After a week in which I was too busy to blog

and also extremely overtired after our unexpectedly late return from Porto, I'm catching up by having a lazy Saturday afternoon. I meant to do loads of things today but fortunately there's always tomorrow. I'd have more energy if I hadn't gone out every night this week, but then I'd have missed some amazing theatre and music performances so I'm glad I persevered. Dave's knackered too - he's snoozing in his chair as I type although I know he'll adamantly argue he was awake all the time!

First up was Tuesday's The Private Ear and The Public Eye at the Devonshire Park. Of the two, I thought The Public Eye was the stronger play and the fantastic scene change in between was almost worth the ticket price alone. The plays are funny and quirky and Original Theatre have done a great job. The last Eastbourne performance is tonight - in just a couple of hours if I get this post published quickly enough - and I hope their final audience will be able to hear over the fireworks of the Bonfire Procession.

Sound issues unfortunately masked the end of Everything Between Us at the Little Theatre on Thursday. The electricity created by the play combined with the static in the air from a thunderstorm passing overhead proved to be just too much for the theatre's hardware! I met up with +Kerry Potter which we've done for a couple of Green Room plays now so we caught up with what each other has been up to recently before settling in to be entertained. Everything Between Us is a powerful drama of two estranged Belfast sisters. I love that Green Room choose challenging works to perform and am disappointed that I will miss their next - David Harrower's A Slow Air which will be at The Under Ground Theatre at the end of November.

I've just realised sound is to blame again for issues at the Chiddingly Festival Talking Heads production that was held at the Six Bells pub on Wednesday and starred Jo Castleton and Ian Jervis. Dave had difficulty hearing the monologues due to practically all the seats being restricted view and the actors sitting for most of the time. I got lucky, although I was just in the next seat along, and could hear ok. I hadn't seen any of the Talking Heads live before, only a few on TV, and the cosy pub setting suited the plays perfectly. Perhaps just with the addition of microphones next year?

The week went out with a bang last night, or rather the many bangs of amazing drummer Winston Clifford together with saxophonist Tony Kofi and Hammond organ player Anders Olinder. Together they are the Future Passed trio and this is seriously good jazz. Usually the chairs at the Chiddingly Festival are the worst part of any event, but I was so caught up in the rhythms and melodies that I hardly noticed my numb bum. Praise indeed! It was good to catch up with +Tim Church and Linda Bailey too.

So now it's Saturday evening and I'm glad that the people who were supposed to be coming to dinner have put us off until next week! We'll be much better company then anyway!

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Thinking about what I might miss

We had what might turn out to be the last firebowl of the season yesterday. Hopefully there will be more warm, still evenings but there’s a definite chill in the air in the mornings now and a real sense of autumn approaching. Watching the wood burning and chatting with Dave got me thinking about things that I might miss while travelling because sitting by our firebowl would be one. Dave pointed out this is daft because we don’t sit out in the winter months!

Obviously it will be strange not having our families and friends around and I do have some guilt about being away for the first Christmas without Mum. Several people have expressed the intention of coming out to meet up with us for a few days though so that will be nice and there’s always Facebook and Twitter and Google+ for keeping in touch.

I definitely won’t miss getting up to an alarm clock before I’ve had enough sleep, or sulky Stagecoach bus drivers and their unique style of timekeeping. There’s a pretty good chance that I won’t miss my actual job – sorry Ewelina – only the people with whom I work. Perhaps someone could Facebook the mad stuff Yelda says?

Foodwise, I’m reliably informed that there are Cake Shops in Portugal so that’s a relief! But I’m not sure if they have +HARIBO Tangfastics so I might take a secret stash. And tubs of Horlicks. And boxes of +Twinings because Fermin, who is Spanish, says the tea is awful. On the plus side, I’m looking forward to the fresh markets, stacked high with bright colours and real flavours, and trying lots of new recipes.

My beloved theatre trips will be pretty pointless because of the language barrier, although we might be able to catch an +National Theatre Live screening if we’re in the right place at the right time. I don’t know whether other cinema trips will be possible. I’ve read that films in Portugal are often shown in their original language with subtitles, but as we watch a lot of European cinema this might just mean two languages we don’t understand well enough to keep up. However, there is still music and dance as well as the art and architecture that we both love. 

Tiny technology means that most of what I would have really missed can be taken with us in our home-from-home. I’ll have my +Audible.co.uk talking books and campsite book exchanges will help me discover new authors. And, of course, all our music is on an iPod and we're taking an old laptop with a few DVDs (just in case of occasional boredom). Plus sporadic wifi means I’ll be able to blog about our experiences and make you all jealous! 

Can't wait!

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Other new caravan toys we tried out this weekend

The cutest little travel kettle jumped into my trolley at +Sainsbury's last week. It was just over £20 so not particularly cheap but looked perfect for Bailey! We tried it out this weekend just gone and it is much better than the full-size one we had taken to Bosham. It hardly takes up any room and boils exactly enough water for two mugs of coffee. However, the automatic cut-out when it's boiling doesn't work so whoever is brewing up needs to stay close at hand.

We also took our Kindle which I tried out for the first time. Dave's already read Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn which he says is very good and he likes that the Kindle is bright enough to read outside when it's getting dark. I've resisted getting one for ages because I love actual books, but a few titles I've wanted to read recently that are only available in this format so I've been persuaded and we went halves! I downloaded an Eastbourne-based thriller, Devil's Chimney by Tin Larrick which I'm about half-way though at the time of writing. I'll review it on Theatrical Eastbourne soon.

Not so much a new toy as a new way of cooking because I tried out pasta in the caravan microwave for the first time. We conscious that Bailey only has a limited gas supply and the supplied cylinders are UK specific. If we were only ever going away for a week or so, or were staying in the UK, this probably would never be a problem, but as we're planning an extended jaunt in Europe, replenishing the gas supply is going to be an issue. One way of delaying the inevitable, especially as we'll nearly always be paying for an electric hookup anyway, is to use the microwave a lot more than we do at home. I tried out both pasta and rice at home. 6oz of pasta penne needed 680ml water and took 8 mins on full with 5 mins standing to be perfect. It wasn't quite cooked after this in the caravan so I think next time '7 mins full, 5 mins standing, 2 mins full' will do the trick. It's boiling over at around 8 mins so just going for 9 mins straight isn't really an option.

My final new toy that I didn't start using is a posh moleskine journal courtesy of Glenfiddich Explorers. I signed up for their mailing list ages ago in the hope of winning one of the 500 they were giving away, but then totally forgot about it. The unexpected parcel arrived in the same week as I had finally confirmed to work that I wanted to take a sabbatical break. It is such a big decision that I was feeling quite nervous and wondering if we had made the right decision. Seeing your own job advertised is a weird experience! But then the blank journal arrived, ready to record our adventure and I took this as a sign that the fates were with us and we'd made the right decision. (Superstitious? me?) Perhaps there'll be a book in it by the time we get back!

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Indecision on porch awnings

Riversway 260

We've been thinking about getting a nice porch awning for Bailey. Not a full-size one because of the weight and, to a degree, the price. This caravanning as a cheap holiday alternative doesn't seem to take into account the sheer variety of shiny accessories out there and I have magpie tendencies!

Dave has been researching awnings online and we've been keeping an eye on +eBay. To be honest though, once the auctions get to their closing time, the difference in price between a second-hand and a new awning is so minimal that it's not worth the potential hassle so we'll probably buy new.

Rotonde 300

Originally we liked the look of the Riversway 260 (£119) but a couple of days ago I spotted a new arrival in the market, the +SunnCamp Rotonde 300 (£129). We think its octagonal shape will give us a little more usable space than the Riversway. The curves of the Riversway might be more in keeping with those of Bailey though. The Rotonde is fractionally bigger at 300cm across the back compared to the 260cm Riversway but this should fit fine. We measured up for 260 and I'm pretty sure the extra 40cm won't be a problem but Dave's going to pop up to Bailey and measure again - just to be sure!

It would be nice to hear from anyone who's already using either of these, especially if you've put your awning on a Bailey Orion!

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Why are men so frightened of lone female runners?

Yesterday evening, about 7pm in full daylight, I was jogging home from the Birley Centre. Two car drivers slowed to blast their car horns as they passed while their passengers screamed insults. This was followed by fading hysterical laughter as I jumped with surprise and they sped away. This is a depressingly regular occurrence. Most of my runs will be punctuated at least once and it’s wearying to say the least. The highly original shout of ‘Run, Forrest!’ is most common, but I also get personal attacks. I know I’ve got a ‘fat arse’. I’m running to get rid of it. I’m definitely not ‘too old for that' or 'darling’ and what the hell has it got to do with them anyway? Talking to other runners gets resigned agreement and shrugs of ‘what can you do’. As anti-social behaviours go, this one apparently has to be accepted but I don’t understand why it happens in the first place.

The beepers obviously feel threatened in some way or they wouldn’t feel the need to lash out but what is it about an overweight, middle-aged woman jogging that inspires the blare of car or van horns and yelling? Why not just ignore her?

It only seems to happen when there are two or more males travelling together, presumably egging each other on for ‘courage’, and they must have a vehicle so they can speed away safely before I can react. There’s never the risk that I might catch up with a beeper. I was once yelled at by a group of teenagers on bicycles, but again all males and able to make their escape quickly had I fired back. This is why I believe the essential motivation is fear. Other people walking, in their gardens or even sitting outside the pub might swap nods and smiles or comment on the weather but they don’t lob insults! Other runners, who simply by doing the same exercise are far better qualified to critique me, never do.

Other criteria: 1) I must be alone or maybe with one other female runner. I don’t remember it ever happening when I’m near a male runner. Perhaps I’m mistaking ‘safety in numbers’ and it does happen to lone male runners too - let me know! – but it seems that appearing to be ‘chaperoned’ keeps the beepers quiet. 2) The vast majority of beepers are young or middle-aged. I could understand if it was purely older men, brought up in more bigoted times, but that argument isn’t true.

Is it my apparent independence that is so threatening – some throwback belief that women shouldn’t be out alone?

Is it simply that I’m exercising and they don’t so I should be knocked back – guilt on the beepers part for their laziness? But I don’t get beeped when I’m walking and that’s exercise too.

Is it the admittedly slightly ridiculous sight of an unfit person jogging that tips beepers over the edge? Do fit runners get the same abuse?

Seriously, what is the point?

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Me, a Paragraph Planet author

I also dabble with writing other than blogging - have I mentioned that before? Probably! I have been lucky enough to have two of my submissions accepted to the wonderful world of Paragraph Planet which, if you haven't come across it before, is a website which publishes a daily 'paragraph' of exactly 75 words. It's curated by one man, Richard Hearn, who I believe is based in Brighton. Submitted by many writers, professional and amateur, the variety of work is incredible and I am constantly amazed by how the rigid form can produce such different results. If I can get a third piece published, I can apply to have my own Author Page on the site!

Writing exactly 75 good words is nowhere near as easy as it sounds! For me, writing around 45-50 words is relatively straight-forward but I then find myself having to pad out the rest and this makes the end result feel sluggish. The website guidance suggests that the best paragraphs start out longer and are tightly edited - and therein lies the skill! I need longer ideas! Below are four paragraphs that I have actually completed - I've started more but they fizzled out. The first two didn't make the cut, the second two did. Although I am personally proud of them all, reading them together now, I can clearly see the difference in quality.

The first one, from mid-April this year, was inspired by our prospective caravan purchase. We hadn't yet found Bailey but were seriously searching and the paragraph reflects the themes of escape and freedom that this signified. The whimsicality is quite unlike me generally but at the time of writing, I was anchored both by Mum's terminal cancer and by the sheer amount of planning and cash needed to realise our dream. The thought of simply driving away towing our home was as a fairytale.

Are we hoping or dreaming or simply wishing? Which is real enough to survive? Gossamer threads of desire sped out from starry eyes. We fear their withering from lack of attention but they will suffocate with too tight a clutch. Our monochrome lists are given life by hope. Drab planning sustained by the dream. Fairy dust and glitter and fervently spoken magic words. If we can just find enough sparkle, we will smother the truth.

The second was written about a fortnight ago, a couple of days prior to the glorious sunshine we now have. It is yearning for summer, pure and simple! I particularly love the imagery of the lawnmower orchestra and the curtains.

Where are you sultry days? Lawnmower orchestras tuning up? Leather, willow, polite applause. Butterflies dancing, a solitary bee. Fragrant dawns of jasmine and honeysuckle. Blue and blue and blue. The almost not there squelch of ice cream hitting tarmac, distraught wails, ice water shrieks. Sauteed skin, pebble dashed legs. Observant gulls' screams, airborne fighters dive-bombing for abandoned chips. Stifling sleepless nights with all windows flung open, their lank curtains hanging sullen for lack of breeze.

This is my first ever completed paragraph and it got published (Aug 31st 2012) - so exciting still! Its dark, seedy images are very much my style and I wrote and edited it in an afternoon. The ideas flowed swiftly and were then hacked back to get down to 75 words. Writing hadn't felt so inspired for ages.

Wait until sundown. Change of the day. Monochrome eddies of leaves and newsprint. Crisp packets race. Scuffed heels snapping. Collars turned up. Isolated rain spots between chewing gum patches. Disembodied shouts. Bark. Yelp. Reflected neon in gutter mirrors. NEPO. DESOLC. Congealing chip fats cut through with diesel. Oversweet perfume. Yesterday's beer. Lucozade glow beneath a sodium spotlight. Nylon ladders veil a black inked snake. Tyres scrape a kerbstone. A windows lowers. A door swings back.

The final paragraph here, which also got published (Nov 28th 2012), describes a slow Friday afternoon. I was alone in the office with little to do and even less inclination!

Three clocks, side by side. They do not tick or beep, but discreetly measure the passing afternoon, the soporific stretch between lunch and tea when the air is a fraction too warm and the work a fraction too dull. I observe. Two clocks change the minute together. I count. The third waits nineteen beats. I count again. Nineteen. A different pairing almost exactly alternate their flashing seconds. I will them to synchronise. They irritate me.

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So I'm probably not taking my purple teapot

my purple teapot

Now that the euphoria of our successful single night in Bailey is wearing off, we’re moving forward and planning the far greater challenge of a Weekend Away! Small steps, people, small steps!

Calculating weight allowances is the most complicated holiday conundrum I think we’ve ever faced and fortunately Dave has the patience to be doing all the working out. Caravans are tricky things if you want to a) be legal and b) not break it. There’s maximum weights for the amount of caravan you can attach to your car, for the amount of stuff you can put in said caravan, and for the amount of additional stuff that you thought would go in the caravan but that it now turns out will need to go in the car. The most irritating aspect of all this though, is the difficulty in finding out exactly what is and is not included in the manufacturers guidelines. Bailey and Citroen both Please Take Note!

Important for caravans we discovered is the Mass In Running Order weight. This is everything you need to run the caravan, but not necessarily to run the holidaymakers. So surely you’d expect essentials like the gas bottles to be included, and the leisure battery, and the spare tyre? Our Bailey has a generous 147kg over the MIRO so we thought we could take loads of additional Stuff. But Dave has now discovered that that the gas (24kg), the battery (20kg) and the spare wheel (19kg) might need to come off that allowance. Might, might not, depends which forums you read. Bailey the manufacturers are resolutely silent on the matter. So possibly only 84kg available.

Same story with the car. Kerb Weight allows for a fairly full tank of diesel and probably a driver. But we can’t find anywhere where Citroen categorically says ‘yes’ for the driver, so we’re having to allow for ‘no’. And drivers are quite heavy – especially this one (not-telling-you kg)! On a positive note, I now have a great incentive to seriously get back into my running. The less I weigh, the more shoes I can take!

Finally in our current considerations, there’s the Nose Weight which is the amount the weight of the caravan pushes down onto the tow bar of the car. It can be adjusted a little by moving stuff around the caravan space, but mostly depends on the amount of tat I’ve stowed. And the nose weight gauge itself uses up 1.5 of our valuable kgs.

So I can take my stripey picnic rucksack because it contains a full set of plastic ‘crockery’: red china dinner plate 700g, red gingham plastic plate 50g. My prized Le Creuset oven dish (1400g) downgrades to an admittedly far more versatile tin pie dish (100g) and it looks like I might even have to cope without my purple pottery teapot (800g).

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First night nerves unfounded and I even towed it

Dave catches some rays by our new caravan

A lot has happened since We're on our way but we're not going far! Firstly, we collected our beautiful new-to-us Bailey Orion 430-4 from John's Cross. Knowing we are novices, they kindly spent over an hour showing us around absolutely every button, dial, tube and cranky bit so we were a lot more confident when we left than when we arrived. Dave even got to try out about twenty yards of reversing. John's Cross also presented me with a lovely bouquet of flowers and some wine for Dave as a thank you for buying from them! Then a short nerve-wracking but happily uneventful drive to Horam later and our caravan was settled in at its new home, Woodland View Touring Park.


And that was that ... until yesterday ...

We spent the morning packing up the few bits we would need for a single night away, and then added lots more things that we think we might want on a longer trip. The idea was to check we could remember how to do everything we'd been taught and also to begin working out the best storage solutions for such essentials as a slow cooker and the toaster. We got to Horam and, under the watchful eye of site owner Sam, managed to extract our Bailey from a scarily tight space. ("Just pull straight forwards, you've got loads of room there!") Hitched up properly and fairly efficiently, the open road beckoned and Dave bravely set out on the long journey to Golden Cross. All seven miles of it! We could have done it in five, but chose the bigger roads.

Setting up Bailey is so much easier than pitching a tent! In the past, we could go from parking up to tent pitched & tea poured in about an hour and a half. In Bailey, an hour and a half included having found homes for all the random tat I'd brought along, fridge working and water running, tin gecko blu-tacked up, tea poured AND a choc chip cookie (bought on way, not baked on site!) All without raising a sweat - far more civilised than struggling with a bedroom pod and a groundsheet. One 'slight hiccup' could have been far worse than it actually was. As we tried to level Bailey front to back, the caravan suddenly pitched forwards and hit the ground. We learnt that it is vitally important to make sure that the clampy bit around the jockey wheel tube is tight. Very tight!

Sticky carpet was another problem. John's Cross (presumably although it could have been the original dealer) had put plastic over the two carpet pieces to protect them. However, because the plastic had been on for too long a time, when we removed it a sticky residue was left which we stuck to with every step. One carpet piece was bad, but the other was fine. Googling when we got home led me to CaravanTalk which suggested the gentle application of white spirit. An hour of this has removed most of the stickiness so a second application and a shampoo should get shot of the rest. I've now joined CaravanTalk - this is me.

Other hiccups were minor:
Reversing is probably never going to be fun.
The heater works better if the power to it is actually turned on.
The pump needs to be well under the water level in the aqua roll.

Old Mill campsite is quiet without much road noise late at night so I slept like a log. The bed is very comfortable and we were both glad we'd gone for the fixed bed option instead of making up a jumble of cushions. A little light comes in under the blind in the morning, but not enough to wake me up, only Dave, so that's OK.

And today I drove back to Horam. Me! And I don't know what I was worrying about. There was one moment where it all went a bit lurchy, but more power smoothed the ride. Dave squeaked on the first corner out of the campsite (bit close to a post!) but the rest went by fine. Braking obviously takes longer and I need to remember to allow several car lengths of space because gunning away from a standstill isn't an option. With practice I'll probably go faster - apologies to the people stuck behind when I was doing 40 through the s-bends on the Horam road but overall, a very positive experience.

We're both very pleased with ourselves and Bailey. I believe we're going to have wonderful times!
Woo hoo!

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We're on our way but we're not going far

Old Mill Holiday Park, Golden Cross, Sussex

Stupidly overexcited today and all because I posted a letter at Sainsburys this morning. (I'm easily pleased!) It wasn't as simple as expected because their post box has moved - it's no longer by the front door but now hiding round by the checkouts. I hope the postpeople know because this particular envelope is vitally important. Containing a short letter, hand-scrawled on a page torn from a notepad, and accompanying our deposit cheque, it's now on its way to a little campsite ridiculously close to where we live and where we are going to spend our first night in our new caravan! We've not even collected the 'van yet. Premature? Me?

Old Mill Holiday Park at Golden Cross only has eight caravan pitches so with a bit of luck there won't be too many other people there to watch us painstakingly referring back to the manual for the simplest of tasks! It looks pretty and rustic and I've nicked one of their photos to illustrate this post so you can see. I hope they don't mind. We've only got one night so couldn't travel too far from home although we had planned to go a bit further, but this was one of the nicest we found online. They answered my enquiry email really quickly too which is always encouraging. Should everything go horribly wrong, our house is only 15 minutes away, but I'm sure it will all be fine. Thousands of people caravan - how hard can it be? Plus I already know the food at the Golden Cross Inn is excellent so dinner's sorted!

By then we will already know how to get the bright yellow wheel clamp on and off, and we should be happy negotiating the red hitch lock too. I love how so much caravanning stuff is bold primary colours! Eurotow fitted a shiny new tow bar - which I am desperately hoping I won't be the first to bash my shins on - and we'll have attached and detached at least once by ourselves before. Not sure if we'll have used the remote control parking gadget though? Watching us park might be what passes for entertainment!

Now we've just got to wait until we can get our caravan from Robertsbridge to its new home in Horam, wait again for what will seem like AGES, then tow from Horam to Golden Cross for our Big Night Out. Can't wait!

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Why I choose to support Kiva - lending to alleviate poverty

I first discovered Kiva through a Parkrun friend, Martin Allen. I must get back to Parkrun soon, but that's for another blog post! Martin had posted on Facebook about a loan he had made 'on Kiva' and, being nosey, I clicked through to find out more. I'm now hooked!

Kiva is a worldwide organisation, based in America, which co-ordinates microfinance loans that are funded by ordinary people. Each lender pays out $25 (about £20) towards a loan of their choice thereby spreading their risk and creating a lovely community spirit. The loan is then repaid in monthly installments to a Kiva account online from which the lender can choose to either withdraw the money back to their own bank account or to relend it to another deserving cause. Repayments are usually made from around the 17th of the month and I have got into the habit of looking forward to this date. I enjoy the lending process and finding new loans to support. I support women who are trying to improve their own businesses and so far have made 16 loans to 14 different countries across the world. The sheer volume of hopeful recipients can be a bit overwhelming so I tend to search for smaller loans that are near to reaching their funding total.

This month I chose to support Rocio who lives in Columbia and Asmaa who lives in Jordan. Rocio has her own business painting and selling pre-made ceramic figurines and has taken out a loan to buy a kiln so she can create her own figurines and a display case to better exhibit them. Asmaa has a small shop selling children's toys and her loan is to purchase a selection of homewares so now both mothers and daughters will find items to interest them.

Please take a look at Kiva and see if you would like to get involved. There is an element of risk as some loans do default. However I think of each $25 as a donation and if it returns to be lent again, so much the better, but I don't lend money that I couldn't afford to lose. I haven't lost any yet!

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What a difference a bit of sunshine and a dose of culture makes!

I’m remembering exactly why I do like living around here and I’ve definitely got my happy vibe back! Not that the travelling idea has been shelved - far from it, but the desperation seems to have passed.

Rob Crouch as Oliver Reed: Wild Thing started the ball rolling on Thursday of last week with a fantastic one man show depicting the life of the famous actor. I had not seen any of Crouch’s work before so had no idea what to expect. Sometimes this is the best way to approach theatre –no expectations and allowing yourself to be blown away.

Green Room Productions upped the ante on Friday with The Wife, The Mistress, The Chair. A powerful drama in the tiny Little Theatre, the production and the venue complementing each other perfectly and I am sure there were moments where every single audience member was holding their breath from the suspense. I love Green Room Productions and hope to see them continue to grow over the next few years – although selfishly, not too much that I can’t get tickets!

A completely different prospect on Saturday afternoon was Sutton Theatre Company’s Return To The Forbidden Planet. My sister being in the cast, attendance bordered on compulsory(!), but STC do put on an good show – bright, slick, colourful and energetic – so it was worth the journey. Their sets and costuming are always great and this musical really suited them as there’s lots of big production numbers to show off their strong singing. Watching my little niece totally engrossed in the show was great fun too.

Sunday morning saw me up before the crack of lunch to be at Beanzz Coffee for my second storytelling workshop. You might remember the first workshop prompting my starting this blog? Fortunately, the second was not a similarly emotional affair! I wore the gorgeous red felt cloche hat I found in Austin for a Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, heard the story of Herne and Andred at Beltane and discovered that I am much better at choosing negative storylines than positive ones for little fish (you probably had to be there!).

To the cinema in Hailsham for Sunday evening and Cloud Atlas which I think is brilliant. I’m not totally convinced and want to see it again to be sure, but it’s certainly got stunning cinematography and I loved the interwoven stories.

A slight let-down on Monday evening, caused in part by high expectations which refers me back to the beginning of this post. The Agatha Christie Theatre Company’s Go Back For Murder was good but not gripping as previous shows. I think in a week where it was the only thing I went to see, the play would have fared better, but put up against Oliver Reed and especially The Wife, The Mistress, The Chair, it suffered by comparison.

Then two evenings in, thankfully because I was knackered, before we were back to enjoying ourselves on Thursday. A trip to London (well, Wimbledon is London to me) and the fabulous Matthew Bourne ballet Sleeping Beauty at the New Wimbledon Theatre. Nearly a disastrous day as the trains were all over the place due to ‘ a person being hit by a train in the Hassocks area’ but we made it with enough time to grab lunch and OMFG! I tweeted ‘Every superlative I know’ and that’s just how we both felt. So much talent, so much creativity, such wonderful ideas! And enough of a budget to bring it all to the stage with real panache. I felt so privileged to be able to have been there.

So now I'm a buzzing again. I've even been running twice, not very far, but enough to be reassured that the colds have finally gone. My blogging drive has returned has returned, no doubt inspired by the theatrical overdose and helped on its way by three art exhibitions this morning. Check out Theatrical Eastbourne over the next couple of weeks for posts about the art and a couple of new artists I discovered ...

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We've got to get out of this place

Two weeks back from our amazing holiday in America and I haven't been well for any of it. I've managed to catch two colds, the second just as the first was clearing up, and this second one has really knocked me back. Haven't even managed a whole day out of bed for three days and I'm getting quite depressed.
Good start to a post this, isn't it?

Both Dave and I dislike the winter months in Britain and he is even more susceptible to SAD than I am, so we've been playing around with ideas of how not to be here for future winters! It's definitely more pipe dream than reality at the moment but there is a shred of conviction that we are clinging to and our grand solution is this:

spotted on Raymond James blog

OK, this might not be the exact model we end up with (I spotted it on another blog, Raymond James Caravans, and I can't read the watermark so have no idea who the manufacturer is) but you get the gist. We're going to buy a 'van' and sod off - for months - at least. Woo hoo! Right now, I could happily sod off forever, but Dave is a little more cautious, probably because it's his house we'd need to sell to finance 'forever'. We've loved going camping for up to three weeks at a stretch in the past, but being stuck in a confined space with me for months on end might just push him to far. (Solution = awning = less confined space!!)

So anyway, right now I'm looking at motor homes and caravans and starting a list of important questions that need answers before we could commit:

How do you drive/park a caravan? Should we go on a course?
Do they ALL have garish upholstery?
Can you get fitted sheets for beds-that-turn-into-sofas?
What's involved in renting out a house?
What do we do about mail?
What do you mean there's no wifi?

If any readers have helpful tips, please Comment below. I'm sure my question list will grow immensely and it would be fun to 'meet' other people in our situation or already ahead of us. I'm going to search out a few forums too ...

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Quote from Soren Kierkegaard

competition-winning photo by Dave Greene
taken in the Brecon Beacons

"Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. But by sitting still, and the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill. If one just keeps on walking, everything will be all right."

I've just read this inspirational and timely quote in Follow The Money by Steve Boggan. I'm in Austin, Texas, on holiday. We're enjoying the beautiful weather - sorry to gloat! - and have been walking at least a couple of hours every day for a fortnight now, both here and last week in New Orleans. Whether around the cities, through the wonderful Parks or out on hiking trails into tamed wilderness, a good walk definitely is the best way to clear niggling thoughts and worries.

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Tonight I ran all the way home

Me after first 5K race
(Apr 11)

and this was by choice, not because I was running away from anything! This is the first time I've managed this since October last year and I'm sitting here now feeling very proud of myself and with a big grin on my face. OK, when I say 'ran' I mean 'jogged', and I did stick to the shortest possible distance which is about 4.5 miles, but I didn't even have to wait to cross a single road AND I made it ALL the way up that nasty hill from the old folks home on the roundabout.

Can I get a Woo Hoo?

Late last year, I was almost ready for the Bexhill Half and feeling pretty good about myself. But having hardly run since getting a miserable cold in the autumn, I have put on a stone and just feel sluggish a lot of the time. My running mojo vanished completely. This is depressing and my depressions lead to cake shops which leads to clothes not fitting which leads to more depression which ... you get the picture.

Me after Brighton 10K
(Nov 11)

My inspiration was marshaling the Eastbourne Half Marathon last weekend. I spent a couple of hours standing in front of traffic on one of the Atlantic Drive road junctions just after mile 8. Several work colleagues were taking part and I also saw a couple of people from Parkrun (must get back there soon). It was bitterly cold but all (except one) of the drivers were patient and lovely and seeing more than 1500 people striving to achieve their own 13.1 miles was magical. Mojo back!

I walked the six miles back to Polegate that afternoon. I ran most of the way home on Monday (damn hill), and today I kept going the whole way! Next week I'm going for the-whole-way-again, possibly followed by the-whole-way-by-the-slightly-longer-route.

Big thanks to all the Half Marathonners! The way I feel right now, next year I'll be joining you!

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Why I wasn't convinced by the ending of Bent

Last week I went to the Little Theatre in Eastbourne to see Bootcamp's production of Bent, Martin Sherman's drama of the persecution of gay men during the Holocaust. It was excellent and I came away quite emotional. The play is certainly thought-provoking, so much so that I have spent several hours thinking over the work I saw - however, the more I think about it, the less I agree with the final moments.

My morning-after reactions are posted in the Comments of this Theatrical Eastbourne post which specifically talks about the Bootcamp Production and doesn't give away the ending.  
If you have not yet seen the play and don't want to know how it ends, stop reading this post now!

This post contains spoilers!

Early on in the second act, Horst and Max discuss the electric fence which surrounds them. They talk about some men in the camp who commit suicide by throwing themselves onto the fence, positing the argument that orchestrating their own deaths is the only freedom remaining to them. Horst is not ashamed of his sexuality and has made no attempt to hide it as Max has done. The two become lovers, Max falling in love with Horst as I don't think he has allowed himself to do with previous partners. Horst tries to show Max how to be proud and accepting of what he is.
Then comes the disaster of the sick Horst being singled out by a Nazi guard. Given the choice - which is really no choice at all - of the electric fence or being shot, Horst makes a brief, futile dash away from suicide, 'forcing' a guard to kill him. In the Bootcamp production, Ben Woodward as Horst played this scene with a stunning blend of desperation and immense dignity, creating a truly powerful moment of theatre. 
Max reverently carries Horst's body away, talking about love, how he finally understands love and believes he is capable of such deep emotion. He swaps shirts with Horst. Max now wears the pink triangle. Horst has not died in vain because Max is now proud to be identified as a gay man.

And then he makes a run for the fence and kills himself. End of play. WTF!

Max has just made this tremendous breakthrough of self-discovery, but immediately throws it all away by dying? Admittedly, it is a fabulous dramatic device with a major shock value! However, I'm just not convinced that this is what Max would have done. We had already seen him expend so much effort on wheeling and dealing, getting medicines and better food and even his yellow star. Discussing the play with friends, it has been suggested that Max couldn't bear to live without Horst but I'm not convinced by this argument. Surely he would have chosen to live, discovering uses for his new-found self-belief?

Perhaps I missed an important clue earlier on? 
Perhaps not being a gay man myself means there's something I don't 'get'?

Help me out here! If you've seen any production of Bent, please Comment how you felt about Max's ultimate suicide?

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Musings on Storytelling Sunday and my name

Storytelling Sundays mask

Last weekend, I went to the first Storytelling Sunday, a series of workshops led by Sally-Shakti Willow. I didn’t really know what to expect from the session, but I like stories and hoped there might be some good advice I could use to improve my writing. As someone who usually stays on the perimeter at these kinds of things, I certainly did not expect to get as involved as I did or to have such an emotional reaction to the work. Just over a week later and, like an excellent play that stays with you after the curtain has fallen, the workshop is still very much in my thoughts. I keep being drawn back to mull over the issues that affected me so strongly.

Sally-Shakti is a lovely woman, warm and kind, and the atmosphere she created for the workshop was like a supportive bubble with only the group inside. Sounds odd, I know, but it really worked and I believe feeling so safe was the catalyst for allowing myself to open up. The workshop explored our names, how we feel about them and how well we relate to them. I don’t like my name. It doesn’t fit me. I tend to use the abbreviated ‘Steph’ but, as this is such a short sound, I have learned I need to say the long ‘Stephanie’ when I first meet new people, otherwise they mishear and I end up embarrassed, repeating myself. So as we zoomed round the group, I said ‘Stephanie’, the word left hanging awkwardly in the air. It’s my name, but it’s not me.

I was surprised that a good half of us felt disconnected from our names so my quandary is not so unusual! We looked up the words in baby name books to see if an ancient meaning might provide a connection. Stephanie means ‘garlanded’ or ‘wreathed’ or ‘crowned’. I’ve never been a woman who particularly decorates herself and the thought of being crowned? Well, that’s really not me either. A new friend, Suesie suggested hidden depths, perhaps I haven’t yet found my ‘thing’, the talent that will earn my wreath. This did resonate quietly at the time although I didn’t consciously pick up on it until several mulls later. I spoke about my Mum, relating her explanation of why my sister and I have unusual names (hey, I was storytelling!). Mum was a teacher and didn’t want to be reminded of previous students when she spoke about her own children. She ignored the names of children she had taught and, in the 1970s, Stephanie was much more unusual than it is now. She was aware that I might not like it though, so my middle name was ‘plain’ Jane in case I wanted something simple instead. However, using a different name to your given one is difficult to enforce and requires a strength of character that little me didn’t have. You have to repeatedly correct people and I wasn’t comfortable with that level of attention. Stephanie stayed.

I talked over the workshop with my partner, Dave. Interestingly, he’s fine with his first name, but has issues with his surname, which has a silent ‘e’ on the end. He believes he should keep the ‘e’ as it was important enough to his ancestors that they kept it, but he finds endlessly repeating ‘with-an-e-on-the-end’ to be wearying and is also uncomfortable with the extra attention it brings. At Dave’s suggestion, we tried an exercise of using our middle names and found it a fun but weird experience. Ourselves as Dave & Steph are very different to how we imagined Hugh and Jane would be. Try it yourself!

It was thinking about my Mum spending ages poring over names for her baby that choked me up at the workshop – and is doing so again now as I relive the experience by writing about it. I know she put a lot of effort into trying to get our childhoods right and effectively complaining makes me feel ungrateful. At least my name is generally pronounced correctly. My sister is Adrienne - that’s with an Ay (for ‘orses) sound at the beginning, not an Add, and hit the last syllable, not the first. Yes, this could be a lot more difficult.

I have started to understand that perhaps it is not my name that’s really causing the problem here, but the person I think of when that label is used. I recoil because I don’t like who I used to be and I still see her. I need to start seeing the person I am now instead – the one who is becoming confident, who has medals for running, who is discovering art and jazz and shoe shopping! I think as I become happier with myself, I’m probably going to find that my name is more relevant to who I am now. So, at the end of this long, self-indulgent essay, we have the reason for this blog’s title, Stephanie Jane. It’s my name and I am going to find a way to marry the two of us – that name to this woman and this woman to that name.

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