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Mutterings, musings and general brain flatulence. |
Here be mushrooms 
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PROMPT: What was the best thing that happened in your life over the weekend? Looking at the week ahead, what are your goals and how will you motivate yourself to achieve them? Yesterday I met up with my cousin for the first time since Christmas (thanks Covid!). We live about two hours apart, and Bodmin moor is pretty much halfway; so we met up at a tiny little village called Minions (yeah, they even have little denim-dungaree wearing yellow dudes on the WELCOME sign now) and went for a gorgeous 4mile walk across Sowes Hill, past the Cheesewring and across to Sharptor. She bought Folly with her (best name for a dog ever imo) who thought it great fun to go gambling off over the moors. The Cheesewring is an enormous pile of flat stones stacked (naturally) twenty feet high, with some of the slabs thirty-odd feet wide. It's named after a type of cheese-press, although you could easily argue it also looks like a pile of cheese wheels. Legend has it Saint Tue and a giant named Uther had a rock throwing contest, but more prosaic evidence suggests that its existence is more likely due to weathering. Given the lashing rain and howling wind we are experiencing today (unlike yesterday's fabulous sunshine), I'm not ruling out either argument.Our little hike was followed by a brilliant little picnic near the car park and a well overdue natter (complete with passing over her birthday presents, having wrapped them so long ago, I'd forgotten what I'd bought her!). Eventually (prompted more by needing a loo-stop than anything else) we headed off to my aunt's house were we sat in the garden chatting with her and my uncle until Aunt brought out a brilliant little afternoon tea; sandwiches, Cornish heavy cake (instead of scones) with strawberry jam and cream, dates, slices of Bakewell tart and brownie, and tiny little cheesecake bombs. Best Beloved was working, so hadn't come up with me, so Uncle was adamant that anything that wasn't immediately eaten was taken inside before it 'curled up in the heat' for BB when I got home. Aunt then raided her garage for whatever homemade goodies she could find for Cousin and I to take home. I think between us, Cousin and I took home about ten jars of jam, curd, and chutneys. Not a bad little haul really  Oh, and I've just let BB cut my hair (really can't be bothered to wait another I-don't-know-how-many-weeks for just a trim at the hairdressers), so as far as goals go, keep from rolling my eyes every time someone 'compliments' me on my hair cut this week.... |
PROMPT: What smell or sounds brings back great memories of your childhood?  Old, old hymns. Sanky and Wesley and Mission Praise (okay, Mission Praise isn't old in quite the same way, it's more 80s than 1880s, but it's still an integral part of my childhood). Belters like "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder", "It is Well With My Soul", "Whosoever Will" and, whilst I don't particularly like it, "Bringing in the Sheaves" was an essential part of school harvest festival as well as a chapel favourite. Oh, and for reference I'm only in my thirties, but the hymns we sang in the church our parents took us to as kids make me feel about 95. Very occasionally someone in the worship band will play something archaic and I'm torn between groaning and cheering - we're normally on a Bethel, Matt Redman, or at least Stuart Townsend (I love Stuart Townsend, but his style is very contemporary hymn-like rather than modern) level, so "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross", "How Great Thou Art", and "Jesus the Nazarene" seem quite out of place at times. Cuckoos. We had a pair nesting in the field below our house, and that was the official Sound of Summer; you saw the swallows and heard the cuckoos, and Summer Was Here. I still live in a very rural area, but we don't seem to have cuckoos with their oh-so-distinctive cry of cook-coo, and I don't think I've heard one in over fifteen years.Which now makes me very quite down. Thanks 02/04/21 prompt, I was in a good mood five minutes ago.... |
| PROMPT: Write about one (or more) of your creative idols. Who do you look up to? Whose work are you most inspired by? Why? I have so many 'favourite' authors that it's really quite difficult to choose who is actually my most preferred. But when it comes to creativity, the field narrow dramatically. Of them all, one who jumps out on every single level; Brandon Sanderson. The man is a genius. As much as I love a good debate, I cannot imagine a single argument that would change my mind on this.  He is prolific; not necessarily a difficult feat for some to achieve. But consistency and quality as well as prolificity? He writes mostly fantasy, with a bit of sci-fi thrown in for good measure; but he mixes up the sub-genres a lot and throws in a good dollop of the unexpected. It takes skill to write with equal success across YA and adult, especially as he seems just at home with stand alone novellas, first person comedy, and epic sagas seamlessly blending novels from multiple series into one mega-series (and not Terry Pratchett Discworld style either. Each of these series is set in a different world, with different magic-laws, histories, flora and fauna, and mythologies). He has a stunning grasp on humanity. If I never read another series, The Stormlight Archive covers some much diversity and depth, I could probably survive (well okay, no I couldn't. But I'd stay afloat longer on Stormlight than any other set of books I can think of). If you compare the titular characters from the Alcatraz series against the Legion novellas, you can probably work out it's the same author. Albeit jumping from fantasy-slap-stick YA to a slyly amusing blurring of the fantasy/sci-fi lines in adult fiction. But if you look at the characters and style of writing in The Mistborn series and compare them to, say, The Stormlight Archive sagas or The Reckoners YA series, then you'd be justified in assuming multiple authors. Incidentally (SPOILER), both Mistborn and Stormlight are members of the above mega-series, the Cosmere. As are all the seemingly stand alone novellas from Arcanum Unbounded, where each short story appears not only unrelated to the previous, but set in a different time and on a different world. I really could continue to wax lyrically about Sanderson - he is astounding - but I'd rather not continue sounding like the weak-kneed fangirl I probably am. So I'll cut it short, and bid you all a good day, and much luck and enjoyment for the the upcoming month! Write on!  |
Challenge: Congratulations on making it to the last day of the competition! What was your favorite prompt from the last month? What was the most rewarding aspect of participating in the competition? I think my favourite prompt was either the writing about mythical/sci-fi creatures that could actually be real, or the fill the war chest with three new prompts. I really liked the creativity of thinking around the mythical/sci-fi option and the flexibility of choosing my own prompt. Someone suggested a choice of prompts (particularly for controversial subjects) and I think that's a very good idea. There were some days when the prompt just didn't mesh with me or I found myself getting very repetitive as (for me at least) several of the prompts overlapped - I've talked about food, travel and pets an awful lot this month. However, I have managed to write, if not every single day, then very nearly for a whole 30 days. I haven't had a writing streak like that for a while. A long while. The challenge has motivated me and forced me to sit down and write something, even if just a line. And for that reason alone I think I'm gonna sign up to this sort of thing more often. So thank you 30DBC  Write on! MM |
Challenge: What did you like / dislike about where you grew up? What do you like / dislike about where you live now? I grew up on a very rural farm in the West Country. As a young child, it was idyllic; we had an enormous garden with an ancient orchard at the bottom. Mum was a stay-at-home mum and loved crafts and nature, so we were always doing things like making kites, mushroom hunting or blackberry picking. We had a string of farm cats that we tamed (if a farm kid ever tells you to put your hand in deep between bales of straw, don't. Feral kittens have a nasty set of claws and hiss like demons) to such an extent that they'd follow us everywhere. We'd walk across to the next farm once a week to collect fresh milk or climb the hill behind the house in the summer to check on the reservoir water levels (dad tried to keep the farm off the mains as long as possible) and the cats would follow about ten feet behind the whole way. One winter dad brought home three pigs he couldn't foster onto another sow (dad had a real knack for pig farming; he'd get litters of 12-14 piglets from a lot of his sows (context, 6-10 is fairly standard), and if the sow couldn't feed them all, he'd foster them off on another (again, context, a lot of pigs won't take other piglets). Well, it was like Christmas had come early. For several weeks we had these, initially, tiny piglets growing in our kitchen by the Rayburn. They needed constant bottle feeding and although we knew perfectly well they'd end up back on the farm and head off to slaughter once big enough, we adored having the piglets in the house. We used to say goodnight to them before bed every evening and race down to see them before school the next morning. And creep down the stairs late at night to watch when we knew mum and dad were carving up half a pig he'd brought home to butcher. I swear the only reason we weren't allowed to watch was because the kitchen was tiny and dad knew sister and I enjoyed sword fighting a little too much.... But that being said, as we got older living on the farm became a nuisance. We were miles from our nearest friends. There was no reliable bus service and dad was always to busy to provide lifts (mum died before we were teens). Living on the farm became more like a medieval prison than an Enid Blyton novel. We used to walk miles just to get the (extremely unreliable) bus into town and miss on sleepovers because dad worried about our school grades. It took me moving to university and having a city centre campus to realise how much I loved the countryside. I wouldn't trade my uni years for anything, but it's very telling how quickly I moved back to the West Country (unusual for professionals in the UK) after graduation. I now live on the outskirts of a small village; within walking distance of the local town, but surrounded by fields and farms. It's the perfect compromise for Best Beloved who wants to be able to walk to pubs and restaurants (thanks covid) and me who wants zero neighbours. Our house is near the end of a very narrow lane, with fields at one end and the village pub at the other. The church we got married in is a one mile stomp across the fields (Best Beloved and his ushers actually donned wellies to walk to the church. BB's very urban cousin taking a self with some Devonshire Ruby cows is still one of my favourite wedding pics) and the coast is a thirty minute walk the other way. And in between are several pubs and foodie places. |
Challenge: In your entry today, write about one of the most frightening moments of your life. I'm an arachnophobe. I like most animals and the ones I don't I can normally shrug off with a meh of indifference. But spiders terrify me. For context; I have African sun beetles I've brought on from fruit beetle grubs and handle them without any problem. I have a pet African pygmy hedgehog, and they are insectivores (not obligate insectivores, in that they die without bugs, but they easily become malnourished on even the best kibble and/or meat diet); so regularly have wax-worms, crickets, and locusts in the house. On her behalf, I've also bred cockroaches, mealworms/darkling beetles, and morio-worms/super beetles. None of these bother me (okay, I'll admit I don't pick the roaches and morios up with my bare hands; the morios are supposed to have a horrific bite and the roaches are just to fast.). So spiders really shouldn't be a problem. Right? Right? Nope. Cue my stomach churning and whole body shudders at the sight of a house- or wolf-spider. I can't help it, believe me I've tried. I lived by myself for several years and trained myself to deal with it (I've lived on farms and in rural areas most of my life, another reason I should be fine - by UK standards, I've dealt with some monsters) - but it invariably means death to the many-legged one. Either washing them down the plughole with several litres of water or sucking them up into the vacuum cleaner*. I want to be able to scope them up in a glass and put them outside. Thankfully Best Beloved is more than happy to play gallant knight. Best Friend is also arachnophobic, and she claims she got a lot worse the two years we lived together. In 2015 we went traveling in South America together and got to spend three nights in the Amazon jungle. It was astounding. And more than a little scary. Apparently if you shine a torch in the eyes of a nocturnal predator (like a cat, or as it turns out, a spider) it's eyes glow green. After dinner the first day, we went for a quick night hike around the lodges. There are a LOT of spiders in the Amazon. I cannot even been to describe how many eyes (spiders have eight eyes, but I think only four of them reflect green) shone back at us on that very short walk. Seriously. If I did, you'd assume I was exaggerating. I'm not. Think of a number. Double it. Treble it. How many figures have you got? If it's less than four digits, keep going... Our guide was also insane. In a good way. In a there's-anaconda-in-this-area, that-track-on-the-bank-there-that's-an-anaconda-track, our-little-canoe-is-about-eye-level-with-the-track, let's-jab-the-track-with-our-oar-and-see-if-the-anaconda-is-nearby sort of crazy. Day two of being out in the jungle and he walks us past a small hole in the ground, maybe the size of a golf-hole. It's either a scorpion or tarantula nest, he tells us with excitement as he pokes a stick into the hole to 'see what comes out.' It's a tarantula. Of course. Next day we walk past the hole again and he grabs another stick and asks who wants a go. Everyone steps back smartly. I'm too slow. To transfixed at the idea we're that near a tarantula nest again.I'm an arachnophobe. I'm also very, very stubborn. BF smirks and says I won't be able to do. So I'm standing there, in the freaking Amazonian rainforest, poking a stick into a known tarantula nest because BF said I couldn't. The guide thinks it's hilarious (he knows I don't like spiders) and explains that the stick won't upset the tarantula, it'll either scuttle past and come out the hole (not an option I'm happy with) or it will grasp the stick and pull back. It will what now? So there I am, in deepest, darkest Peru (with no Paddington in sight) playing bloody tug-of-war with a real life tarantula. It was *only* a baby (mama apparently wasn't home), but let me tell you, when that thing appeared my entire body went wet with cold sweat. I can't remember if my heart beat faster or just froze, but I do remember the prickle of sweat on the crown of my head, slicking all the way down my back, and arms, stomach, and legs. It was 34 degrees C and I was so cold. The others all seemed suddenly very far away and my peripheral vision melted away as I found myself focusing on nothing but this tiny circle blackness. At a guess I'd say it was about half to two-thirds the size of an adult, but when it grabbed the stick and pulled back.... I was paralysed for several seconds. The strength of that thing. Sweat was running down my back and legs in rivulets, which was probably just as well, because my mouth was suddenly bone-dry. I remember tugging back at the stick, more out of instinct that conscious thought, and watching not-so-icny-wincy yank on its end. Just writing about this is making me shiver and feel cold. Somewhere, BF has this all on video ("you are the ONLY person in the world I would stand this close to a tarantula for" - hang on, it was you that got me into this mess....), but I've never seen the footage. There's no way I could watch myself do that again. And besides, I'm guessing she was shaking as much as me. * My sister blows me out of the water when it comes to spider disposal; the hot bleach down the sink is bad enough, but it was the freeze-it-with-hairspray-then-use-the-cigarette-lighter-and-spray-deodorant-to-incinerate-it that lost her her rent deposit. |
Challenge: We need your help filling the Challenge War Chest with prompts! In your entry today, write three of your own 30DBC prompts and then choose one to respond to. Do you (currently or previously) have any pets? What made you pick them and what would be your dream pet? If you don't have any pets, discuss your opinions on pets - are they not for you, are they not permitted where you live, do you disagree with the principle, do you want them but not yet? You are hosting a dinner party. Who is coming and why? You can have historical and fictional, but you must give some detail. You've woken up with a superpower. What is it and how is going to change your life? Bonus, everyone has woken up with a superpower; are they all the same superpowers? How is society going to react and change?So the current pet list comprises of two parrots (Tali & Summer), one hedgehog (Millie), several African sun beetles, and six giant African land snails. Growing up, we had a string of farm cats (inc Peatie, Smokey, Boaz, Fonz, Squeaky, Ruth), a collie-cross (Bosun), finches/canaries, gerbils/degus (mostly my sister's), two other parrots (Harry & Akeira) and a rescue cat (Tinks) and a rescue hedgehog (Luna). Oh and quail, piglets, cockroaches (no seriously, I was breeding them for the hedgehog), and tropical fish/aquatic snails and a little crab called Colin... When I write it out like this, it sounds insane. But (apart from my first year at uni, in student accommodation), I've always had some sort of animal around the house. Harry was a tiny little parakeet, barely bigger than a robin. I had him for ten years. He died in my hands several years ago, suddenly and completely without warning - a heart attack I suspect. He was old for his species, without being elderly. I bought him shortly after my eighteenth birthday and (apart from that one year at uni when my dad cared for him) he was my inseparable little housemate. He had his wings already clipped when I bought him, and I learnt a few years later that if you clip a bird's wings too early, their chest muscles don't always develop fully - leaving them more prone to heart disease later in life. Since then, I've always been a advocate of doing research before getting a pet and never impulse buying an animal (I went back on this one day and ended up with four Giant African Land Snails. They turned out to be runts, i.e. have very poor genes and lead short (but hopefully happy) lives. I did a lot of research before continuing with GALS). Which is why, although I pester Best Beloved on an almost daily (certainly weekly) basis for a puppy,* I'm only ever teasing him. We both work long hours, and although the birds are used to it (I've had Taliesin and Summer longer than I've had Best Beloved) and Millie actually prefers it when we're out** getting a puppy would be both selfish and stupid. Perhaps in a few years, when we've started a family and one or other of us is working less hours, we'll seriously consider a dog (I'm holding out for a Rottweiler***, but hoping to compromise on a Newfoundland). I also point out of a regular basis that the family holiday park would be vastly improved with a pack of llamas or alpacas. I've even offered to look after them * I'd actually rather a kitten, but know when I'm beat. He'll agree to a dog when it suits our lifestyle and is fair on the dog, but he doesn't like cats and will never cave on that. ** Damn h'hog is my spirit animal; eat, sleep, get really angry when anyone approaches. *** Only partly because it'll annoy the hell out of BB, I want a really girly or old fashioned name like Daisy or Mavis. Why yes this is my 55kg black and tan ball of muscle, and yes she only answers to Princess Ivy-Bluebell..... |
Challenge: If you asked your friends to describe you using only three words, what would they say? And why do you think so? I don't have a clue how to answer this. Mercurial? Cynical? Late? How about, Not Quite Normal? |
Challenge: What’s the best or worst practical joke that you’ve played on someone or that was played on you? I don't really play practical jokes or pranks all that much. About the only recent one, was for my boss's birthday last year, I did hit the master light switch (after making sure there were no patients or customers in the shop) and started screaming. She came tearing into the room to find us all singing Happy Birthday by the light of the candles on her cake. I thought she'd been having lunch in the tearoom next door, but it turned out she'd gone to her office which was the other end of the hallway and had nearly sent herself flying in the dark. It was my birthday a week later and she tried to pull the same stunt in revenge. Needless to say it didn't work a second time round.  |
Challenge: Write about some of your most memorable vacations. Where did you go? Who were you with? What was your favorite part of the trip? I love travel. Absolutely, utterly adore exploring new places. I imagine it's a backlash against my childhood when we went away on a family holiday once a year, always to one of the two same places (either a caravan park in Wales or a B&B farmstead* in Somerset). Any other holidays were invariably staying with other parts of the family.** I was in my twenties before I had my first passport. That being said, my very first trip abroad was to China for a month. Two of my uni friends (both post-graduates, whilst I was a fresher) were from Beijing; both returned there to live after graduation, the one immediately after and the other a few months later. Vivian, the second friend, invited me to come and stay with her family for a while. We met up at Heathrow and flew out together; my first ever flight on anything bigger than a four-seater and it was fourteen hours on a Boeing 747  We arrived in Beijing severely jet-lagged. So much so in fact that Vivian had forgotten all her native Mandarin and was staring round the airport bleary eyed trying not to cry. Somehow (there wasn't much English on the signs) I managed to find our way out and re-unite her with her parents (who spoke almost as much English as I did Mandarin. i.e. bugger all.). Beijing was a baptism of fire. Almost everyone over the age of 40 that Vivian introduced me to, spoke no English. Her grandmother (possibly the tiniest, wrinkliest little old lady I had ever seen), wondered around the flat in just a small pair of cotton shorts complaining about the heat, muttering at the newspaper (she couldn't read), and finding it completely incomprehensible that I was a fellow human and yet spoke no Mandarin. Nainai was probably the biggest culture shock I've ever had in my life, and I suspect I was to her too. *We lived on a farm anyway. So whilst this was nice, it wasn't exactly exciting.**Most of them lived on farms too. |
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