5.00 am. Wake up early, too early as usual. The creative mind cannot sleep. Wonder where the piece of paper I shoved under the pillow is? One gets many ideas in the middle of the night, but what good is a pencil, if there’s nothing to write on. Aah… it’s Wednesday today. The alarm was set for 6:30 am. Our son Olly, is a producer for Good Morning Britain (ITV) and often texts us when his features are on.
“Do you think that is one of his items?” I mumble to my other half, through bleary eyes, holding a cuppa and crunching a half fat biscuit.
Mmmm… his reply could be considered interesting…Where is that pen and paper?
Today of all days I am feeling so delighted. Last night, I read one of the stories from my memoirs of an Ulster childhood, at the Bridport (Dorset) Story Slam, and was fortunate to win the first prize. This reflection on my early experiences and my wonderfully eccentric grandmother, has motivated me to keep writing… and writing… and writing.
So where did this passion first begin? Probably on her farmhouse table in County Down when I was seven and not quite eight. As I scribble, the words fly across the page and she is there; dancing in a Cossack hat, making soda farls for tea and whispering unbelievable French words.
The day continues downstairs with a large cup of coffee and later on, lunch. In the room overlooking the garden, blushing apples on gnarled, old trees and the faded blooms of lupins are waving gently. I reach for another new notebook and pencil. Handbags and shoes don’t thrill me, but writing materials increase my excitement to dangerous levels. We are talking dotty, spotty, cute pets and London buses. I own many but never stop craving more.
When I need to clear my head, or just let ideas and memories simmer, I head for the front at Lyme Regis and just let things work themselves out.
Sometimes as a break from memoir writing, I send letters to magazines and have had a few published. The funniest one appeared in Homes and Antiques, where I told the tale of chasing a shoplifter in John Lewis down three escalators, before she disappeared without trace. My punishment as a student employee involved a ‘brief’ stint in men’s underwear and pyjamas. Naturally it took ages to recover!
Over the years the family has been very supportive of my writing. When my two sons were teenagers however, the fact that I had taught English and Drama to Glenn Hoddle the footballer in the 1970s, was much more interesting. They both loved the idea that their mum wouldn’t let him go to football because he dived over the desk.
As dusk settles, hopefully tonight we will get the chance to Skype our son Sam, partner Lorraine and grandson Finn (three), who live near Dublin.
I light one of my own home-made organic candles – fig and pink grapefruit, (another great passion), while we plan our next big adventure to Ireland. Naturally, the latest story will be tucked in my suitcase.
Wendy Breckon
wendybreckon@outlook.com
