Short Story 2020

Just You Wait

‘Bloody queues,’ he said, towards the first person that met his eye. He stepped closer and the woman backed away. ‘I’m not toxic, love. Those masks will kill you quicker than a virus. Breathing in your own carbon dioxide – it’s not natural.’
     The woman replied but he held up his hand.
     ‘Save your breath, pet. Can’t understand a word you’re saying with that thing on your face.’
     The queue shuffled forwards every few minutes and after twenty minutes, Bert realised that people were heading into the community centre rather than the pub.
     ‘What’s going on in there?’ he asked.
     The woman in front gestured to her mask and shrugged. Bert turned to the man behind him.
     ‘What’s everyone waiting here for, lad?’ said Bert.
     ‘Flu jab,’ he replied.
     Bert waved his newspaper. ‘Cheers, son. That was a close shave. I don’t want a microchip in my arm, thank you. Don’t want that Bill Gates watching everything I do.’
     The young man furrowed his brow.
     ‘You lot are a like a herd of sheep, with your masks and what have you. Morons.’
     The young man responded in a way that made others in the queue turn around.
     ‘Pub queue? Is that what you said? Yes, I’ll join it now,’ and with that he headed down the street, deliberately walking alongside the train of people waiting patiently for their vaccinations.
     He was a little out of breath by the time he got to The Feathers, where there was more of a gathering than a queue. A member of staff stood at the door. Bert had no idea who it was because they were wearing one of those blooming muzzles. When he got closer, he noticed that people were getting their phones out and holding them against a black square by the entrance.
     ‘Bert, how’s your Mary?’ said the woman behind the mask.
     ‘She’s fine, thanks. Stir crazy,’ he said. ‘What’s all that about?’
     ‘You’re supposed to wear a mas– ‘
     ‘Okay, but you need to scan this app so we have your contact details for Track and Trace.’
     ‘No phone,’ he said. ‘I’m not having the government tracking me while I’m having a pint.’ At that moment, his pocket began to ring. ‘That’ll just be Mary.’
     The landlady rolled her eyes. ‘Well, at least fill out this form, Bert. I can’t let you in otherwise,’ she told him.
     Reluctantly, he took the pen, filled out the details, went inside and headed for the bar.
     ‘Can you go and sit down, please? Any of the vacant tables,’ the barman said.
     ‘I’ll be over there, with Joe,’ said Bert.
     ‘Sorry, you can only sit with people from your own household.’
     ‘Really? So if I want a pint, I have to go and drag my wife, in here?’
     ‘You know that’s not what I mean. You can’t mix with other households indoors.’
     Bert walked away muttering and took a seat at the closest empty table to Joe.
     ‘Alright, Joe?’
     ‘Aye, Bert. How’s your Mary doing?’
     ‘Bored, pal. Been shielding for months. Missing the grandkids.’
     ‘Better to be safe,’ said Joe, and returned to his crossword.
     ‘Safe? It’s a hoax, all this,’ replied Bert, picking up a bottle of hand santizer from the table. ‘Looney lefties,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Probably have shares in hand cleaner.’

One week later, Bert was making a pot of tea when the phone rang.
     ‘Hi Bert, it’s Joe,’ 
     ‘Hiya fella, I’ll not be at the pub today.’
     ‘No, me neither,’ said Joe. ‘Did you get the call?
     ‘What call?’
     ‘From those track and tracers. Turns out one of the staff at The Feathers has come down with the Covid.’
     ‘Nah, they couldn’t track me, mate. I wrote ‘Jeremy Corbyn’ where they asked for my name and ‘Down the allotment,’ where it asked for my address. Bert chuckled.
     ‘You probably need to do that self-isolation, Bert,’ advised Joe.
     ‘Can’t mate. I need to pop down the chemist. Our Mary’s got a bit of a temperature…’


The P-Word

Panic! I have something called General Anxiety Disorder. I’ve had it for a lot of years and, basically, I exist in a near permanent state of anxiety, to one degree or another. Silly things like having to talk on the phone to someone I don’t know or having to go on a bus. Many of us do this thing called ‘catastrophizing’ which is, essentially, imagining the worst possible scenario for any given situation – even I didn’t see this coming when the news from China broke!

So, I just wanted to say that it’s okay to feel anxious or panicky about the situation. Change is scary and sudden change is scarier still. We should all be staying at home, if at all possible. As I keep saying, social distancing is for those that have to go out, to keep them as safe as possible, but if you don’t need to go out, you should practice social isolation. That doesn’t mean you can’t sit in your garden or stick your head out of an open window to get some fresh air. It doesn’t mean you can’t talk to people online (email, social media or messenger), Skype, etc (or even an old-fashioned phone call).

Because people have been a bit lax about listening to guidelines (they have been pretty ambiguous), I predict a rise in scarier stories in the press – the stories about the preparations that are in place IF we don’t look after one another and stay at home. So, if you’re a panicker, like me, remember that this is designed to scare you. It’s supposed to make you think about the worst case scenario, so we don’t get in to a situation where the army is deployed to keep us in line. It’s much nicer if we come to the conclusion that we’re safer at home, our families are safer, our vulnerable are safer, our countries are safer. If you feel stressed or panicky, talk it through with someone. Say what you’re scared of and listen to how many people say, ‘Me too!’ We’re all in this crazy situation together.

My husband is back at work this week, after a week’s holiday, so I can’t practise social isolation as I’d prefer so we have a procedure in place to minimise risk: in through back door, strip work clothes – straight in the washer, disinfect bag, wash hands and then upstairs in to the bath. We’ll be on separate sofas and in separate bedrooms for the duration. It’s all very weird but we have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get us through this as quickly, and as SAFELY, as possible. 

Take care and stay safe. x

The C Word

Firstly, I hope that you and your family/friends are well. Secondly, let’s talk about the current situation.

‘You’re so lucky, being able to stay at home! I wish I could.’ If I had a pound for everyone who’d ever said this to me, I’d be a rich woman.

Now that the advice is to stay home, people seem more likely than ever to want to avoid being quarantined. Social isolation is different to social distancing. Social distancing is the best you can do to avoid contracting C-19 if you MUST go out. Social isolation is a step you can take to try and save lives. It won’t kill you not to go to the beach on a warm spring day – if you go, it might lead to the death of someone you know when the virus spreads. This is not a holiday, it is a pandemic.

I’ve lived in some form of social isolation for a long time. When I was 10, I was diagnosed with M.E. and housebound for 6 months – no school, no friends, no internet. I saw my immediate family and, occasionally, a doctor (oh, and once, the parish priest – that was a bit scary). Books became very important to me. They can take you anywhere, even when you’re stuck indoors or in your garden. And you can get them online – you don’t need to risk infecting booksellers. You can get them downloaded (you can get a Kindle app, that allows you to read Kindle books, I believe).

Social isolation can leave you feeling a bit lost and aimless (and can give you time to worry) – it’s important to implement some kind of routine, even something as basic as I’ll do housework 9-10am and then have a cuppa or I’ll have a movie afternoon every day at 2pm. Don’t be tempted to lie in bed all day unless you feel poorly – it’s a tough habit to break when life goes back to normal…and it will, for most PROVIDING WE ARE SOCIALLY RESPONSIBLE.

Most of us have a to-do list of jobs that we never seem to get to, at home or in the garden. Now is a good time to try and tackle the list – you get something to focus on, a sense of achievement for every task you complete and a sense of normality.

You will be able to get what you need, so please stop panic buying – we have no change whatsoever to the amount of food/drink available to us in this country. Manufacture continues, imports continue, and distribution continues (and it would continue more quickly if you stay at home – think of the roads like arteries, carrying essential nutrients through – don’t clog them up because you think the air is less virussy at the coast or up a mountain). 

Science is working on this thing but we are the ones who can do our best to protect each other in the meantime. If you don’t have to go out, don’t. Protect our frontline staff, whether they be emergency workers, shelf stackers, carers, HGV drivers, taxi drivers and so on. Do your bit. Oh, and that also means keeping your children close by, if they aren’t at school. Children are amazing, of course, but they have the unique ability to drive their parents crazy – that doesn’t mean that you send them out in to the streets. You keep them home, you keep them safe – it’s as simple as that.

If you deliberately ignore advice designed to keep us safe, you are risking this situation lasting longer than necessary. Personally, I would never sleep a peaceful sleep again if I thought my selfish actions had caused one death.  Some people may feel differently…but I never want to meet those people. Look out for your neighbours and if you need help, ask someone. There are more people that want to help than harm. Long may it stay that way.

Stay safe. Speak soon.





I blame the parents!

So, how do you do Christmas? Up until I was in my mid-teens, I thought it was perfectly normal to have people you didn’t know well spend Christmas Day with you, whether it be for Christmas lunch or tea. It was usual to wrap a gift to give to a child you didn’t know (and would never meet). We were brought up being told that it’s better to give than to receive (although we still got far more presents than our parents could probably afford, was it not for my mam preparing for Christmas from the January sales onwards).

We have hosted distant family, friends, an old man with no family (that my dad got talking to in the village). Anyone that we hear about that has nowhere to go somehow finds a place at our table, that seems to expand and contract to fit the people around it. We’ve tried to carry on the tradition that my parents started, now that we host Christmas (in our tiny little house) and we do takeaway meals/deliveries for the people we encounter that can’t come or can’t deal with the chaos (eight or nine people and a many, many dogs). This year, my dad mentioned a local man liked to see our annual menu (there’s a story behind the menu: we have a dog with separation anxiety so doesn’t like to be alone. So, we said that we would host Christmas lunches from then onwards and, since we had inconvenienced everyone, we vowed to offer the best meal we could, hence the menu. We try to offer four choices per course, just like in a pub or restaurant and release a menu every October, so guests can choose). Anyhow, it turns out that he’s alone as he doesn’t see his family, so we’ve offered a takeaway (with my parents being delivery drivers). Not sure if he’s taking us up on the offer yet, but it’s an option.

Another brilliant thing we’re involved in, is a charity called Feeding Families. They co-ordinate donors (who wish to give a Christmas hamper) to recipients (who are in need of a bit of help this year). There is a set list of items and you buy them and deliver to the family during Christmas week. The feeling of giving someone a bit of a break at Christmas is amazing. Our whole family is getting involved: my sister, parents, auntie. I’m so proud of the generosity of people in this region. The organisers deserve a huge amount of praise as they are on target to help over 1200 families in need this year (so far).

I’m so grateful that my parents gave me the gift of caring, as not everyone does, and I’m glad I had such wonderful role models. Bill Murray, in Scrooged, says it best:

Social Media Detox

When I was first diagnosed with M.E., it was the mid-eighties and I was a young girl. There were no mobile phones and although there were home computers (we had an Acorn Electron and an Atari console), there was no email or social media. I was essentially house-bound with only books and daytime TV for company (aside from my family, of course). It was a lonely existence. I think this explains my attachment (or call it dependency) on Social Media – people on tap! 

I’ve realised that Social Media (mainly Facebook; Twitter less so) had begun to monopolise my day. I was worried that I would miss out on something and kept reaching for my phone to check my notifications. Or, if I’d logged on to my laptop, I’d invariably forget about what I wanted to do and find myself immersed in friends’ worlds. There were the things you wanted to see but sometimes people would share things that might feed a particular anxiety that I have or you might see things that are upsetting (missing people, missing dogs and so on). Facebook is a little like The Truman Show – millions of stories being played out in realtime. It started to feel like Too Much. I was almost more invested in other people’s stories than my own life – it was easier. 

On Sunday, I decided to take a break, just to see if I could. It’s unnerving, deliberately isolating myself again, but it feels necessary. It feels freeing but I still have the feeling that I’ll be missing things. And even after one day, I’ve seen a difference: yesterday I got a job done in the house that I’ve wanted to do for months. Yes, the TV was on and you could call that a distraction but it doesn’t draw you in like Social Media does. Today, I did some admin that had a deadline and I’ve been doing my Creative Writing homework without clicking across to Facebook and losing myself for several hours. I have given myself some time. Next week, I’m going to start working on my novel again (after I clear some more things from my To Do list).

Why now? I needed to conserve some energy, as my husband has a big birthday this month and we have a lot of things planned (nothing most people would call big, but any commitment is big to someone with an unpredictable condition like ME). What I’m missing most is a place to put the comments and thoughts I would usually post, so my blog will have to be a kind of diary for the next month or so. It will be interesting to see how long I can keep this up. Hopefully, long enough to get Fresh Heir completed. 



I’m about to sign up for another term at a local Creative Writing class and it dawned on me that I’ve been doing these classes for the better part of a decade. People come and go, but there’s a core group that is there more often than not. What struck me as odd is the fact that no real friendships have formed over time – we take each other or leave each other (or perhaps they take me or leave me!) In most situations where there’s a shared interest some kind of connection is formed but not in this case. We feel comfortable (and trusting) enough to share our work, at its most raw, but don’t swap email addresses or add each other on social media. I attend the class as much for the social aspect as I do to learn from the tutor (and other class members) – I don’t see many different people from day to day. Is it weird or do you think other people in the class spend time with each other without including me? Or, have I been watching too much Community over the summer?

Always learning.

When I posted in 2017, I told you I had enrolled on an MA course. Happily, I graduated in 2018 with an MA in Creative Writing, despite some challenges. I enjoy learning and the academic world, so I thought the natural next step would be a PhD. I am a researcher at heart.

The first issue was actually finding a university that offered online research opportunities. It may surprise you to learn that inclusivity doesn’t include everyone – it surprised me. Organisations are keen to encourage those with physical or mental challenges to participate (which is great) but don’t always consider those whose challenge is actually getting to a place to study. Telecommunication is good (although, again, won’t suit everyone) but many universities actually require students to physically attend at least once a term. Even once a year is too much for some people. Sadly, conditions like ME and anxiety don’t give you time off to attend uni. I’m using those as they are the conditions that I’m familiar with – there are many, many others. I can only write about this from my own experience.

I found a university that ticked all the boxes.  What next? A research proposal. Neither of my previous courses prepared me for a PhD application. I don’t know anyone, personally, who has studied at this level so turned to Google. I found it lacking, for once. I felt like people like me probably shouldn’t be trying to infiltrate academia and that it must be knowledge passed on like hereditary titles, to those in the middle or upper classes.  I cobbled something together, after reading that a proposal is simply stating the direction you’d like your research to take; the supervisor would guide you and, as you progress, you will fine tune it. 

I was invited, by email, to attend an interview. Another hurdle. At this point they knew I suffered from ME, so I explained that I had difficulty in travelling. They kindly agreed to a telephone interview, which I stumbled my way through (it wasn’t a good communication day and I think I overused the word ‘thingy’). Apparently, I got my point across and I was asked to narrow down the focus of my research (as I’d expected). My potential supervisor was friendly and I think she understood my strengths and limitations. I was thrilled, as I know how hard it is to be accepted on a research degree course.

As time went on, I heard nothing more. It felt silly to email them and ask when I’d get more details (I had funding to apply for). Weeks became months. The supervisor had taken a sabbatical and then asked for more information, which I provided. Still nothing. I corresponded with someone else, who acted as a liaison between me and the potential supervisor. Nothing. I emailed at the beginning of September and received an Out-of-Office reply – that person had retired (no mention of that). I sent an email to the Admissions office and was finally told that they’d now decided my research was not robust enough. I was told by several people that I had four worthy projects within my initial proposal, so I was gobsmacked. There was no offer to help me pinpoint the proposal that would work for them so I assume they didn’t want to work with me. Again, it’s just an assumption because I have no-one to ask. I googled ‘working class PhD’ and was really disheartened by what I read. I’d hoped to be inspired but it seems like it’s somewhat of a no-man’s land: considered elitist by family/friends and not elite enough by colleagues/peers.

My disappointment turned to annoyance. There are few PhD opportunities; fewer if you’re from the wrong background. There are fewer still if you have any kind of condition that limits your physical attendance at the university (while they still claim to be disability-friendly). It feels like organisations need to be educated on the fact that we, the limited, exist and want to learn. In the days of computers and tech, it should be easier than ever. I’m applying somewhere else. They’ve made it clear that they prefer students to visit the campus, but there was a note of a ‘But…’ I don’t want special treatment. I want to be able to have the same opportunities as a standard applicant. And if I fail, I’ll do so on my own merit or lack thereof!



All new!

It’s been a long time since I updated this blog and WP has changed a lot since then. I might make a mistake (or many). I’m going to try and blog more regularly, particularly about my trials and tribulations with higher educations. This is just a test post, to see if I understand the WP tools, so I’ll speak to you again soon. Keep your fingers crossed that this works!


This year has passed by in the blink of an eye – it doesn’t seem long since last New Year’s Eve. I always like to reflect on the year gone by, but I don’t really want to dwell on this one: it has been a nightmare. I wish you could switch the year off and on again at midnight, to reset things and make everything ok, but sadly, it’s just not possible.

I generally try to stay positive but I’m going to struggle to find them for 2017. It began with my in-laws being hospitalised and, a week in, we lost my mother-in-law. That left us to try and get the best possible care for my father-in-law and, let me tell you, it was not easy. There are obstacles thrown in to your path and you suddenly have to become an expert in elderly care. You also have to find the courage to stand your ground and a voice you didn’t think you had! You also have your eyes opened as to the lack of dementia support. Luckily, we fought and got him the best care but, sadly, we lost him last month. It was a release for him but a loss for us – a generation of the family. There’s still a lot to sort out, I’m sure. The Elf Walk was a great way to honour Arthur and I hope we can all do it again in 2018 – it raised valuable funds for The Alzheimer’s Society.

Even our dog had dementia, and we dedicated a lot of time to caring for her. Lots of people will read that and roll their eyes. I feel sorry for those people. We loved our dog like a child (nobody can quantify that) and when her day came, we did what we could to make it as easy as possible for her. It was three months ago and we miss her. She left a hole bigger than her size.

My grandad had a fall down the stairs a few weeks ago and is being cared for in hospital. Well-cared for, thankfully. That left us to care for my grandma as the council is too short-staffed to provide full care. The family is drained but what other option is there? I hate to use the term ‘Tory Britain’, but I detest our current government and I wonder if 2018 will bring our first workhouse (cleverly named, but a workhouse all the same).

Foolishly, despite all of these things going on, I embarked on an MA. What a fool. I’d love to say that all the factors above contributed to my poor feedback but I’m just not engaged in the course. Dare I say that I’m lazy or not clever enough? I want my own voice, rather than that of an educational establishment. I’ll never conform, so I can’t imagine that 2018 will bring me a graduation ceremony. I’m ok with that. I’m ok with saying that I’m not good enough – writing, art, etc. It doesn’t mean that I’ll stop doing those things…

I want to look for some positives for 2018 but I just don’t want to feel the pressure to achieve anything. I think we just need to…’be’…for a while. We’ll do our bit to support others and maybe treat ourselves a little more kindly than we have done but I’m not going to force resolutions upon us this year.

Sorry for the negativity but if you can’t be honest in a blog, what’s the point. If you’ve read this (or even if you’ve just skimmed to the bottom), I wish you the year that you deserve: good health, good fortune, good friends and happiness to you and those you care about. I genuinely hope that 2018 is an improvement on 2017.

Pre-Christmas Catch-up!

Where do I start? On a light note, perhaps? We went to see The Killers in concert in Newcastle and they were incredible. I have wanted to see them live for years so we splashed out on the VIP Package – let me tell you, VIP obviously stood for Very Impulsive Purchase because it certainly didn’t get us any preferential treatment. Yes, we got a decent seat but aside from that, still had to stand in the cold (even though we were led to believe we’d get in early). There was a VIP ‘host’: this host simply passed us our special ‘merch’ – a cheap-looking tote bag, supposedly designed and endorsed by the band, and a VIP pass that didn’t even bear the band’s name. The fact that these items littered the arena seating after the show says it all… We also had our pre-Christmas lunch at the fantastic Blackfriars in Newcastle – if you ever get the chance to eat here, do, it’s a wonderful place: warm ambiance, great service and the food is always delicious.

And then there was the bad stuff. My father-in-law was taken in to hospital at the beginning of November and the family got The Call on the 3rd. We were all around his bedside but he obviously didn’t want to leave until we gave him some peace. He passed away few hours after we left, having been stable all day. It’s been an awful year for loss and it never gets any easier.

Paling in comparison, my MA isn’t going well, either. It’s not what I expected (poetry-heavy and very little input from tutors). I just had my first round of feedback for the first module and it wasn’t good (I know there was a lot going on with Amber and Arthur passing away but I can’t say I’ve given it the attention I should have). Essentially, I don’t know how I’ve dared claim to be a writer for the past decade – I have issues with structure, my poetry is rubbish (I agree) and so on. I must admit, it’s making me regret my decision. I wanted to learn how to write properly and, although I accept the criticism, there are no pointers as to where I went wrong. Not one of my better decisions…

Back on a higher note. We were honoured to take part in the first ever Elf Walk in Newcastle (The Alzheimer’s Society) and we participated in memory of Arthur and Amber, who both suffered from Dementia. Our team (me, my husband, two nieces and my sister-in-law) raised around £500. It was a 5km walk, which sounded impossible (or improbable) but we took it slowly – there was a woman, walking alone, on two crutches – inspirational! Check out the ITV and BBC local news websites and look out for me among the sea of elves. It’s like Where’s Wally (Where’s Holly?)

That’s all for now. Going to try and come back more often.