gesture and it undid the emotional side of us . We stretched across a little space and touched hands in a gesture of sorrows shared .

Others in the small cafe nodded and like an odd sort of Mexican wave people around the room stopped for a little moment and touched hands, or looked meaningfully towards us, towards each other. A small moment, an insignificant thing in terms of world issues, and yet, for us, a single moment of shared pains with our fellow man . An ease, a gentleness descended and then without any prevarication Mother said’ what do you want to be when you grow up girls’ and that single small moment changed my entire world once again.

It’s fair to say that when Mother asked her question both my sister and I laughed out loud. It was the sort of thing you expect when you’re ten, but then we realised she meant what she said. We discussed how our brother had never completed his early promise of career and the subsequent issues of his marriage to a female he had long since left but never divorced. 

We worked our way through the reality of our world and the conversation ended up back at Mothers question. Simple, direct and honest, she wanted to know what we really wanted in our lives, so we told her. We also acted on it.

The result was that both my sister and I changed our way of living and our destinations on life’s meandering path became different, more fulfilling and more honest with ourselves.

I became an artist, travelling 120 miles for an interview at a college, moving home and for 8 glorious years I lived the life I truly loved and welcomed. My art sold in small amounts and I had a little success in other areas, a little poem published here, a small blog gaining a following there, and all in all I enjoyed my world immensely. Eventually I published some of my books on Kindle Fingal and SeaHold and more to come as I finalise my many years of writings.

 I even managed to get embroiled in an affair of the heart which is still ongoing but as they’ say, ‘its complicated’, he is much younger than I and I don’t want to share my space these days, but its still alive and kicking in its own unique fashion.

One gesture of sorrow from a kind hearted woman, gave root and then flourishing vine to my new life.

never be afraid to share your sympathy, who knows what it will do.

Frogs Vampyres and Kindles

   I spend a lot of time travelling around. Last year I lived in Devon in the middle of nowhere. It was the most ig isolated space I have ever occupied. However one lonely night...................I woke to a strange sound, very delicate, almost but not quite....silent.

The kind of sound that has shivers down your back inside a heartbeat, neck hair bristling and a gulp in your throat that is waiting to make its entrance. There was someone in my room!

As I live in a fairly isolated place and am often alone, it wasn't the nicest of experiences, however I am , to say the least, not your average 63 year old...I carefully slitted my eyes open, no shadows around me, the sound was down by the foot of the bed,

I carefully angled my neck. Bonus ! if it was a Vampyre it wouldn't get a quick snack I thought.

I scanned the room, my eyes accustomed to starlight and moonlight could identify nothing human.

My hand slid slowly and carefully towards the side table, on it was the only thing I could use as a weapon...my poor Kindle was in danger of becoming kindling of a plastic kind...but hey ho, continuous breathing was more important than reading my books. 

Gripping the Kindle in an aggressive way I rolled off the bed taking my duvet and a pillow with me and slid under the iron framed bed, determined to protect as much of me as possible,

 I scooted round on the marble floor with a swoosh as the duvet slid obligingly with me and...I turned on the Kindle...bright light flooded across the tiles and I prepared to defend myself, eagerly seeking the stealthy intruder and he/she/it/they were there...right before my eyes............FROGS !!!!!!!

Across the cool tiles were 5 baby frogs and a Palmate Newt also in the baby class. They had erupted from the tiniest of holes in the far corner of the room and spread their way across the room, halting were the underfloor heating began, and their strange black eyes stared at the light, mesmerised..

More were emerging from the hole in the tiles, along with evidence of some kind of underground water system that had begun to emerge through the old barn wall, I was invaded.

I have never laughed so much in my life, the little frogs and their friend the newt were carefully captured and put in an ice cream tub to be carried down to one of the ponds on the estate. Relief I wasn't facing a denizen of the Night ! and the many incongruous challenges of living in the wild country of Devon flooded my mind.

I sleep now with that tub awaiting further deliveries, each evening I scoop a half dozen frogs and a couple of newts into the tub and take them to their new home, and now I have a truly awesome problem..but at least it wasn't Vampyres.

The Importance of being Me ! Adventures in Liverpool

I set off for Liverpool with a lot of good memories from my childhood. The journey itself is only a matter of 45 minutes but hair-raising insofar as I don't know my way through the City centre and parking was a nightmare until I got the hang of the one way system.

By the time I reached the parking bay I had sweat buckets of distress because I simply hate being inside those awful low roofed parking buildings with their constant spiralled lanes and the ever increasing frustrated drivers ahead of or behind me...all looking for an empty bay. I took the cowards way out and headed directly to the roof where I breathed untrapped air and delightful rays of sunshine announced my freedom from  'the box' of cars... phew !

It took a while to get all my bits and bobs together but eventually I headed off towards the Picton Library. Its one of the most sympathetically updated, modernised and architecturally re-created buildings in Liverpool with sweeping staircases, modern computers and the like and a really fantastic view of Liverpool from the accessible roof...and it contains ME ! well I should say it stores the records of my ancestors who are directly responsible for me being here in the first place.

I have been researching my ancestry for years and have gotten back to the 14th century for one line and stopped abruptly in the 1830's in another line and all sorts of levels in-between; but mostly I get stopped in a heartbeat when I discover an interesting story.

That is why I am still heading into Liverpool...too many interesting stories. Last month I found my Great Uncle whose life ended abruptly during world war 1, he died a heroes death with his horse, the youngest cavalry sergeant in that awful war; his name was Frederick Morrison; Rank:Serjeant Service No:675624;Date of Death:19/10/1917
Regiment/Service:Royal Field Artillery "A" Bty. 285th  and he is buried in Belgium in the wargraves at West-Vlaanderen. So many miles from his home. I still cannot watch the film War Horse it is too close to the reality of his demise. BUT....
it didn't stop there and so currently I am finding the newspapers articles on my Great Grandmother Ada Fisher who won a penmanship award for her copperplate writing and my Mother Dora Morrison won a poetry competition at the age of 11 and was published...so they will go into the added information I am gathering.

Reading this you might have hit the yawn factor..its my world after all and not yours and dusty old info on people you have never met can be really tiresome. The theme however is the importance of being me and the reason these people matter are because they helped to make me who I am. The courage my Great Uncle displayed is part of my inheritance, the forthright attitude of Gran when she was faced with the death of her daughter while giving birth to my mother is displayed in the old family tales of her determination to keep mum alive...so she bought a goat and tethered it in her back garden where it promptly ate all her roses...or my Mother herself who never once told me 'you can't' but instilled in me 'you can'....so Liverpool is a rich source of information for now...soon I will be beyond that and travelling to Cumbria to discover what I can about my Great Grandmothers on Mums side and another journey into Wales will follow for info on Dads side of the family...one day I will be in the Isle of Man and then Australia and America will be on the list............all to discover how I came to have the traits I have, and remember.
Remember those stalwart souls who survived wars and journeys and being sent as a convict to America or Australia, the fighting spirit of my Uncles some of whom died horrendous deaths, others who survived to bring up families.
I like being me.....I also like knowing the lives I came from..............its important.

LIVERPOOL step 1

After a very hairy driving experience in the centre of the city I finally managed to park up in St Johns car park on 2a purple floor and set off on the short walk to the Picton Library............Oh My Life ! what a glorious building ! Truly a beautiful piece of architecture with

spiralling staircases and many floors just packed with information and some very helpful people.....I felt completely happy there and managed to start my line of enquiry with a lovely lady Susan who showed me how to use the micro film and microfiche machines....learning all the time !







Eventually I left there clutching dozens of help leaflets to return to the car park where I had a weird experience indeed. 
Picture this.......enter lift, press 2a purple button...doors open on a shopping floor......hmmmmmmmmmm ok must have pressed the wrong button. Go back down, my friend Pat presses the right button 2a purple....doors open...shopping floor........okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

Return to ground floor thinking perhaps we are in the wrong lift and just as we discuss this another lady enters our lift and overhears us....I am going there says the lady and presses...the exact same button.....doors open...car park....weird or what !

you can watch the short video here :-

The Last Great Adventure Liverpool



apologies for the voice over I am so not used to recordings and so on...but hopefully I will get better :)

so I have begun , and its been great so far, slow to start but it will all gather momentum as I find places to visit and record or write about, call by now and again and catch up with me ......

It Begins

Oh WOW I am 64 in a few days time and before the day arrives my friend is coming with me on my first sorte into Liverpool.

you can watch my short video as i explain my reasoning behind The Last Great Adventure but keep a look ot for my blog posts because I shall be videoing the journey next week with the hopes I can really get down to the nitty gritty stuff and it is really exciting for me personally.

Liverpool is my home town, a place of great triumphs and tragedies, some amazing people came from this dirty old town some fantastic music and some stories of triumph over adversity which my family has been involved in for the past century....all good history and well worth the visit...Liverpool here I come
The Beginning

Planning The Journey...roads,services,maps and the law for travelling in a motorhome

April heralded a new set of researches and I have begun. If you intend travelling for any length of time in the UK then this blog should be very helpful. Roads,Services and other aspects are all being diligently researched to enable me to map the right start for my lifetime adventure so here is the beginning.

I have decided to start my journey directly across from where I am now, starting in the east from HUll and driving downwards towards London during October,November, a short break to return homewards for Christmas and meeting the family, then back to the journey heading towards London for January.

Because I wish to do a lot of research of various sites and attend a few events I am making lists which currently seem to be massive and unweildy to deal with..........not true. The wealth of information is overwhelming only if I let it be. Breaking it down into smaller liast has made it easy. But I started with one link
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lists_of_roads_in_the_United_Kingdom

what a godsend Wikipedia has proven to be. A comprehensive list of all the navigable roads in the UK means detailing maps for seperate areas has become so much more manageable.
Once I have a general idea of where to go and what to do I can download maps. Yes I could simply use a GPS but that wouldn't give me the place itself in any real way, no information for me to gather other than getting from a to b.....so that is my beginning.

Alongside the roads I need Motorway Services which I discovered here :-

http://motorwayservicesonline.co.uk/

wonderful link allowing me to plot stop offs where i can spend the nigh if need be.

Parking up for the night is going to be easy in some districts and not so easy in others. I needed to understand the actual law........

http://www.practicalmotorhome.com/advice/30444-20-motorcaravanning-essentials-part-one

oh this website is amazing and covers every kind of question from how and when to park to how many people you can have in the back of a motor home and even covers the use of snow chains...brilliant little website.

another really good link is the following for rules and laws

http://www.motorhomeparking.co.uk/

Having begun to work on these websites and the information shared I am currently choosing the route and the stop offs needed for comfort, ability to interact with various areas and the further research which will be ongoing continually throughout my journey, starting with my researches in seperated format.
Genealogy
Local Records
Parish Records

Sacred Sites

Tourist Attractions.
they are all for another blog entirely, for now...........I am off to get my maps organised and to get those I accessed

http://www.theaa.com/route-planner/index.jsp

I am definitely enjoying this part of my adventure the anticipation is wonderfully inspiring.

Safe travelling my friends :)


.

Planning The Tour of a Lifetime

Planning the tour of my lifetime is not so much complicated as gargantuan . I need the expertise of Christopher Columbus,Kira Salak,Will Steger, and Micheal Palin all roled into one.
I want to visit all the Heritage Sites, All the Sacred Sites, All the libraries and Genealogy storage places available in the United Kingdom....tall order.

Starting simply with 'where to actually start'. Obviously I am in the North of England currently so I will physically start from here in sunny St Helens, but the journey, logged and recorded and faithfully photographed and video and media posted needs to have a true beginning.

The weather is also in need of being taken into consideration, I truly don't want to be too far from safety and comfort and emergency help in the middle of an ice storm or a vile weather moment so for me, starting in winter has to be an off the scale but necessary evil. I can 'do' the south of England in winter to enable me to be in tougher routes through Scotland and the Hebredes in summer. That means I will miss the gorgeous Devon Spring unless I can angle my routes from East to West starting in October and working my way down from Norlfolk through London and down into the nether regions of the south,a cross Gosport and Brighton and so on into Cornwall around February and up into Devon for March...that seems the most likely route..............
But of course i also need to get the lists of decent places to park...oh heck its a bit of a tangle to untangle.

Never the less it has begun, I doubt the ways I need to go will be easy to plan from the parking to the places and where to restock for fuel and food its all in need of lists, research and then dovetailing together ...I will get there but what a task .

starting today the plan itself is begun, next will be printing it all off and deciding, so out will come all the touristy stuff and the route planners and..........I guess I am just beginning to realise how much this part of my journey, the planning stage, is every bit as exciting as the reality of setting off.

So I am off to Google it...all of it.....

A Step in The Dark

It takes a leap of faith to walk through a forest in the night. Just a few yards from the light from an open doorway and you are plunged into the forests own kingdom and it is pitch black.

For nearly the whole of 2015 I grew to know the Ancient Forest of Wood Farm in all its many moods except that of true winter and snow. In some ways I shall regret that lost experience and yet when snow is on the ground, it is the reflection of moonlight and star light which lights that silent world and in writing now, about the dark, snow is not a relevant aspect.

During Spring and Autumn the nights are usually fairly clear, they can become pitch black with a new moon, no moon or heavy cloud. In summer, then the skies become lighter, more reflective in some way and the real dark seems to not descend as heavily.

I am not particularly brave, but I am generally speaking unafraid of the dark. I see no point in fearing the unseen or the supposed, the might be or the possible. I deal with what is in actual view, in my personal space so to speak.

Walking less than ten feet from the door I would become lost in a world of black on black,pierced here and there with stars that seemed so bright, like so many scattered diamonds across a black velvet cloth. A full moon would simply make the night become black sharded with silver beaming and bouncing into and off tree limbs or an embankment or.........the reflected glory of a passing animals eyes.

Silver limned eyes are truly scary when that is all you can see, no animal shape tells you what it is that is looking at you, tiny mouse eyes, fox eyes and deer are all night time meanderers. Animals do not sleep a regular 8 hours like humans, they sleep at need and move when they wish. They are identified only by the height they are from the ground...which brings me to a night time predator I wasn't expecting.

Having an Owl swoop down from nowhere is slightly unnerving but looking at a pair of wide spaced eyes reflecting from around thigh height (I admit I am small but it was 'my' thigh height) isn't unnerving its down right scary. Those eyes leapt high up into a tree, at least ten feet from a stand point, then vanished. Not until three months later, in the first half of November would someone else see the owner and identify it for me...a Leopard Cat. During the day time, the new Manager would see the cat leap from a tree across a good ten foot of space before landing and vanishing...I had my answer as to what it was I had seen during the night.

According to Devon wildlife trust they are a crossbred wildcat with a domestic, as large as a dog, and feral and............wandering around Devon forests with impunity. No one that I know has managed to capture one, not on film or by other methods...so I am not sure how to prove it :)

Steps in the dark can bring adventures of all sorts of kinds, the cat is only one, stumbling across lovers trying to have a special moment (in what was private grounds so duhhhhhhhh) or hearing the pop pop of someone shooting illegally in the grounds does bring out the other side of my nature, the more aggressive side and certainly the dogs enjoyed the chase; but other visitors in the night like the silently swooping Bats with their insect choreographed maneuvers as they eat on the wing is a delight.

The dawn chorus sets up half an hour before light begins, little rustlings, the odd chirp or cheap cheap, then a ray of light begins its stealthy march across the sky and one bird will sing its heart out followed by thousands. During the night there can be the odd moment of song, rare but it does happen. The sharp crack of a tree limb as it snaps, too dry to withstand another hot day ahead it breaks away to lie on the ground, eventually t rot into it.

Sitting down on an old tree stump and simply listening displays the wonder of the night. It isn't still, there is sound but it is muted, almost as if sound itself has become respectful of the absence of light. Leaves move in the slightest of breezes, the sharp squeal and death cry of a rat as Mr Owl gathers supper, the cough of the Fox as it runs by on its nimble feet. All can be heard clearly, but in the night, sound does seem to travel differently, the river Avon at the bottom of the valley, less than 200 feet away is gurgling along with its own song of running water flowing, trickling,surging over and around rocks. It sounds like background music for a mystery film. Walking along the various pathways through the land brings its own distinct sounds. Crushed scrunchy grass, gravel that cracks and spits its sharp shot sounds,thick crunchy earth and then the sharp staccato sounds of booted feet crossing the courtyard to end in the thud of steps on packed earth.

Stepping out into the night is an adventure in becoming aware, of becoming closer to the sounds of life and the journey of those steps will stay with me for the rest of my life.

I love the dark, 

Missing my Ancient Forest

Despite the rain and the change in temperature, I am missing my Ancient Forest today. It was my genuine delight to walk in the rain with my dogs. Rain hitting the leaves of the trees overhead whose canopy kept me fairly dry, rivers swollen and surging along with the fish jumping clear of the water in joy of their element, cascading streams tumbling down the hillside and puddles to splash through in my high leg wellies.I miss the clean smell of the forest and the muddy drive with its sharp bright rain washed pebbles glinting through the washed away mud. I miss seeing the Deer running like the wind through open fields and the stealthy shadow of the Leopard Cat as it sprang through the trees chasing the European Squirrel with its cute black ringed tail flashing white fur in speedy escape. I miss the bell like flowers of the Cranesbill, pink and glorious with a tiny water droplet dangling from its petals like so many glittering diamonds I miss the autumn colours and the sneaky peeks of the faraway woodlands across the river. Today...I miss Devon..