We were still adjusting to life with social distancing when I got the dreaded text from the NHS. It seems I am one of the UK’s 1.5 million Rapunzels, “at risk of severe illness” and to be locked away in a tower for twelve weeks. Or until Coronavirus goes away. Whatever.
Of all the noteworthy events in my life caused by the Virus so far, one of the hardest to bear has been the sudden closure of our theatre. Sounds petty compared to losing lives, but let me explain. Regular readers will know that we live in the Malvern Hills, a short walk from the pretty Victorian spa resort of Great Malvern. We’re blessed with an unusually large theatre and cinema complex for a small town, attracting audiences from all over the region.
I’m tired. You’re tired. We’re all tired. Sick and tired of the three years and counting of Brexit. Fed up. Almost screaming to escape from backstops, blame games, borders (hard or otherwise), Boris, and Brussels.
I first read Nevil Shute’s A Town Like Alice as a teenager. At the time I found it a gripping story, combining adventure, romance, war and an unparalleled portrayal of life in the Australian outback. I have since re-read this slim masterpiece many times, most recently this week. The Rider and I have been holidaying in Malaysia after a hot busy fortnight in Hà Nội, Vietnam [long story featuring two weddings and many family visits – see my other blog].
I’m really quite an organised person; or as my beloved suggests, I’ll do any form of prevarication to avoid actual writing. So I keep a detailed record – using fab writers’ tool Duotrope – of all my stories and their current whereabouts.
Now please don’t be picturing the bereft little creatures, dispatched shoeless and alone, doomed to wander forever in the big bad world.
I’m not that cruel, and I truly love every story I write (even if a surprising majority of publishers and competition judges don’t agree.) So I track each submission carefully, anxiously monitoring the progress of my small creations and weeping a little whenever they are rejected and sent back to Mummy unpublished. Continue reading “Poor little lost souls”→