Stories · from · the · Stone · Caravan

A double shot of gin, over ice in a collins glass, a generous splash of absinthe, topped up with indian tonic water.

Delish.

Does this have a name?
I don't believe for a second no one has done this before...

.... at work, rest and play.

I'm scrambling to finish my application to the Bird's Eye/Scriptfactory 'She Writes' programme - a year of professional development for eight women film writers.
And I've just waved off guests, John and Corry, who were my very first (practically my *only*) guests at the Stone Caravan, back in 2007. They arrived in June in the midst of records rains and flooding. Oh. And the birth of my second niece (my sister only reproduces during National Emergencies. It's a hobby of hers...)

This time around I could offer them a better, toad-free, bedroom in London. Corry is enjoying the fruits of a bursary to finish her novel about the the regency underworld, and is spending it on practical research (eating venison at Rules, founded 1797, hot pot at Simpsons, founded 1757 and staying in Beckford's Tower at Bath).
I wish I could join them in the eccentric old bugger's tower - but I have the afore mentioned application to finish by Thursday.

Hey ho.

I need to find a mid-range to upmarket restaurant, European or German style, which could seat a table of 16 business people? Mitte would be ideal.

I'm feeling lost, as all my previous Berlin contacts have moved on...

I recently finished a short story which had been gathering dust on my hard drive for almost 3 years.

I had put it aside as unproductive when there are so many other projects which need work, but someone remembered it and asked if it was abandoned or not, and suddenly I couldn't bear not to have finished it.

The few days of peace between Christmas and New Year helped, as did the calm that settled with the snow, and it was done, at about 2am on December 31st.
By then the fire had died past embers, and it was a cold trip to bed, clutching a hot water bottle and a copy of "Dead Souls". It took a while I get to sleep, and I was suddenly aware of a nagging grief that the story was done, and that particular nest was empty.

I've never noticed this before, but wonder if it hasn't been trundling along all this time. Perhaps I feel happier with a warm hard drive full of "works in progress" which may or may not be of any value?

I must finish some more, and find out.

As of 2am this morning.
It's a boy, which has everyone a little stunned, Y chromosomes being vanishing rare on both side of the family. Little Henry's Mum is one of three sisters, his Dad is the only brother of 3 sisters, his mum was one of 5 sisters, and there were no brothers in his maternal grandmother had no brother's either.

I imagine both parents are staring at the new model of baby right now in a slight daze, looking at the attachments and wondering where the instructions are.

I say imagine, as they are stranded at the hospital. The epic journey out of the valley was clearly very well timed - back home no one can get out of the yard at the moment, let alone onto the mainroad, and my mother is stuck there babysitting the two existing ankle-biters and going stir crazy.

- and will book into a hotel tonight to avoid the possibility of a snow in.

It's all very sensible and I'll sleep much easier tonight (my mum has taken on the two existing ankle-biters, so no worries there) but I feel a bit cheated out of the dramatic airlift!

The Bridleway running behind the cottage - it used to run from the old hamlet, now ruins in the bracken, and the nearest town, but now it goes nowhere, as a huge section was washed away in the 1950s, and is now impassable even on foot.



And this is my lovely little icebox!

- in no particular order.

The SolarVenti: No mould. No weasels. No birds' nests. 'nuff said.

Crocs:
as ugly as sin, but over the past 3 years they have survived fire, flood, burial in several inches of mud, squatters, attack by starving mice - and, after a rinse, they came up as bright and and yellow and obnoxious as ever. They are warm, non-slip, keep my feet toes and practically glow in the dark.

LEDs:
Bright and white and tiny and cheap, and all the power they need can be supplied in a few cranks of a handle. Who needs electricity?

The wind-up radio:
I just wish it would charge on sunlight while I was away; the old one did, but this one is stubborn, and likes me to pay attention to its handle if I want to hear some Handel.

Paper Towels:
I buy recycled and use it for *everything* before it goes into the fire.

Hand sanitiser:

The blow-poker!
This is a superb invention - a long hollow steel tube with a mouthpiece at one end and two prongs on the other. Wedge it between the logs, blow - and rouse the dampest fire into action in seconds...

An insulated travel mug:
Keeps tea warm for at least 40 minutes.

Whisky.

It's snowing again.