There’s been little writing since my last blog and I make no excuses for it. Here’s why.
Lossiemouth: Picture endless sea and disappearing horizons and the flirtatious laugh of your best friend. Imagine stepping out of your campervan into a weekend community of shared smiles and cuppas, charity shops, fish suppers and home-made ginger bread – the lingering taste of salt on your lips, your fingers sugar-sticky. Feel the warmth of a faux fur coat given with a rib-squeezing hug; guitars and harmonies, fiddles, borrowed hot showers, the dance of rain and the barbequed smell of summer.
Ullapool: Picture a midge-riddled road-side stopover – reservoir sunset and the neck-tingling early morning sighting of a sea eagle, the moment where time paused in the shadow of a 7ft wingspan. Imagine parking on the edge of the sea; morning dog walkers, wagging tails and reflections of moored boats settling in the wake of the inbound ferry. Taste the home-grown berries for sale by the roadside, money deposited in a ‘trust box’, the coolness of ice-cream against your tongue.
Perth: Picture birthday cards from loved ones, bacon rolls in the garden, lavender and a contented cat lolling in the sunshine. Imagine your lover on stage, your friends cheering, a small girl blindly steering her pushchair back and forth, guitars and hats and motorbikes, coleslaw and over-cooked sausages. See the lightening split the sky, momentarily dividing the old bricked flats from the newly glassed shop, causing the old man on the bench to run for cover.
Dumfries & Galloway: Picture ancient burial chambers, guarded by standing stones – stoic sentries casting long shadows in the early evening sun, a starless night in the Dark Skies National Park! Imagine discussing your Longer Piece of Writing with a published and respected author while trying to contain the pleasure her words of praise and encouragement bring. Smell the freshly baked scones, bronzed crusts splitting with ease, a slick of melted butter coating your plate; the musty smell of yellowed paper in the second hand book shop, the incense burning amongst the Buddhas, kaftans and turquoise of the neighbouring nook-like store.
Glasgow: Picture two people arriving at the gates of Kelvingrove Park, tired and dishevelled and ten minutes too late to hear the daily bandstand music in celebration of the Commonwealth Games. Imagine the splash of colour and laughter of children in the play park, the queues and barriers blocking access to the museum, aching feet and anoraks. Hear the sigh of the water in the fountain as a penny breaks its surface, the bustle of the leaves and creak of the bark, branch bending under the couple’s combined weight.
Edinburgh: Picture the smile that splits the face of old and much-missed friends after a time too long – the heart-felt, arms thrown hugs that remind you of darkened pubs and cheap beer, dancing, air guitar and hungover happiness. Imagine street-side cafes and Fringe shows and fliers and the sensory overload of a capital city high on creative energy. Gossip and fizz. Talk of hearts and hair and handbags; laughter and a sense of belonging.
And now? Back to the writing.