Such a perfect day

Yesterday, we had the honour of being wedding guests at the long-awaited wedding of my niece held at a gorgeous venue near Keighley, West Yorkshire.

East Riddlesden Hall

My niece is a very talented Fine Arts graduate and so decided to make her own bouquet, the buttonholes, and the bridesmaids' posies herself.  What you probably can't make out from this photograph though is that they are all made from buttons!  How original is that?  They're off on their mini-moon tomorrow (main honeymoon later in the year) and I hope they have a fabulous time and a great future together.

Yesterday, when this young couple promised the rest of their life to each other,  I was listening to the words they had chosen to say,  and at the same time stealing a glance at the other guests surrounding me.  Without fail, the expressions on their faces held the clue as to what they were thinking.

For those of us who are already married, you can't help but do this.  You can't help but look at the  person at your side and remember your own wedding day, however long ago that was.

I have never forgotten how it felt to stand there in front of a large group of family and friends with my teeth chattering with nerves, my legs feeling like jelly and my heart beating with love.  And the best feeling of all?  When you walk back down the aisle with a huge smile on your face, hand in hand, knowing it's all over and you're married to the man of your dreams.


Until next time.

Kim x

Woe is me ....

I fell over in a car-park yesterday.

And it wasn't a quiet, deserted car-park either.  It was packed with shoppers and cars.  I have no idea what happened.  I was walking along merrily chatting to my husband when I just seemed to go over on my ankle.   The next time I looked, I was on the floor flat out.

The shame of it.  And the pain too.  I've never known anything like it.   My husband picked me up and I managed to hobble into the DIY store, where because of my dreadful ordeal, he took pity on me and bought me a cup of tea in the cafe.

And during all this my ankle was throbbing intensely.  I was convinced I'd broken it but my DH told me not to be silly.  'You can walk on it, can't you?' - he said, and then I reminded him of the time his late sister had walked around on a broken ankle for a week after being misdiagnosed at the hospital.  That made him ponder, so he even offered to treat me to a Danish pastry, but I was in so much pain, I turned him down, which is a real first for me, I can tell you.

Then our conversation turned to the time my late mum went through a phase of falling off the bus.  This might sound peculiar but those of you who are around my age (ahem) will remember the double-decker buses that were completely open at the back.  As teenagers we used to cling on to the rail with one hand, then gauge it so we could take a flying leap on to the pavement as the bus started to slow down.  In fact, my husband was once pushed clean off one of these things by his so-called mate and managed to rip the knees completely out of his school trousers.

Anyway, I digress.  Back in the seventies, my poor mother did go through a phase of falling off the bus.  I'm certain she didn't try and leap off the back like we did, but I know on at least three occasions she fell off the back platform on to the pavement.  There were no mobile phones in those days so it was left to one of the other passengers to pick her up and bring her home.  I remember once or twice she made a real mess of her knees by landing on the surface of the road.

The real point to all this is - I hope my mum's bad luck, misfortune or whatever you'd call it has not been passed down to me.  I don't relish the thought of turning into someone who falls over for no apparent reason, or, as they say in Lancashire - trips over fresh air.  Sorry mum.

The walk back to the car yesterday seemed endless.  It was probably only a couple of hundred yards but it felt like a mile.  DH said he would go and get the car but I refused and limped on.   I'll definitely give him much more sympathy the next time his gout flares up.

I should have taken up the offer of the walking stick he offered to buy me whilst in the store.

Get it bought.  We'll share it, my dear.

Until next time.

Kim x

Date in the diary

The March weather might not have been as spring-like as we'd have wished, but it didn't matter in the slightest, as inside Weetwood Hall, Leeds, the welcome was wonderfully warm.

Yes, I'm back from my 'Relax and Write' writing retreat and already I'm missing the peace and quiet, the camaraderie and the excellent food.  Most of all, though, I'm missing the time to write, for as soon as you return to your normal routine, this time goes out of the window, as the usual everyday things get in the way.

A retreat means just that.  It's a chance to escape from the stresses of modern life - the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning - and just concentrate on what you want to do.  Of course, if I'd wanted, I could have sat and read my Kindle for the whole weekend, but because I was surrounded by supportive, like-minded people who also wanted to advance their craft, I felt inspired to do the same.

This weekend also took my mind off something that was pencilled in the diary for today, and this was take our son for his first CT scan after he was given the all clear on the 29 December last year.  This is something we, as his parents (and he) will have to get used to over the next ten years, as we work our lives around these three times a year visits.  He has blood tests tomorrow, and then an appointment with the Oncologist next month, where hopefully we will be told that all is still well.  I think I mentioned on an earlier blog that his TC was caught early, and as it is one of the most treatable cancers, I feel he has been incredibly lucky.

The strange thing is, as I was gazing out of the bedroom window this morning, a couple of pure, white feathers floated down in front of me. They came from nowhere, and as I absolutely believe in angels, I'd like to think they were a sign that his guardian angels - my mum and my mother-in-law, Margaret, are keeping an eye on him.



Happy Mother's Day you two - missed you loads yesterday.

Until next time.

Kim x

We're all going on a ... writing retreat!

It's that time of the week again, and today on my blog I'm talking, amongst other things, about the writing retreat I'm due to attend on the 13 March.

The lady in charge is the fabulous Kate Walker, and I'm very much looking forward to meeting her again. This time last year I was a newby on another one of her courses in Leeds - a course that turned out to be utterly fantastic. And because us attendees are fully fed and watered, and waited on for the whole time we're there, it's also a great opportunity to concentrate on nothing but my writing, which can only be a good thing.

I'm hoping to come away on Sunday completely re-energised and filled with enthusiasm to finish my manuscript. I'm determined this year to submit this to the New Writers' Scheme well before the deadline of 31 August if only to save my stress levels from going through the roof. As they did last year.

And talking of dark, brooding heroes, did you see the new series of Poldark last night? I remember watching the original episodes of this back in the seventies with my mum, who loved it. By all accounts, she wasn't the only one. It was so popular back then, it seems that some evening church services in Cornwall had to be rescheduled, as most of the congregation were sat at home watching it. Smouldering Ross Poldark isn't just a gorgeous hero - he's a hero with weaknesses - just like the rest of us - and one who because of his temper wades in where he shouldn't, putting his life at risk as a consequence.

Whilst I'm writing I also need to remember to keep digging deep into my hero's character - into his issues - so I can get to the nitty-gritty of who he is, and show my reader why he's behaving like that in my book.

You think this sounds tricky? Well, so do I, and there's times when I'm writing when I'm not convinced I've mastered it. This is one of the reasons I continue to attend Kate's wonderful writing courses in order to hopefully clear the muddied waters and find a way through.

Wish me luck next Friday.

Until next time.

Kim x

The mind-set of a man

I love a day out.

By this, I mean escaping the confines of the house and getting out with my other half visiting different places in Lancashire. This might be the beautiful Ribble Valley where I live, or further afield to the Fylde coast which is only 45 minutes away. We're lucky enough to work part-time too, so on our free days we usually leave the house early and see where the fancy takes us. Sometimes we have a plan, but most of the time we don't, and I much prefer this, as it makes life far more interesting.

Trouble is - and this is where my dear husband and I differ greatly - on our little excursions I love nothing more than casting my eye over a street full of enticing-looking tea-shops, and deciding which one I will give my custom to. My husband often tells me I'm a little hard of hearing, but the satisfying chink of a tea-cup I can hear a mile away!

In the warmer months, there's nothing more delightful than sitting outside a lovely cafe at a table adorned with a pretty tablecloth (apart from early Autumn when those pesky wasps appear) and watching the world go by. A generous slice of delicious looking cake completes the equation. In the winter months, and especially if we're fortunate enough to get a window seat, I could easily spend an hour sipping a cup of fruit tea, feeling warm and cosy out of the biting wind and cold. Bliss.

But, there is a problem with all this - and I did hint at this before - my DH has a strong aversion to any kind of tea-shop - hates them with a vengeance. The mere thought of sitting in a cafe for any length of time is enough to bring him out in hives. When forced, the most he will order is a double espresso and have you seen the size of those recently? With one quick gulp it is down the hatch and then he sits there looking at me from the other side of the table. The expression on his face tells me he's busy calculating how long it will be before he can make his escape. Me? Well, I'm then left with the hot, burning my lips sort of pressure to finish my beverage quickly.

Don't get me wrong. He loves the change of scenery, the long walks, and the fresh air, but the mere mention of a "cup of tea" after our exertions sends him into an immediate decline.

This is the difference, I suppose, between the sexes. Men are definitely not made the same way as us ladies. This difference is one I have to keep in mind when writing from my hero's point of view in my manuscript. I used to think it was all too easy to slip into the mind-set of a man, but is it really?

What do you all think?

Until next time.

Kim x