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Thursday, December 31, 2020

Leigh’s Miscellany


When the history books get round to writing up 2020, it’s highly unlikely that they’ll turn to my blog for inspiration, although they could do worse, to be honest. You won’t find any graphs or speeches from Government ministers here. I’ve gone back over the year and picked out things that meant something to me. If they make you smile, or even think, then I’ve done my job.

1. Since lockdown, the social side of shopping has really come to the fore. Having donned my wellies and tramped through the muddy lanes for a mile or so, I get to Wickham for the Saturday market. Olga the Jam Lady and I chat away nineteen to the dozen and if another customer approaches, I suggest they buy some of her Lebanese Fig Chutney. If you’re anywhere near East Suffolk, I suggest you do too. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. I then amble over to see Marie and Graham on the cheese and pie stall and there is more chattering and guffawing. Fruit and veg from Newbourne is next and then a trip to Mrs Spencer and Nice Quiche Lady to stock up on pastry goods for mum and dad and a banter-filled twenty minutes with the boys at Revetts’. Exercise, socialising and shopping. Win win.

2. We got a cat. This is worth two or three bullet points alone. I can’t believe I’m telling you this (bracing self for many sarcastic WhatsApps from friends) but I actually used images of said feline to make Christmas presents. Yes. The children all have a framed photo of the sixth family member on their bedside tables, my daughter has a pencil case and phone cover with her little furry face on them and my parents have a picture of her on the mantelpiece. What have I become?


3. Pre-lock down, I made an effort to look half-decent outside the home. Make-up was applied, hair brushed, nice clothes selected. These days, I can mostly be found with hair in plaits, no make-up, mismatched clothes covered in ash from cleaning out the Rayburn and wellies, like as not. Because really, who cares?

4. Towards the end of the year, I made a significant discovery. There are people in this world who are unpleasant and unkind and who like being that way. Now, this might sound a bit negative, but it’s not. I’ve spent my whole life trying to spread a little happiness, and having it thrown back in my face (occasionally) has not been much fun. This year, I finally realised that I don’t have to do it anymore. It’s liberating.

5. Friends have been a huge part of carrying me through this year. Long-established ones scattered around the country (Essex, Devon, Fife, Northamptonshire) and local ones have kept me going. I’ve met some wonderful fellow writers on the ACW group, including two ladies who have become dear friends without ever actually meeting me. Looking forward to it one day, girls!

6. When I first became a mother seventeen years ago, I was stressed. What if I got it all wrong? What if I messed everything up? In spite of my parenting, the children have turned out pretty well and I felt quite emotional on Christmas Day watching them with their elderly grandparents. They made an effort to chat and listen and when it was time to take them home, they took their hands, put their arm across their shoulders and walked them carefully across the drive to the car. It was wonderful to see.

7. Sticking with the parenting vibe, this year music has played a significant role. Our eldest son is a drummer and has been expanding his musical knowledge. When it was legal, I spent a lot of time ferrying him across Suffolk to band practice while we listened to music. Loud music. Mostly heavy metal. Sometimes, he’d say things like, “Have you ever heard of a band called Rage Against the Machine?” I would snort and remind him that I had a life, thank you very much. He’s got into Led Zeppelin (excellent) and reminded me how much I like them. It’s been a delight watching him discover music which sound-tracked my youth and listening to bands he’s introduced to me.


8. I never had time to watch TV before the pandemic, but 2020 has been the year of quality entertainment. All the usuals plus some outstanding programmes. The Trial of Christine Keeler, Mrs America, Roadkill, Harlots, Staged, The Queen’s Gambit and yes, I admit it, Bridgerton. Corsets, big posh houses, carriages and lots of how’s your father.

9. For me, this has been the year that my dream came true. An actual book deal. I still can’t quite believe it, even though I’ve got an author’s headshot (taken by lovely Cherry Beesley at Simply C Photography) and a book cover. Thank you, Instant Apostle for taking a chance on a new author. The diary of Isabella M Smugge comes out in February. Watch this space.

10. Before the pandemic, I thought I was fairly well-informed. This year has opened my eyes to the predicament of those who live with chronic disease. Some of the most beautiful and heart-breaking writing I’ve ever read has expanded my world view this year. If 2021 is going to be any better than 2020, and we can only hope and pray it is, we need to major on compassion. The headlines are full of stats, but let’s remember that each of those numbers represent a person with a family and hopes and dreams. Just like me. Just like you.

So that’s it for 2020. It’s been quite a year and I’d like to thank you all for taking the time to follow me. Otherwise, I’d be a delusional middle-aged lady in plaits sitting here writing words that no-one reads. Happy New Year and God bless you all.

Images from Pixabay

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.


Thursday, December 10, 2020

And you’re carrying those eggboxes because….?



I don’t know about you, but it’s the little things I’ll remember about 2020. As this year has gone on, I’ve cherished the many little acts of kindness, funny stories and frankly bonkers experiences which have characterised it for me.

Things seem to happen to me. I’ve always got a story, which is pretty handy when you’re a writer. Last weekend was a bit of a tough one. Lots of emotions resurfaced from some sad times a while ago, I wrote a blog for More Than Writers about some really heavy stuff and I felt tired, a bit down and generally pathetic. I had a FaceTime chat with three dear friends on Sunday evening and we were all feeling a bit sorry for ourselves. We agreed that this was understandable and tried to encourage and build each other up.

On Tuesday, I went into Woodbridge to meet up with the lovely Darrell who runs Archway Carpets. We had a hilarious, socially distanced lunch with lots of loud snorting, laughing and giggling. As we left, he handed me about fifty eggboxes. This would have come as a surprise to most people, but seemed perfectly normal to me. Our chickens lay beautiful green, blue and chocolate brown eggs and I frequently drop off half a dozen for Darrell and his family to enjoy. Hence the boxes.

“You’re not going anywhere else, are you?” he asked me, eyeing the armful of boxes with trepidation.

“Actually, I am,” I replied, standing up and hefting them into a comfortable holding position. “I thought I’d go to a well-known chain of High Street shops with an “M” in its name and buy some new jeans.”



Marching down the Thoroughfare (Woodbridge’s main street), I spotted a few people giving me odd looks. My appearance was unremarkable save for a fine new pair of boots and the said eggboxes. I arrived in M and Something, had a quick browse, chose the jeans and approached the cash desk. You know when you haven’t seen people for a while and you talk more quickly and in a higher pitch than usual? The two ladies in charge were a bit like that, in the middle of telling a funny story and deep in laughter. Under my mask, I had a broad grin on my face. I do love to hear laughter.

The transaction started going through, but the younger of the two ladies (Lucy. Hi Lucy) was staring at my eggboxes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve got to ask. Why on earth are you carrying so many eggboxes around with you?”

I told her I was collecting them to soundproof a studio. This was obviously made up, but she was already laughing so I changed horses in mid-stream and explained that Darrell loves my eggs. This finished her completely.

“He LOVES your EGGS! Ooh errr Missus!”

Doubled up in infectious laughter, she disappeared temporarily behind the cash desk while her colleague (Julie as I later found out. Hi Julie and welcome) burst into peals of laughter too. In retrospect, I suppose I could have chosen my words more wisely, but it was too late to backtrack. I explained that the eggs, technically, were not mine, but those of my hens. We carried on laughing and talking in high pitched voices for quite some time. Gosh, I’ve missed socialising. Pretty soon, they knew all about Big Words and Made Up Stories and the Diary of Isabella M Smugge (out in February people, keep an eye on my socials).

I was wondering what to write about this week, but as we filled the shop with shrieks of laughter, I realised that it could only be about one thing. A middle-aged woman in new, shiny boots walking into a shop with an M in its title holding loads of eggboxes. Julie gave me my own carrier bag to convey them back to the car. I left beaming from ear to ear (not that anyone could see through the mask). My friend Sue was in the queue behind me, also laughing (hi Sue), The other customers were gazing at me in that way that people do when they suspect that someone might have escaped from a secure facility.

Such little things can lift the spirits and engender a burst of healing, life-giving laughter. I’m chuckling now, just writing this. Here’s what Mark Twain had to say about it: “Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.”



Enjoy your week.

Images by Unsplash and Pixabay.

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.

 









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