One of those days ...

Not sure if I feel like this ....
... or like this ....

But I sure as hell don't feel like this ...

It's just a phase I'm going through ...

He's a clever bloke, that John Baker.
Knowing he was going to be away for a large chunk of the summer, he devised a cunning plan to ensure his blog was regularly updated.

He asked a whole legion of authors a single question and their responses have formed the content of John's posts over the last few weeks.

I was flattered to be asked.
But there was a problem -
- I found the question itself really hard.

What phases are involved in the creation of a text?

Oo-er. Do what, squire?

If you're interested, you can see my fumbling attempts to analyse my literary processes here.

Summer of 2007

SCENE 1 Wear Farm, Teign Estuary, South Devon.

CUE:
Watching passage of river twice daily from raging torrent to mud flats.
Cooking on driftwood fires on river bank.
Toasting marshmallows.
Gazing at bloated orange full moon rising from sea behind Shaldon.
G's mercy killing of a shot hare -
- who comes back to haunt us on the full tide.

SCENE 2 Minx, Confy and the Feckers' beautiful home, Cornwall.

CUE:
Best possible company.

Wonderful food.
Hot baths.
Endless guitar riffs.
Brilliant beach (or anywhere else) reading - Lonely Werewolf Girl by Martin Millar.
Beach boys in sea 6 hours a day.
Surfy dudes rule.
SCENE 3 Budleigh Farm, Moretonhamstead, Dartmoor, Devon.

CUE:
Torrential rain.
Table tennis in barn.
Cooking in long barn in field.
Wild moor.
Friendly fox (who helped himself to our food supplies).

SCENE 4 Corner Site, Osmington Mills, Dorset.

CUE:
Freezing temperatures, gale force winds, relentless rain.
Break out aran sweater and parka. (It is August after all.)

Marshmallow Boys/Surfy Dudes/Trekkie Lads now morph into Skateboard Kids.
More endless guitar riffs. (I think I now know how Leonard Cohen's mum might have felt.)
Fossil hunting at Charmouth.
Break camp in pouring rain. (Big time camping no-no.)

So after all that the theme tune for this holiday turned out to be that other Marley classic, Trenchfoot Rock.

NOT-SO-GRAND FINALE Home, South London.

CUE:
Mon pm
First Born said it was a strange feeling seeing what had ostensibly been your home until last night now hanging on a washing line and dripping into a bath.

I can't trace dad!
I've called him daily while we were away but tonight there's no reply.
Call neighbour who lets himself in and confirms dad's not there.
Phone local A&E. They say they haven't seen him.
Spend night having no idea where he is.

Tues am
Try ringing hospital again.
'Morris Alper? Oh yes - he's one of our volunteers isn't he? I was here when he was brought in yesterday. He's been transferred to the Royal Free.'
So there we have it.
Dad fell in the street ...
on his face ...
about 2 hours before we reached home.
Yesterday Dorset -
- today criss-crossing London to his flat, to the hospital, back home again ...

Wed am
Second day home.
I get a phone call to say my Uncle Monty has died.
He was mum's younger brother and the last of his generation on that side of the family.
So last night it was back across London yet again - this time to visit my cousins sitting shiva.

Thurs
Back to see dad again.
They're keeping him until Tues at least as he's so frail and shaken.
The appalling swelling has gone down a bit but new livid bruises seem to have sprouted to add to the missing teeth, black eyes, fat lip, scratched glasses etc.

Finally had a chance to check my emails and blog.
I have over 1500 pieces of sodding spam!

Um ... I hate to say this but ...
... I think I need a holiday.

Sitting on the edge of the world, ma

So there I was, sitting on the edge of the world, surrounded by people I love ...

... and thinking about ...

... blogging.

When I started my blog, back in Jan 2006, I wasn't sure what I expected to come from it or what I hoped for.

I know what I didn't expect though.

I wasn't looking to form new relationships,

to forge new bonds,

to make new friends.

But just look at what's happened!

I posted recently about the wonderful bloggers I've met in the last 18 months or so who have made the transition from Blog Life into my Real Life.

And this here Minx is truly the Cornish cream of the crop.

It's not just Minx and Debi - fellow writers and bloggers - any more.

It's our families,

our trajectories,

our very LIVES which have inextricably entwined to the mutual enrichment of us all.

What a gift.

What an utterly unanticipated blessing!

Thank you, blogosphere.