A Little Packet

We don’t have pets because I found out the hard way that most furry animals make me sneeze and itch.  However, our neighbours are not similarly afflicted, and they possess a fat feline whose main aim in life is to slink into our garden in the depth of night and leave a little packet of excreta in our carefully tilled flowerbeds.  Each night he slides under our fence, creeps around our weigela, craps until he feels better, and then creeps out again.

Fluffy’s night-time excursions are beginning to get on my nerves.  So far I’ve stuck fake cats with marble eyes in the affected earth, sprinkled black pepper and smelly green ‘Get Off!’ crystals around like glitter, but so far to no effect.  Fluffy is determined not to relieve himself in his own garden, and instead chooses to use ours as his personal toilet.

Does anybody know which plants cats don’t like and steer clear of?  I know there’s one in particular, but cannot think of its name.  When I find out what it is I’m going to flood the garden with it!

I often come across Fluffy trying to stare me out as he sits triumphantly on our neighbours’ garden bench, holding it all in and biding his time until I climb up the stairs to bed.  One of these nights I’m going to leap out from behind the weigela and scare the shit out of him.  On the other hand, thinking about it, perhaps that’s not one of my better ideas…

Waiting in hope for a solution to my poop problem.

Yours excrementitiously, Stevie. x

 

 

Pit Brow Lasses

During a break for lunch at the author signing event last Saturday at Astley Green Colliery, Sam and I had time to come out of the marquee and look around the mining museum next door.  There was a film running that was made in 1910 showing a group of ‘pit brow lasses’ at work at the top of the pit shaft.  Until the Mines & Collieries Act of 1842 was passed, whole families including women and children worked shifts of 11 or 12 hours underground.  Children as young as 5 or 6 worked as ‘trappers’, opening and closing ventilation doors.  Older children and women pushed tubs of coal to the bottom of the shaft.

After 1842, women, girls, and boys under ten were not allowed to work underground in the coal mines.  However, this didn’t stop some impecunious women from dressing as men and carrying on working, as penalties and inspections were few.  Colliery managers were happy to employ women who were strong and reliable, and were used to the language and habits of the miners.  They accepted less pay than the men.  Some women managed to obtain jobs on the surface, but were still paid half the wages of male surface workers, who were often older men or men who had been injured below ground.

Pit brow lasses were female surface workers at British collieries.  Their job was to pick stones from the coal after it had been hauled to the surface by the winding engine.  The film showed the lasses, more often than not smiling, pushing large tubs of coal about and screening the coal for stones.  Their hands and clothes were blackened with soot, and they wore clogs, trousers covered with a skirt and apron (even though trousers were considered ‘unfeminine’ at the time), and old jackets, shawls and headscarves to protect their hair from coal dust.

Can you imagine today’s women doing this type of job?  These 1910 women were strong!  The museum attendant laughed and said how there were few cases of rape in those days, as any marauding male was likely to receive a hefty punch.  Probably the women also had to finish work and then go home to prepare dinner for the family too, and complete other household tasks without the aid of modern labour-saving devices.  They had a hard life and no doubt were worn out by the time they reached their forties.

I’m one of those ‘soft southerners’ only used to tapping away at a computer keyboard.  I wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes at the top of a pit shaft.  I take my hat off to all those women who toiled long hours at the collieries all those years ago, plus also having to run a house, raise a brood of children, and look after their husbands.  Respect!

 

My Second Author Signing Event

Last Friday evening saw Sam and I losing 2 hours that we’d never get back again inching along in a 65 mile queue on the M6.  We were on our way to an evening cruise along the Bridgewater Canal, which had kindly been organised by author Sandra Robinson (aka Scarlett Flame) as a way of getting to know other writers taking part in the signing event at the Lancashire Mining Museum, Astley Green, near Manchester the following day.  Sandra had also arranged the whole author signing event at the museum too.

We finally pulled up at The Old Boat House pub near the museum with 2 minutes to spare!  The whole journey from door to door had taken 6 hours, reinforcing Sam’s hatred of driving down the M6 on a Friday night.  Luckily we weren’t the last ones to arrive, and after another 10 minutes or so Sandra led a crowd of us over the bridge and down to the canal where our narrowboat was waiting.

A very enjoyable cruise followed, with good food and good company (As well as Sandra and her friends I got to talk to authors Zak Jane Keir and Glen R Stansfield and his wife). As an added bonus there was the sight of a most magnificent heron sitting watching us as we sailed regally past.

The next morning we were out of our hotel and at the signing venue by 9am.  The weather was terrible, with howling winds and torrential rain.  It didn’t look good as regards visitors to the marquee!  However, we were all upbeat as we set up our tables and hoped for the best.

Granted, the morning was quiet, but the sun peeped out in the afternoon and I was pleased to have a little flurry of interest, selling one copy of ‘No Sex Please, I’m Menopausal!’, getting 3 more signatures for my mailing list, and giving a copy of ‘Lily: A Short Story’ away to one gentleman who obviously loves the Isle of Wight as much as I do.  He gave me a rock from the Island that he had carved himself in exchange, and vowed to read and review my book in the very near future.  It turned out that his brother was a signing author on another stand, Keith Hoare, who took my business card and kindly informed me that he would check out my books and give them more exposure.  It’s all about networking, isn’t it?

Another bonus was being able to look around the mining museum and watch the 107 year old winding engine in action.  Last year she ran very smoothly but she’s an old lady now, and this year the usual mechanic was not at work and she was playing up a bit in his absence.

Speaking to one of Sandra’s friends who had spent all her life in the area, she told me that until the mine closed in 1970, the miners would come out of the pit, blackened with soot, and go straight into the pub nearby where she worked as a barmaid.  She would have the pints lined up.  The miners would gulp down the beer, notch the cost up on their tab that they paid in full on Fridays, and then run for the bus home.  Can you imagine a pub landlord now letting the customers off paying until they received their wages?

From speaking to the men working on the winding engine, feelings still run very high over the pit closures of the 1970’s and 1980’s when Mrs Thatcher and Arthur Scargill went head-to-head and whole mining communities were decimated in the fall-out.  Yes, to me it’s a terrible shame that a way of life for many has gone forever, but then again, if increasing costs made coal mining non-viable, was there any option but to close?

Unfortunately back at our hotel on Saturday night there were several drunken men in the room next to ours. We gave up on sleep and checked out at 2am on Sunday morning, driving down a near-empty M6 and getting home in only 3 hours.  Sam now loves the M6 as long as he can drive at night, and we both agreed to be nocturnal travellers in the future if it entails driving on either the M25 or the M6 on a Friday evening!

 

 

 

 

 

See You on the Other Side

I’m currently away at an author signing in Manchester, and so this blog has been scheduled.  I’ll be back at my desk on Monday to answer any comments.

Sue Vincent’s blog ‘A Ghost of Myself’ https://scvincent.com/2017/08/17/a-ghost-of-myself/ got me thinking about all the occasions in my life and conversations I’ve had with work colleagues at the hospital which have reinforced my belief that there is life after death.

You’ve only got to speak to nurses, who deal with death on a daily basis, to realise that life does not end with our last breath.  Many times I’ve heard nurses say that they have been with a patient at the moment of death and have felt privileged to watch as their spirit left the body.  Some have told me of their experiences where dying patients have appeared elated at somehow ‘seeing’ long-dead relatives appear before them.

When I had just moved into my first flat aged 20,  I found out that somewhere my deceased uncle was watching over me.  I remember going to a demonstration of clairvoyance in the local area, where the medium singled me out.  I’d always had trouble opening my new front door – the key seemed hard to turn and I was often standing there for ages trying to get inside.  The medium told me that my uncle had seen the difficulty I was having opening my front door, and he assured me I would never have any problem turning the key again.  When I returned home the key turned as though the lock was new, and I never did have any more trouble getting into my flat.

How do you explain that?

More recently the consultant I worked with at the time was at the bedside of his dying mother at her home, and went downstairs for something or other.  When he came back up he saw a huge angel on the upstairs landing, and knew his mother had passed.  He is one of the most sane people I know, and he would never have made this up.

These are only a couple of examples.  I have seen ghosts myself, and as a child had many paranormal experiences, although at the time I didn’t know what they were.  So if any of you are wondering whether there is life after death, don’t wonder any more – I know there is!

If you’re in the area, please come and see me and 37 other authors today (Saturday 19th August) at the Lancashire Mining Museum, Higher Green Lane, Astley, Manchester M29 7JB.  Tickets are £5 for the morning session, £5 for the afternoon session, or £9 for the whole day.  You can buy a ticket on the door or by clicking the link below.   There’s free musical entertainment in the evening. We can meet up and talk about the paranormal, about life, or even about my books!  https://lancashireminingmuseum.org/events/manchester-author-event-2017/

 

The Eyes Have It

I finished training on the new hospital system and yesterday (after a 3 year break) was my first full day let loose as an actual medical secretary.  At 9am, slightly nervous as to which department I would be sent to, I met up with my manager and waited for the news which wasn’t long in coming.  I would be going to ‘Eyes’ for the day, a department I’d not worked in before.

The Eye Clinic is in a modern building at the back of the hospital.  I walked over there with my trusty rucksack and presented at the clinic reception.  The senior secretary was bleeped and I met Sue for the first time, who picked up on my nervousness straight away and reassured me I’d soon get the hang of it.  I was given an office on my own (wonderful!) with a fan and an open window.  Could things get any better?

After a search for a spare set of headphones and a call to I.T to log me into the dictation system, I was ready to type my first letter.  The doctor had a heavy accent and my heart sank, as this is not what you dream of when you’re new in a department where you have to learn the terminology (which takes about 3 months).

I made my first foray out into the corridor on hearing what sounded like ‘antregef treatment’… wtf?  A lovely lady next door soon came to the rescue and told me it was anti vegf treatment.  Oh yes, silly me.

All I can say is thank goodness for Google!  I hate asking anybody for help, and soldiered through the next 10 letters learning all about bilateral geographic atrophy, pseudophakia, superonasal tear, bilateral yag capsulotomy (oh yes, everyone knows about that one!) Intragel vitreous haemorrhage, and oh yes… sectoral PRP and Oc VitA- Pos.

In departments where I’ve worked previously I’ve often got up to 40 letters done in a day.  Yesterday I’d had enough after 10, but felt strangely motivated and glad to be back.  The secretaries were lovely and the offices are modern and bright.

Where will they send me tomorrow?  I think it’ll be Eyes again, but I’ve written down all the unfamiliar words so perhaps I’ll be able to type a few more letters.

No posts tomorrow as I’ll be typing and Googling.  Wish me luck…

 

 

A Load of Old Tat

I don’t know what my US friends call them, but over here we have boot fairs.  We get up extra early in the morning and head off to a designated field to sell our wares from paste tables or fold up picnic tables, making sure we’ve loaded all our tat in the boot the night before.

Sam and I did just that today.  We set the alarm for 05:45 and by the time we’d arrived at the Sunday boot fair, hundreds of other people were already there, so goodness knows what time they got up!  We were one of the last to arrive, but the vultures had seen us.  Before we’d even turned off the car’s engine they were flocking round, flapping their black wings and asking us what we had in the back.  Sam replied drily that it was a load of old tat from our loft, but nevertheless, the vultures would not go away until they’d seen it in person.

First out was our Fortnum and Mason wicker basket.  Somebody had bought it for us years before full of Christmas food, and the basket had been used as a toy box until the last grandchild had outgrown all the toys.  Now the vultures were falling over themselves to buy it.  Sam said £10 which put some of them off, but one brave soul baited us down to £8 and walked off clutching his prize.

As I was laying out Dot’s cardigans and jackets, female vultures were flocking, turning them over, and asking how much I wanted for them.  I said 3 for £1, which went down rather well.  Sam sold his spare set of speakers, and all we were left with were some books, a few of Dot’s blouses, and a blow-up airbed.

Nothing was shifting after 10.30, and the crowds were thinning out.  We decided to pack up and go home.  As we sat back in the car and started the engine…nothing.  The battery was as flat as a pancake.  There we were in the middle of a field surrounded by tat on all sides, and we were going nowhere.  Sam ended up phoning the AA, who arrived after an hour or so and provided us with a new battery for £140 (Sam had been meaning to get one and hadn’t got around to it) so we could go on our merry way.

Moral of the story: Always carry a mobile phone, and always change a car’s battery if it starts to fail.  Our one had let us down a couple of times before, and had now let us down for good!  Thankfully the sun was shining, the sausage roll van was doing a roaring trade, and there were three festibogs on site just in case.  We were seriously out of pocket, but were pleased to make it home again just in time for lunch.

No blog tomorrow as I’ll be at work.  See you again on Tuesday!

Stevie Turns Reviewer

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book reviews, reviewer

I’m starting to get emails from authors requesting reviews.  I keep on reading that authors must read as much as they write, and so I’ve said yes to a few requests.  So many authors write about how they never read anymore as they’re too busy writing.  However, if nobody reads at all because they’re all too busy with their job or hobby, then what’s the point of writing books in the first place?

I’ve always enjoyed reading, but to be honest, only certain genres appeal to me.  If you’ve got a fantasy or Sci-fi book,  horror story, erotic or vampire novel or anything based in the future where characters are ‘shifters’ and have other-wordly names, then I’m afraid I’m not the reviewer for you.  Also unfortunately I’m not too keen on detective novels/mysteries but some of these do appeal, usually the ones written by British authors (I don’t understand some of the American vernacular).

I like to read autobiographies, women’s fiction family dramas, contemporary romances and witty novels, coming-of-age stories, and psychological suspense/thrillers.  If your book fits the bill then please send me an email (details below) and I will consider adding it to my TBR list.  All I ask in return is that you sign up to my mailing list.  The subscription form should automatically pop up on this WordPress blog – please let me know if it doesn’t.

So… Stevie is going to read more.  Apart from blogs, I’m all written out at the moment and what with going back to work as well, I feel that I’ve written enough to be getting on with.  I’ve got it all out of my system, and when the inspiration strikes, then I’ll write another novel.  Until then I’m not going to worry about it.  I’m going to type my clinic letters 2 days per week, write my blogs when I think of a subject, and sit on my decking when I can and read your lovely books on my Kindle!

Yes, I only want copies sent direct to my Kindle, but first I have to authorise your email address on my Amazon account before you can send it.  So send me a request and details of your book to stevie@stevie-turner-author.co.uk (please put Review Request in the subject box), sign up to my mailing list if you’d be so kind, and we’ll take it from there.  When I’ve got enough books to be getting on with, I’ll stop taking on any more until I’ve read them.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Regards, Stevie. x

 

 

Not Skirting the Issue

Have a ponder on this one while I’m out at work this morning…I know this topic is going to cause controversy, but I’m going to go ahead with it anyway.

On my BBC News app yesterday I read about a young lady, Gina, and her sister standing in a crowd at the British Summer Time music festival in London’s Hyde Park on a hot day in July this year.  A photo shows Gina wearing a long-sleeved top and a very short skirt barely covering her genitals.  Her sister was more conservatively dressed in a long black skirt which reached to her mid-calf.

As the sisters stood listening to a band, a man standing nearby in the crowd offered them some chips.  Gina accepted.  The man then asked her lots of questions and looked her up and down, laughing about her to his friend.  He then brushed up against her, and without her knowing put his phone between her legs and took a photo up her skirt.  Gina saw the photo out of the corner of her eye and knew it was her as he laughingly showed the result to his friend.

Gina grabbed the phone and ran towards the security team. The man followed her through the crowd and ran into the team screaming for his phone back and lying that he hadn’t taken the picture.  The police were called, and one of the police told Gina that she should be able to go to a festival in 30 degree heat and wear a skirt without worrying about what might happen.  They checked the photo, and because it was not ‘graphic’, as Gina was wearing underwear, they informed her there was not much they could do about it.  The police made the man delete the picture and closed the case.  However, her case was re-opened when Gina set up a petition to amend the law and make ‘upskirt’ photography a sexual offence, just like it is in Scotland.   There was another photo of Gina at a similar festival the following week…wearing exactly the same skirt.

My opinion is that of course Gina should feel free to wear a skirt at a festival, but is she asking for trouble wearing a skirt that barely covers her genitals?  Interestingly her sister, wearing the longer skirt, was not similarly affected.  I’m not advocating a return to the Victorian neck-to-ankle clothing, but many young men at festivals can lose all inhibitions and can act quite feral if they are part of a group of males tanked up with copious amounts of alcohol.  Most women are by nature less physically strong than men, and should be mindful of what could happen if they dress provocatively and give out the wrong signals.  Many ‘gentlemen’ these days are unfortunately not the gentlemen of the 1950’s, doffing their hats to the ladies and giving up their seats to the ‘weaker sex’ on trains and buses.

Should Gina have worn the same skirt to another festival?  As a teenager I wasn’t even allowed to go out with make-up on, let alone wearing a skirt in the shape of a bandage.  My father used to point at me and say “You can wash that sh** off your face before you go!” In my opinion Gina should have learned a valuable lesson and covered up a bit more.  Boys will be boys, and girls have to be a bit more careful!

What do you think?

Going Back to Work

On Monday I went back to work for the first time after a 3 year hiatus.  During those three years I’d undergone a major operation on my neck and 30 radiotherapy treatments for thyroid cancer, and also had been looking after my 92 year old mother until her death earlier this year.  I was now, of my own choice, a medical secretary for 2 days per week,  covering for holiday leave and sickness in any department where I was needed.

It felt strange walking to the hospital from where most staff park their cars for free (too many staff and visitors and not enough parking spaces at the hospital).  It’s about a mile from the rugby club’s authorised parking area to the hospital, and as I walked I noticed a twinge in my left knee that hadn’t been there 3 years previously.  Nevertheless, still determined as ever not to take the courtesy shuttle bus, I carried on walking, trusty rucksack on my back, and waved at cars honking at me, recognising some of my son’s friends as they went on their way to work.

Just for that day I had training on the new I.T system.  In the future it is hoped that the hospital will be entirely paperless, but at the moment this task is about halfway complete.  I must admit that the new system left my head spinning after only about half an hour.  At the age of nearly 60 it takes longer for me to assimilate any new information, and the trainer was moving along at an alarming pace.  I even left my umbrella in the training room, so ‘moggidored’ was I with 3 hours of unfamiliar exercises to do.

Next came the visit to I.T for a password to log into the system.  I didn’t have an I.D badge as the machine had broken that very day.  No I.D badge = no password, and so I came away slightly annoyed that I’d have to drive over there again on Thursday to have my photo taken and badge prepared before I can start earning any wages.

All in all not a very good start!  Hopefully in time I’ll get used to the new system and can actually be productive again.  At the moment I’m dreading that first day in one of the offices where I’ll have to keep asking ‘How do I do this?’  Over the years I’ve had many secretaries asking me the same question on the old system, but now I feel just like a newbie.  Nothing is familiar except the hospital corridors;  I must have walked hundreds of miles along them in my 13 years there.

So… there’ll be less time for blogging and writing, but going back to work is something I want to do.  There’s something satisfying about earning your own money, enjoying your job, and feeling like a normal and useful member of society again.  I don’t care that I’m working in a hospital, just as long as I’m not staying in there as a patient!

 

An Evening at the Races

We went to the races last  Saturday evening – a Christmas 2016 BuyAGift present from our eldest son and his wife.  We picked Lingfield Park racecourse as we’d never been there before. Sam’s sister and her husband live near there, and we arranged to stay overnight and meet up with them for Sunday lunch.

The instructions said that dress was ‘smart but casual’.  We didn’t quite know what to wear.  It was rather hot, so I plumped for a below-the-knee white dress with some embroidery on that had previously been too small for me but now was a tad on the big side.  Sam wore smart trousers and a shirt and tie, but no jacket.

When we arrived I could see that some people were in jeans, tee-shirts and trainers.  Others were ‘dressed up to the nines’ and looked like they might be attending a garden party in Buckingham Palace afterwards.  Some of the younger women had unfortunately forgotten to put any trousers or skirts on, and seemed to be wearing only long tops as they tottered about on impossibly high heels in the soft grass.  I thanked my lucky stars for my flat sandals and the strong sense of decorum that Dot had drummed into me from an early age (am I getting old?)!

There were 7 races to bet on, and then a Simply Red tribute band was going to finish off the evening.  I don’t usually bet on horses, but being at Lingfield it would have been rude not to.  I put £2 down on ‘King of Swing’.  It lost.  However, I was luckier in the second race, and ‘Iballisticvin’ boosted the contents of my purse by £10.80.  I decided to put half of my winnings on ‘Mr Frankie’ in the third race, but I think it was only running with three legs that day.

This horse racing business could be addictive for some!  I remember a few years back seeing one of our neighbours, red-faced with anger, scouring the village for her husband who had withdrawn all the money in their savings account and lost the lot on the horses.  He never came home for a week.  Luckily I’m not that way inclined, but considered throwing in the saddle after ‘Diamond Dougal’, similarly lacking in a fourth leg, sauntered home when he felt like it.

Sam reminded me that we only live once.  I gave him a kiss and put £3 on ‘Kiss Me Daily’.  It lost.  However, a win by ‘Getna’ in the 6th race gave me another £8.  In a mad moment I put all the winnings on ‘Sweet Pursuit’ in the last race.  Er…
My grandfather was a gambler for most of his life – horses, dogs, you name it and he’d put a bet on it.  Thankfully I don’t seem to be taking after him, as the visit to Lingfield will keep me going for quite a while!

Do you like to bet on the horses?