writing 101

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Three favourite songs – freewrite for writing 101

Apologies for lack of punctuation, paragraphs, any sense.  The challenge was a freewrite, so I tried to stick to that!  It feels a bit against nature to post this nonsense, but anyhoo.. here it is:

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Ah, music, one of my favourite subjects. Oh yes, I can rattle on about this for 15 minutes no worries.. I think, but this is a freewrite so we’ll go where my mind takes me I guess (hold tight, could be anywhere).   First song I thought about was My Girl, actually I always change it to My Girls, cos I’ve got twin girls and they do bring me sunshine every single time I think of them and I think of them a lot. They’re grown up now, doctors indeed ..I am very proud mum and throw that into the conversation as often as possible though when you are proudly boasting that your daughter is at medical school you don’t necessarily remember the risks this poses. One of them told me last week that she has to be fitted for special suit in case an ebola case comes into the hospital, it will be on her ward.  The other one had to deal with someone who had suspected leprosy.  Death and bodily functions are day to day for them. I’ve never seen a dead body, not in my entire umpteen very long years. Weird to think they have more life and death experience than me. Shouldn’t be that way round really.  Time of your life by Greenday is another song relating to my girls. I remember playing it for them when they went off to medical school at different ends of the country all their goods and chattels packed into plastic bags. I cried. Course I cried. I still get weepy that they are all grown up and independent. Well sort of independent.  They still need me occasionally.. We all need our mums occasionally, sadly though as they get older sometimes it’s us who have to take over the mumsy duties for them.  Making sure our loved ones are safe and well is darn tricky when it’s done from a distance like I have to do. it can get a bit depressing some times which happily brings me to my other favourite song ‘start wearing purple’ by Gogol Bordello. If you’ve never come across them, they are a Gypsy Punk group.  Their music is loud and bawdy, and makes me dance and smile every time I hear it.  It’s my go-to cheer me up song and we all need one of those occasionally.  Oh dear, I forgot to time myself.  Have I done fifteen minutes?  Don’t know, possibly not, but I have covered my favourite songs and I’ve been typing in a frenzy to do it my fingers automatically finding the keys as a direct extension of my thoughts.  Like playing the piano, though I can’t do that. Pretty hopeless at all musical instruments really, though I did play the Cello at school. I remember carting it home for practicing it was almost bigger than me, and then my mum and dad moaned because it was more of a screech than a tune.  No, I’ll happily listen to all sorts of other music (Jazz being the exception…I can’t stand all those notes being played in the wrong order..) but think I’ll leave it to other people to play. Gonna stop now fifteen minutes or no!’

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A loo with a view

I must’ve been in many, many, rooms over the course of my life, so when I was presented with this challenge, for writing 101, I thought ‘easy peasy’.  Problem is, my mind just went straight back to rooms which held bitter memories; the gaudy hotel room where I argued horribly with my daughter on the last day, blighting forever the memories of an otherwise perfect holiday. My nan’s cosy bedsitting room, the room where she had a devastating stroke which she ultimately died from. The living room where I sat, fingers in ears, to block out the noise from our horrendous neighbours. It gets worse, but I won’t bore you.

So I consciously turned my mind to happier times and places. I could write about our newly decorated sitting room, whose huge French windows look out across our, currently, lush green garden.  This year, the summer has been perfect – lots of sun, and lots of rain, so the flowers are plentiful, the vegetables are abundant, and the grass is green (though to be honest, it’s probably more moss and weeds than actual grass). The birds flit from tree to tree settling on the bird table in between, and I can see the red and blue striped hammock, strung between the apple and the pear tree, rocking gently in the breeze.

That seemed a bit of a cop out though. It’s just what I can see right now. No, to properly meet the demands of the challenge, I need to use the colours of my memory.

Now, I know I keep harping on about toilets.  So I suppose I shouldn’t go there, but yep, that’s where I’m going.

I think you’ll agree that toilets don’t usually have views.  It’s not the first thing you think about when you think about a loo.  They’re often windowless, or if they do have windows, they’re mercifully glazed in opaque glass.

The one I’m thinking of had a window alright.  A huge picture window.  It wasn’t glazed either.  Nope, just open to the elements.

It was in Goa, on a spice plantation.  It was a very hot, humid day in a very jungly plantation.  We’d had the tour, seen lots of things growing on trees, bushes, under trees etc.  We’d seen a man climbing barefoot up a towering palm tree to collect coconuts. And we’d been shown how to eat our yummy lunch, properly, with our fingers out of a banana leaf.  It had been a lovely, and interesting morning, but sooner or later the inevitable happened.  I needed a wee.

I think it’s fair to say that some of the public toilets in India can be a bit dodgy. Very dodgy. I’m pretty blasé about it these days and go if I have to.

‘hmm… you gonna risk it?’ asked my husband as we were pointed in the direction of a small thatched building up a flight of rickety looking steps.

‘you go first mum, see what it’s like’ said my slightly less adventurous daughters.

‘Ok, bursting!’ I said. I was getting a bit knee knockingly desperate.

The little building turned out to house just one toilet, surprisingly a ‘western’ one, which was situated in the middle of the left hand wall as you entered.  On the right hand wall was a hole in the dirt floor besides which there was a pail of water with a coconut shell complete with handle that you could use as a scoop, so that you could flush the loo and wash your hands.

The back wall was non-existent.

This took me by surprise a tad, as, underneath my shorts and tee shirt I was wearing a swimming costume, which I naturally had to strip right off to be able to ‘errmm… do my thing.

Frankly, I could have stayed there all day.  Set on a  high ledge, the loo overlooked a large pond, nearly a lake in fact, covered almost completely in huge white water lillies. The pond was surrounded by different varieties of palms, plants with man-sized leaves,  and hanging pink and purple flowers that I didn’t know the names of.  Birds were swooping about catching insects just above the water. It was quite the most delightful view I think I have ever come across.

Sitting there, on the loo, naked, caressed by a cooling breeze and staring out across that wonderland, which looked as if it had been created by some Disney cartoonist, felt very surreal.  I’m pretty sure no-one could see me, but there was a queue forming outside, so I couldn’t linger for too long.  However, the memory of that place remains with me as the finest, and most surprising loo I’ve visted…….so far!

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Freewriting for writing 101

Ok, this may not make much sense. It’s a bit of freewriting I’ve done as the first exercise in writing 101. See what you think!
‘Twenty minutes seems like a bloomin’ long time to freewrite. I used to do a lot of it during my creative writing course and found it really helpful. I remember they told you not to use punctuation..hmmm gone wrong with that already here, and to just type a stream of consciousness. Dreams seem to be a stream of unconsciousness the mind just travels randomly and weirdly to where it wants without any input from me. Often scary dreams, uncomfortable dreams that live on with me throughout my day. They also said don’t correct mistakes..gone wrong with that too. I’ve made a few mistakes as I’ve been typing, but not many. I’m good and fast at typing. Did it a lot when I was working, in fact I learnt to touch type at school and its been a useful skill since the explosion of pcs. Mind you, when I learnt it was all big ‘ol typewriters, not even electric, that you used to have to thump the keys hard to get a dodgy smudgy letter from. Sometimes letters arrive at my house that are smudgy from the rain. It rains a lot here. Not raining now though. In fact theres not a lot of weather this morning just dull greyness, it’s not even that cold. Autumn approaches. Did you know there’s Christmassy things already in the shops here. September. September in the rain. That’s a song I remember from years back. I like music. I downloaded George Ezra’s new album on Saturday. My dad was a big fan of music. He used to stand in front of our fireplace conducting orchestra’s on the radio. He was a bit barmy. We didn’t get on all that famously I’m afraid to say. Bit of a temper on him, though never violent with me or mum, but hit the wall a few times and his verbal tirades where something to behold. Not sure whether they’ve scarred me for life I think I remember him being more arty than cross generally speaking. Gosh this is turning into a bloody counselling session. I certainly didn’t want that to happen I wanted to write of wine and roses and pretty things. Sunshine and laughter and nice people singing. My writing is never like that though. Always turns out dark and dismal. Usually violence and murders in my stories. People who are nice on the surface but turn out to be psychos. Hmm wonder where that came from? Hehee… this is a counselling session. I wonder how much longer I’ve got left. I type fast so it could be another ten/fifteen minutes yet…who knows..doesn’t time fly when your enjoying yourself. Time is relative its so much slower when you’re waiting for the clock hands to click on to five so you can go home after a busy day, than it is when your playing games with your children. Watching tv shows can either slow or speed up time too depending on whether you are enjoying them or not. We watched a lengthy Chinese film on Saturday evening, can’t remember the title, but there was a lot, a lot, of fighting, and I couldn’t tell who was who it was just one grey blur of people with swords, it seemed to go on forever, and yet the programme I chose to watch, which made me laugh, was over in a flash. I guess that could be that the film was three hours long and my programme was just half hour, but you know what I mean. Journeys out to holidays, even long haul ones, go a lot quicker than coming home. Goodness me how long journeys can drag. It takes just and hour and fifty minutes to get to London by train from my house, but oh’ that journey can feel like a lifetime when you are on a smelly, overcrowded train sitting next to someone who had their music playing just loud enough to you cant actually hear what it is but you can hear that thrumming beat. Enough to be really annoying, but not bad enough for you to actually complain. Or the people who are sitting getting really drunk around the same table as you. I hate sitting round those tables. Often four people forced to look in every direction but each other for the entirety of the journey, or as I once was, stuck with three others who were sharing a bottle of champagne. They could have offered me some couldn’t they. Although champagne on a train could be a little sickmaking I would think. I don’t usually eat or drink if I can help it. Apart from anything, if you drink too much you are forced to use the revolting loos. I used a loo on a train in India. It was a squat one. That was a challenge I can tell you, but at least you don’t have to touch anything. I could write a book on loos around the world, have been in all sorts. Good and bad, very very bad. Also sad. Some of the loos in China were pretty horrid, but I tell myself I only had to use them the once, some of the villagers (in a particular place) had to use it the whole time. That’s one thing travelling helps with, finding your place in the world, alerting you to other people’s circumstances, reminding you that you are one of the fortunate ones. In fact, I view travel as an education. We took our daughters to India when they were about thirteen. They learned much about different cultures….’