Do you remember?

Or

When it actually happened not the numerous times it's been repeated?

Okay I don't remember Andy Pandy from 1952 but I do remember it in the fairly early sixties. And the elephant video, yes I was part of the generation that was mentally scarred when a baby elephant thought the floor of Blue Peter's studio was the local lav.

Memories, memories, memories.

When we came home from school and went out to play or if it rained, we'd play Snakes and Ladders, Ludo or Tiddlywinks.

I went back there today just for a visit and one hell of a laugh. A neighbour and I went to the Museum of Lost Content in Craven Arms - what a wonderful place. Cries of 'look at that. Do you remember that? Oh my God!' Memories of when Michael Jackson was black and The Osmond Brothers were young (they're coming to Shrewsbury next year - don't think I'll bother going, their piccy in the paper the other week made we weep) and the word Golliwog was accepted.

If ever you get chance to go, do but be prepared to feel very old when you come out.

But you know childhood memories can be a very useful tool for writing. I remember my Dad telling me that when he was a child in the 40s that one night he sat on the church yard wall with his friend and the two of them were looking up at the moon. My Dad said 'one day I want to walk on that.' 

His friend replied 'don't be daft, no one will ever walk on the moon, least of all you.'

Man did walk on the moon, sadly though not my Dad. But using his childhood memory I wrote a story 'Footsteps on the Moon,' which came second in a Wrekin Writers' open competition. I rewrote it under a different title and changed it slightly and it was later published in a small press magazine.

So if you're ever sitting there staring at a blank screen trying revisiting your childhood and see where it leads, failing that think back to Blue Peter (which was broadcast yesterday for the last time from the studios at Shepherds Bush) and do something creative with a plastic bottle, some sticky back plastic and some macaroni - uncooked of course and show your kids or grand kids just how resourceful you can be.

Long time no hear

I know had a lot of issues to deal with including depression. Not nice staring at the world through a big bubble and not being part of it but hey I'm getting there. Now I can smell the flowers, I can feel the rain and appreciate the warmth of the sun but there are still times when the darkness reappears and the bubble becomes almost as real as it did before but not quite.

But (and are you ready for this) I'm writing again. Okay the best seller that is going to make me millions is still in the back of the freezer, not defrosted, never mind cooked and ready to serve but short stories are appearing, at least on the computer with quite a frightening regularity. One has been sent to a poor unsuspecting editor and two are at the red pen stage being scored and shouted at with the odd naughty word thrown in. I know that some of you will find this hard to believe seeing as I am such a quiet, gentle, delicate little creature but even us shy violets have to give vent to our annoyance at times.

And more news. I'm moving house. What again? But this time, I think it will be for quite a long time. The powers that be, the occupational therapist, the housing association, the medics, the quacks the caretakers have decided that I'm not safe here anymore so I'm being moved to a bungalow. Now for some, a bungalow at the age of fifty might sound a bit off but for it's sounds like heaven. No more stairs. No more coming down on my bum when the legs and back have packed up. Oh and no more kids. They're moving too, they're having a place of their own.

But let me tell you about Bucknell, where I should be going. It's a quiet village practically on the border between England Wales but fortunately the fortifications were moved and not one but two pubs were put there to entertain the locals once bashing the Welsh became a thing of the past. It also has a shop.  So no longer will I have a ten mile round trip when I've forgotten the milk (must have a chat to them about selling wine) I can 'pop to the shop.'

Bucknell is bigger than Clunbury, considerably bigger but it's a funny place but it's a funny place because the houses are interspersed with fields so possibly if my neighbours do pop their heads over the fence they will chew the vegetation in my garden like they do now.

But like a lot of this part of south Shropshire it is a quiet place where people come to retire. The gentle hum of village life will continue to surround me and the slow pace of traffic that I've become accustomed to, will also prevail. To give you an example of exactly how peaceful Bucknell is see below

Hey looks like fun and yes this did happen in Bucknell.