Feeling, hot, hot, hot.

I've come to the conclusion that trying to write on a beach is a bit like pulling teeth. 

The azure blue sky, the delightfully warm Mediterranean Sea, the gleam and glint of the yachts on the water, the sun-beds, the colourfully striped parasols - they stretch before me in the distance, as far as the eye can see. It's a beautiful sight, but how the heck am I supposed to concentrate when all around me life is happening before my very eyes?

I can probably say, with the utmost certainty, that I will never see any of these people again, but that doesn't matter, as we're enjoying ourselves here and now. As I look around, I'm surrounded by a rich tapestry of nationalities. And, just for a while - for a brief moment in time - without us all ever realising - our lives have coincided. We've come together.   We're rubbing shoulders.

There's every shape and size. There's the young and beautiful with their skinny, lithe figures. People with a few more years under their belt whose bodies are a little more lived in (like me), and, of course, many different skin tones.  I've heard American, Spanish, French and German accents today but strangely enough, very few English.

Mostly, people are here to relax, eat, drink and take in the sun, but that just doesn't happen without an awful lot of organisation. In some cases, huge bags filled with beach paraphernalia are carried down to the shore, almost like a military operation. The Spanish are especially good at this.  For them, a day out on the beach is planned down to the last detail. From dawn to dusk they'll sit there, with their stall set out, and boy, do they enjoy theirselves. Every single member of their extended family is invited too - well, that's what it seems like - and I really like the thought of that.

I've seen men, women and children fussing, fighting, arguing and laughing.  Babies sleeping, crying, and screaming. And - at this time of year, of course, the sun can be a demon, so the regular slapping on of suncream is a necessary evil, but that - in itself - can lead to tantrums. Children - especially - don't want to know.  They want to be free - to be let loose, to jump, to skip and run. And, boy, can they run! DH and I have chased my youngest son many a time on the flat, wet beaches of Anglesey.  Always like quicksilver, he used to set off at a gallop. He adored the freedom to just let rip with the wind in his hair and on his face. Thank goodness I don't have to do that anymore. Chasing after children is for the young and nimble, and I am no longer either of those things.

And, just to finish, here's a coincidence for you.  A few years ago Quicksilver Boy saw Jeremy Clarkson in London and had the audacity to ask for a selfie.  The television presenter obliged, but this week in Deià, Mallorca, my eldest son also came across Mr Clarkson, who very kindly said hello, but then just strolled away and got on with his day.

No selfie this time. Perhaps he was on his way to the beach?

Until next time.

Kim X

My very first conference!

I'm back!

Back from the delights of the #RNAConf16 which this year was held in Lancashire - my home county.

And, thirty minutes up the motorway - waiting to wrap its arms around us for almost three whole days - was Lancaster University. What a super campus; green and leafy (probably from all the rain we get) and exceptionally well-kept. It's vast and spread out, so we did have to walk a bit, and one day we got soaked - but well done to all the staff at Lancaster for looking after us all so wonderfully. It was a chance to meet up with the good friends I've made on my writing courses with Kate Walker and to connect with other folk I've only previously met on social media, which I did. In bucket-loads. And it was fabulous.

My one-to-one industry appointment with the lovely Flo Nicoll and TildaMcDonald from Harlequin Mills&Boon pointed me in the right direction with my manuscript.  The same manuscript that I’d submitted the day before to the RNA NWS.

But now, with all the preparation for the conference, and all the excitement leading up to it, I'm back down to earth with a bump. With only three weeks left until I fly off on holiday, I need to crack on with the revisions. I've come away from the conference seriously inspired, and by the time I fly off on that jet-plane I would like to have made some headway with those.

So, what do I need to do?

Well, for a start - I need to stop faffing around on social media - that's what I need to do. My dream of getting published is not going to happen unless I knuckle down and write.

And that word - write - was exactly what Kate Walker said to us as we left her at the conference.

Wise words indeed.

Until next time

Kim x

Flaming June or flaming tempers?

It's June, and the start of Summer, so what have I been up to?

Well, our two sons are slap bang in the middle of (a) a PGCE and (b) first year Chartered Accountancy exams.  Both difficult and demanding courses.  

Revising, marking, early starts, late nights, short tempers and the banging of doors were becoming all too frequent.  

No more, we said. Us oldies can’t cope. So - luckily, and just in time to save our sanity - DH had a course to attend, so I went with him.  

And we had a great old time. In-between dodging the army of cleaners who insisted on battering down the bedroom door, even though I’d clearly hung the DO NOT DISTURB  sign on the outside - three days in Bristol had me typing THE END on the WIP.  

Fantastic.

We then went to Bath for a couple of days, where we chilled in the sunshine, lingered on the Georgian streets, and drank and ate delicious food. We almost felt revitalised, until the journey home.

We’d seen a bit of traffic on the way down to Bristol but thought nothing of it. On the way back, the same journey took six hours.  Six hours to travel 200 miles!  Apparently, replacing the whole of the M6 central reservation is going to take until 2018, so because of that, we crawled, we stopped, we crawled, we stopped, and I’ll tell you right now, we never deviated from that pattern.

What is amazing though - is what you notice when you’re crawling along with the windows down.  Ignore the diesel fumes wafting in your face - if you need an idea for a book - then a motorway - I promise you - is the place to find it. 

We saw bikers with horns and dreadlocks. Bikers with rucksacks so large (on their backs), they drove leaning over. 

Lane-hoppers. You know - the people who perpetually try to save a millisecond of time. Why can’t they stay put? 

A barbecue disguised as a steam train - yes, really - and more to the point, where on earth was it going? Caravans that you couldn’t possibly stand up in.  Or swing the proverbial cat in. Mmm.

What else? Loud music, of course. A man playing a game on a console whilst driving. A horrid two-tone car (apologies if that was yours) that reminded me of the trousers I wore in the seventies, and lanes so narrow we could honestly see the whites of the eyes of the passengers alongside us. Scary. 

DH had a whale of a time. Two of his favourite pastimes are looking at registration numbers and grumbling about other cars, so he was in his element.

  

Me?  Well, I couldn’t wait to get home. We’d had a lovely five days, and peace and quiet is all very well - but only in small doses. Despite what I say, we’d missed the two bread-snatchers. 

And from the state of the fridge, I think they’d missed us. 

Until next time.

Kim x