The recent lovely weather has driven me from my desk to the beach. To be honest it wasn’t a struggle and no resistance was put up. (See last blog on displacement activities!)

However, I genuinely consider sitting on the beach and getting my fill of vitamin D to be a brilliant research opportunity. It really is! Honestly!

In Brighton when the sun comes out, the pebbly beach is packed with locals and tourists alike and the pressure on space means that people often pitch up close to you and you can quietly observe them and listen in to conversations. Okay, eavesdrop if you will. But it IS research nonetheless.

There have to be some compensations for having your eyes assaulted by the smoky barbeques and crying children.

One little girl was sitting with her mother and playing happily with a Barbie doll with very matted hair. She swished it in the salty water and dragged it up and down the stones. It was clearly a much loved plaything and the child could see beyond its shabby and salt crusted appearance. Just then a male arrived who was obviously her father. He looked as though he’d just come from the gym and sucked the warmth from the sun. The mother’s mood dropped down and the little girl just glared at him and wouldn’t sit near him on the towel. He carried on oblivious to the loathing that his family clearly had for him. His wife was instructed to take photos of him while he went in the sea which she did in a perfunctory way and the little girl just stared at him with undisguised hatred. If looks could kill she really had it going on!

When I came back from my swim they’d left, and I wondered to what sort of life they returned.

I turned my attention to the couple nearby. There’s always one partner who loves the other more. You might think it’s even but it’s not. These two were half lying and sitting and it was clear that she loved him more. She kept stroking him in a proprietorial way, and was not above looking round to see imagined crowds of envious other onlookers. In fact I think they were invisible except to me. He got bored with being petted and sat up to drink his beer. Taking a long swig and scanning the beach he pointed out a nubile blonde. ‘Looks like Emma, doesn’t she?’

‘No!’ his girlfriend said dismissively. ‘She’s quite different. She’s fatter for a start.’

I looked keenly at the bloke to see if he would realise he was onto a loser here. It could only end one way. But no, letting a pebble drop from his fingers he sealed his fate.

‘I think Emma has a great figure and that girl is built the same…’ after a while into the frozen silence he kept saying ‘What? What? What am I supposed to have said wrong now…?’

I stifled a smile. For them it would be a long journey back to Croydon, but I have a new character that I can kill. Painfully…

What writer isn’t a total expert in displacement activity?  We’ve all been there (hence the delay since my last blog) and you can be really creative in avoidance techniques. What’s your favourite?

I remember an established writer saying to me ‘Just watch out for the teaspoons. You’ll find they need bleaching’

At the time I did a double take and just let it go. But over the years have noticed that when I have a deadline or need to write then I find that my home needs tidying, the cats litter box needs a deep clean, the roses need deadheading. Everything around me is perfectly in order except me and my writing. How can this be? Oh it’s time for lunch, and maybe a walk to clear my head afterwards. That gives me a straight run to work until this evening. Stretch……….so how did I come to find myself asleep on the sofa with my cats draped over me? Ok that was thinking time. Let’s crack on now.

You know that procrastination is a stuck state? Its perfectionism gone wrong. You’re so worried about not being good enough that you stifle your creative output before it breathes life.

“I remember reading somewhere about an organization called Procrastinators Anonymous. I think they had been in existence for some years but had never gotten around to having a meeting.” 

“It was my fear of failure that first kept me from attempting the master work. Now, I’m beginning what I could have started ten years ago. But I’m happy at least that I didn’t wait twenty years.” – Paulo Coelho

 Did you see what just I did there? Yes! Spent ages searching for suitable quotes and frittered away more time!

Become a time lord!

If you sit down and just write for a set time – maybe 15 minutes – you CAN find that time – you’ll have kicks started your creative mind. Don’t judge what you’ve written just keep going. The time for editing is later. That critical voice can just shut the f*** up! You spend more than 15 minutes checking emails social media and so on. This is the beginning of a positive habit!

Now as for me, I have a date with some teaspoons and a bottle of bleach…

Lucy writes about injustice and quite often revenge. Having worked in the criminal justice system as a criminologist she feels that very often the victims are forgotten.

Her writing gives a voice to those who often say ‘it isn’t fair’ and who don’t get heard.
Lucy’s second book The Sun God’s Daughter will be taking that to a new level.

She lives in Brighton and Hove which she claims is a never ending source of material and characters.

Walking along the seafront in Brighton is always inspirational and I never forget to be grateful for the privilege in living here. Weird and wonderful always happens!

This week I happened to be a close second to the recycling bin lorry and noticed an envelope that had possibly escaped the collection. My eyes were on the ground as every dog owner is not as assiduous as they should be and I wasn’t looking for a procrastination opportunity of shoe cleaning! Now this envelope was unopened so I picked it up. It’d been raining a few hours before and the paper was dampish. The name and address were typed and the house was 4 doors away. Maybe the postie had dropped it. So I went up the rather overgrown path and popped the letter in the letter box.

Being the curious soul that I am though I just wanted to know what that letter said and what the owner might have missed. So I finished my walk and came home and wrote this.

Please let me know what you think and if you’ve had inspiration from an unopened letter. #noseyparker

Paper Tigers

When she got home from work there were usually two things waiting behind the front door requiring Bernadette Brennan’s attention. The first was her spectacularly stout ginger cat Geoffrey, and the other was the post which was scattered randomly beneath his substantial furry trousers. This evening was no exception, and as she let herself in, they both lay in wait. Bending down, Bernadette stroked the cat as he desperately butted her hand knocking the letters from her fingers.

‘Ah it’s yourself. And how’s my lovely boy then? How’s my Geoffrey? All that purring tells me you’re pleased to see me. Don’t burst your sides now. Just let me pick these letters up and off the mat. Jesus, it’s a long way down and twice as far up again. Look at them all there. You’re the lucky one Geoffrey, no one sends you any nasty bills do they? You don’t have any worries that a bowl of cat food can’t put right, and I envy you that right enough. All these brown envelopes and the ones with red writing on them look as if they are ready to bite. It’s getting so as I can hardly get in the door for them all over the floor. Why does that postman never deliver anything nice I wonder?

Shall we have our tea before we open them? We don’t want to learn any bad news on an empty stomach do we? I’ll not forget how my insides were churning the afternoon when I came in from the library and saw John’s letter on the table. I’d hardly been gone any time at all, so it he’d obviously had it all worked out well in advance. The coward. I felt sick to my stomach just at the sight of it. Well, it wasn’t going to be good was it? You were half sitting on it Geoffrey, weren’t you? I’ll bet you didn’t really want me to see what he’d written, and to be honest, your little bum, crusty though it is, was the nicest thing on that letter.

Even before I saw that envelope, I’d noticed the feeling of emptiness in the house. Without looking round the rooms I knew he’d taken his stuff – the atmosphere just felt different. I didn’t need to see the razor gone from the bathroom to feel its absence. Men don’t really have much anyway, except the secrets in their heads.

It wasn’t as if John had made much of an impression in all those years of marriage, aside from those on the settee cushions. The dents were still there the day he left, and so was the pen he’d written the letter with. Its cap had come off and left a stain on the yellow velvet, and to think he’d always moaned about your hairs Geoffrey, and yet he always made much more of a mess. The newsprint was the worst, black marks everywhere. I just wonder why he put the note in an envelope. It looked so formal and was so unnecessary. It wasn’t as if anyone else would have read it, and he didn’t even lick or fold the top down. Just left it open like all the questions I had.  He’d written my name ‘Bernadette’ and underlined it with a hard final stroke.

Well now here’s me chattering on and all the time you’re wishing I’d just get you something to eat. What do you think? Shall we have tuna for our tea? That’s decided then, so I’ll open the tin – its dolphin friendly evidently – and I think I’ll have my half with salad and you can have yours just as it is. That’s how you like it, isn’t it Geoffrey? Mind you, I don’t need to worry about having lettuce and cucumber to lose weight now as it’s all dropped off since John left. I don’t have to cook any more big meals to try and impress him, eh Geoffrey? But you loved all those tasty scraps didn’t you? We never let on how much you had did we? It was our little secret right up until we had your regular check-up with the vet, who then tells me that you’ve put on a little tiny bit of weight. Of course I defended you and said there was just more of you to love, but she just looked cross and said I should watch your waistline.  I don’t know what cats should weigh, but after she put you on the scales she said twenty two pounds was morbidly obese, and we should be looking at a target weight of ten pounds. Do you remember her butting in again when I talked about your bones being big, and then she had the cheek to make personal remarks about you having a sagging under-carriage.She told me I was killing you with kindness and that being a nutritional overachiever was not a good thing in an older cat. So it’s just tuna tonight and no cream. It’s for your own good she said, and right enough it did take two of us to squeeze you back into the cat basket.

     There now, I’ll put your bowl on the table next to mine and you can tell me all about your day while we eat and I’ll just take a little look at these letters. So what have we got today?

Oh see this Geoffrey! There’s good news apparently!  Readers Digest have pleasure in informing us that we’ve won the prize draw, so I’ll send off for that tomorrow and we’ll be laughing then, won’t we? After buying all their magazines and books I reckon we’re due a bit of luck. Now what’s the other one? Oh dear, its a gas bill. That’s not so good. I must try and change our provider, but I’m not sure how to go about it. Money is so tight now John’s gone. I’m not entitled to any maintenance and my little job doesn’t bring in much, so the old bills are mounting up, so they are. I don’t really want to turn the thermostat down as you like the warmth and I feel the cold more than I used to now I’m alone. Not that John would ever cuddle me, I always had you for warmth Geoffrey, but since being on my own I seem to notice the cold more, it can go right to the bones and I haven’t got a nice fur coat like you.’

Sighing, Bernadette pushed her plate towards the cat.

‘Do you want my tuna Geoffrey? I can’t manage it all, what with everything. Go on then and help yourself, but don’t bolt it or else you’ll be sick. Bit like me, always feeling queasy these days. I think I’ll fancy some food and then when I’ve got it all ready, it doesn’t seem so nice. But that’s where you come in isn’t it Geoffrey, and help me out?

The cat immediately started to devour it with astonishing alacrity, pausing only to rest one oversized paw on a lettuce leaf to steady himself.

‘Now what’s this last letter? Oh dear, it looks like it’s from the hospital.  See if I tip the window up I can see a patient number. It’s also been sent first class. Wonder if it’s bad news. They don’t usually send you anything first class unless there’s something wrong. I should never have had those tests done. I was only a bit run down, which is only to be expected isn’t it? Having your husband leave you is what they call a ‘life crisis’, isn’t it? Some people get depressed and go off their food and just sit around and I think that what’s happened to me. Plus I’m at that sort of age where women don’t always feel their best, and you just have to learn to put up with it.  Geoffrey, why do you think that a buff envelope looks so sinister? Is it really so much cheaper for them to use than a white one, which looks much kinder?

I’ll tell you what, let’s leave this pushy first class envelope on the table while I make some tea. What’s the hurry?’

Bernadette poured a good half pint of red wine into a big china mug for herself, and double cream into a saucer for the cat. She drank the wine quickly.

‘Nice strong cup of tea. Think I’ll have another.’ She topped her mug up from the bottle. Bending close to the cat’s ear she whispered.

‘Now Geoffrey, it seems to me that if I open this letter from the hospital it could be bad news, couldn’t it? I can see from your big green eyes that you’re worried, and that’s the last thing I want. What if on the other hand I don’t open it? We don’t need to know do we? In the end what difference does it make? I’d rather be well and I’m well now. You only know you’re not well when they tell you. That’s right, isn’t it Geoffrey?  Oh dear, that tuna has gone right to my head, I’m feeling a bit woozy. Are you listening, my little furry friend? They’re always making mistakes and worrying people unnecessarily. They give you all kinds of treatment that you don’t need, your hair falls out and then you feel much worse.

They’ve probably written to say the tests were okay anyway, so there’s no point opening it. Especially as they might have made a mistake, I expect. It could even be a false positive like when they thought I was pregnant all those years ago and I wasn’t. Look at all the fuss that caused.

Anyway Geoffrey, let’s not worry about these doctors. You aren’t overweight, and I’m fit and healthy. Everything’s just fine, so let’s just put this letter in the drawer with the other ones.’

Bernadette picked up the corkscrew and poised it over a new bottle of Merlot, ‘I think I’ll just see if there’s some more tea in this pot.’ ©

Lucy writes about injustice and quite often revenge. Having worked in the criminal justice system as a criminologist she feels that very often the victims are forgotten.

Her writing gives a voice to those who often say ‘it isn’t fair’ and who don’t get heard.
Lucy’s second book The Sun God’s Daughter will be taking that to a new level.

She lives in Brighton and Hove which she claims is a never ending source of material and characters.