knowregrets
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Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in the "knowregrets" journal:
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11:18 am
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Ouch
Being the complete idiot am, I have broken my arm. This is rather annoying as it is in a heavy and unpleasant cast, I can't work (being a temp I don't get sick pay) and can't really type (this is taking forever with just my left hand), so can't amuse myself by writing. I can't hold a book to read, There is nothing on television and I can't hold a pencil to do a kakuru, sodoko or hanjie. Any suggestions as to ways I can keep myself amused until I get a fibre-glass cast (bearing in mind I am stinky because I can't wash properly) would be gratefully received!
Current Mood:  sore
Tags: arm, boredom, broken bones
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12:21 am
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Original fiction: Division D: Chapter 1 part 1
Twenty trainees were standing there, Lined up to attention. Chezz was the smallest – she was used to that. Chezz always seemed to be the smallest wherever she went. She glanced around her at the others. She didn’t recognise them, except one, She recognised her from training. “Just my luck,” she thought, “just my luck to get her on my first rotation.”
It wasn’t that the girl was nasty or irritating or anything, actually Chezz didn’t even know her. She just knew of her. Trainee Castor. She had been the most visible person in Chezz’s basic training group – Chezz had noticed her from the start.
At first what Chezz had noticed hadn’t been her looks it had been her confidence. On their first day they had all turned up at the training centre, 1,000 of them. Most, like Chezz, 18 or 19, straight from stage 2 education. Some, like her, a few years older, had come in from other careers or stage 3 ed. She was a stage 3 ed person. You could tell.
She was the most striking person there. Even in their civilian clothes, most of the trainees blended into an amorphous mass, virtually indistinguishable, despite all the efforts they had gone to, to make a good first impression. Chezz hadn’t even tried. She knew her looks would never stand out so she had gone for blend. She hadn’t looked as if she had tried either. But then she hadn’t needed to.
Trainee Caster was tall, graceful, dignified and elegant – even in the dull, androgynous trainee uniform, Castor was recognisably a woman of refinement. Chezz looked at her miserably. On their first trainee rotation and already Trainee Caster looked the epitome of a Division D operative. Chezz felt she looked like a little girl playing dress up.
“Good morning Trainees.” Chezz was startled out of her reverie by the arrival of a man in Subsection P colours with Officer markings. “I am Officer Jennor and I am responsible for all trainees assigned to this Section ship.” He paused for a moment. “That means you.” He smirked.
‘Oh dear, he thinks he’s funny.’ Chezz thought.
“You may notice,” Officer Jennor continued, “that there are only a few of you on this rotation. Those of you who are not on your first rotation may think it is unusual for a Section to have just twenty trainees.” Another pause, Chezz wondered how long he intended to take with this, especially if he was going to pause every few words. “Well it is not unusual for Subsection P,” he finished with another satisfied smirk.
Jennor, it transpired, liked the sound of his own voice. He talked to them for some considerable length of time. Mostly about things they had already learnt in basic training. By the time he assigned them into partnerships Chezz had more or less switched off. She moved automatically when he indicated and suddenly found herself standing next to her, Trainee Castor.
The mothership was huge, by far the largest ship Chezz had ever been on. However the bulk of the ship was actually the docking bays for the patrol vessels. The whole vessel was like a mobile ship storage facility. After being partnered they were given their area assignments and told to find their way to their patrol vessels. That was definitely easier said than done.
The girls were the only pair assigned to green sector and, almost naturally, Vive assumed the lead in their attempt to find their way around. After the third time they got lost she paused. She looked down at the young woman beside her. “Any ideas?”
Chezz considered a moment. “Let’s ask,” she said.
“But we are supposed to find our own way, I suspect it is a test.”
“I’d rather ask and get laughed at, than get there late.”
“But Officer Jennor didn’t tell us the way so we must have to find it by ourselves.”
“But we’re only learning. We’re supposed to ask questions – how else are we supposed to learn?”
“By listening to what we are told and researching things ourselves.”
“But there’s nothing in the literature about how to find your way about the ship.” Chezz couldn’t really believe she was arguing with Trainee Castor. Out of the thousand trainees in their group, she was the one everyone recognised. Not only did she look the part completely (more like a Division D recruitment advert than most of the fully qualified Division D personnel Chezz had seen) but she was also top of almost every class. Part of Chezz, an inner voice, was shouting at herself to shut up, but the other part, the ‘I’ve earned my right to be here as much as anyone else’ part, was shouting louder.
“How do you know there is nothing in the literature? Did you memorise it all?”
“Well no, but I do know there wasn’t anything in it because when I was 16 I worked on a people transport vessel and Senior Worker Derrin, the pilot’s assistant, told me that the first thing you do on any new vessel is learn how to find your way to the life support pods from wherever you are in the ship and so I looked in the literature for stuff about how to find your way around and there wasn’t anything.”
The girls paused for a moment. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything?” Vive said puzzled. She had been assuming that their failure to find their way was because they hadn’t read the literature thoroughly enough beforehand. She hadn’t even considered that it might have been absent from there too.
“I’m sure,” Chezz said. “Look, what’s the worst that can happen if we ask? We’ll look like stupid trainees who’ve gotten lost. So? It’s our first day of our first rotation. We have plenty of time to make a better impression.”
Reluctantly Vive nodded in agreement. Chezz went up to the nearest person, an engineer by the looks of things, a low level operative. “Excuse me, could you point us in the direction of Green control?”
“New Trainees?” They nodded. He smiled in response. “Sensible of you to ask, you’d be surprised how many don’t and it’s a regular maze this place if you don’t know the secret. See them dots on the walls?” The girls looked where he was pointing. At each corridor junction there were a series of small coloured dots. “Just look for the green ones. There will be three on each wall. Two and one. The two are in the direction you want to head.”
“Thanks, that’s really useful to know.”
“No problem, Section sticks together. You’ll learn that over time.”
The two girls headed off in the indicated direction. ‘Section sticks together.’ Vive thought. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I guess.’
“Thanks for getting me the posting Gemee, I really appreciated it.” Vive told her gene mother. “It’s been a valuable experience.”
“No problem love. Family sticks together. Besides, you are exceptionally well qualified. They jumped at the chance to have you.”
“I’ve heard nothing but good things from Team Leader Lerryford.” Her birth mother added. “He said it was rare to have a junior officer trader fit so neatly in with a Division B team. And, from my experience, he is completely right. You traders,” and she grinned at both other women affectionately, “often take a while to understand up poor travelling types!”
Vive snorted at the idea of her birth mother ever being described as a “poor travelling type” when she ran one of the most successful trade goods vessels in the sector. Her gene mother smiled in response. The “poor travellers” line had been one of their in jokes for the fifteen years they had been together. Although they had both moved on to other relationships, she still had a lot of affection for the birth mother of their two children.
“I know Clivden will be offering you a continuing contract.” Vive’s gene mother said, but noticing the change in her daughters look she continued. “Of course, you don’t have to accept it. It was an excellent first job but nobody would fault you for looking elsewhere for more experience, you did well and I’m sure you’ll get other offers.”
“Actually I already have another offer.”
“Already? Was it Parker? I know she wants new blood in sector 22 and is sniffing around juniors at the moment.”
“Well, she did offer, but that’s not what I … I mean it’s not Division A.” Both her mothers were silent for a moment. Then her birth mother spoke.
“But darling, you were always going to become a trader, not that I wouldn’t love to have you follow in my footsteps but are you sure the travelling side of things is your thing?”
“It’s not Division B either Bemee. It’s D.”
“Security?” Her mothers spoke in unison. Vive really hated it when they did that. “But you’d have to go back into basic training, they don’t start people at officer level, you’d be dropping back to grade 5 – that’s 5 grades below what you’re on now!” Her birth mother continued horrified.
“I know Bemee but I was talking to Squad Leader Fenwick and it’d only be for training – that’s just 18 months. And I’m sure to get straight into advanced training then, just another 6 months at the training centre and I’d be on officer grade again. Two years isn’t that long really. And I’d be good at it. They’d be sure to fast track me. I know it.”
“Are you really sure you want to do this Vee?”
“Are you really sure you want to do this?” Chezz asked. The two of them were sitting in their patrol ship. They had turned up at Green sector control earlier than they had been expected, impressing Officer Tekhart, the duty officer. The two girls had spent the past hour getting the feel of the vessel and were now preparing to take it out for a test run.
Vive looked at the younger girl. Although her words were uncertain, the look in her eyes was of anticipation. She obviously wanted to get the feel of space beneath her properly as much as Vive did. Vive grinned. “Let’s go.”
Chezz spoke into the compad “Green 12, preparing for departure from mothership.”
“Green 12 you are cleared for departure.” Officer Tekhart responded.
The girls went through the standard launch checks, dropped their ship into the airlock, waited for depressurisation and launched. In no time at all they were free of the station.
The compad chimed. “Green 12 launch satisfactory,” Officer Tekhart said before dropping the formality. “Get the feel of your ship trainees. You are due back in four hours, don’t let me see you back before three or after three and a half. Keep the mother in your scans at all times. Go and explore the sector, have fun. If I have to send someone after you, I will not be pleased.” That last was delivered in a slightly waspish tone. “Green control out.”
The girls looked at each other. From tomorrow it would be routine patrols interspersed with ship duty and training. But today they were free – well for the next three hours at least.
“So Trainee Castor, where do you want to go first?” Chezz asked.
“Hey, we are going to be partners, call me Vive.”
“OK, I’m Chezz,” she grinned. “So where do you want to go first Vive?”
Vive grinned back. “Surprise me!”
Current Mood:  tired
Tags: original fiction
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05:23 pm
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Sommervilles and Graylings
I mentioned in my first entry that I was doing some family tree research. Well it is a mixture of rewarding and frustrating at the moment. The rewarding part is the Donkins, the Heymans and the Crudges because I've had some success with them and managed to connect with other people (very distant relatives) who know useful stuff too.
But the difficulty comes with some of the other surnames. I'll give an example. My mother's maternal Grandfather was George Sommerville, sometimes known as George Sommerville Smith. The assumption in the family is that the "Smith" was a pretension which he adopted and then later dropped again. Unfortunately I've found very different. He was actually born Sommerville Smith, and his father married as Sommerville Smith. The reason this is unfortunate, is that most records have the family name as Smith and Sommerville as a middle name. How many Smiths do you think there were in Birmingham in the mid 19th century? I'll give you a clue, it is more than one.
I can't find anything out about George's parents, Alfred and Eliza (maiden name Mondon, which is nearly always spelt differently everywhere it appears) apart from their actual wedding. George, himself, I can't find in a census before 1891 when he is happily living in London with his wife (Emily Donkin, they married in 1890) and working as an accounts clerk.
I have managed to find some information about George. Family legend is that, after his sudden death in 1912, some business associates came round and, to help the grieving widow, took all his papers to deal with the business. Unfortunately, when the grieving widow then tried to find out what money there was for her family (they had 6 kids) to live on, it was mysteriously found that she had no money and no claim on any of the business he was a partner in, because the paperwork had disappeared. Of course, family legend comes from people who were quite young at the time (my grandmother was just 5 or 6 when her dad died).
There is some interesting information about his business, Haydon & Urry Ltd, on a couple of websites, but unfortunately, I can't find any trace of his involvement in it since 1901. This does fit in, somewhat, with the family legend, since the web is bound to be a limited resource written in hindsight. Unfortunately I have no idea where to go to look further.
Another area where I have come to a block seems to be the Graylings. I did have some success recently as I think I found James Grayling, c1847, in the 1861 census, mistranscribed as "Grayland". He is described as the son of William and Mary Phipps. I have found a wedding in 1860 between a Mary Grayling and William Phipps so it fits that James would be Mary's son and William's step-son. I was thrilled at this find because I thought I would be able to trace Mary back a bit but no luck. There are several Mary's who might have married a bloke called Grayling before 1847 but I can't find corroborating evidence for any of these couples. Of course, she might not have been married previously and Grayling might be her maiden name, but I can't find any evidence for that either.
So, if anyone out there in LJ land, thinks they know any 18th century Grayling in London or Sommerville Smith in Brum, do get in touch!
Current Mood:  thoughtful
Tags: family history, genealogy
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08:30 pm
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Fluff Tuesday, Epiphanies
I've missed Fluffy Tuesday for a while, been too busy. But this week's topic inspired me so I've taken a piece from an earlier work, Lily's diary, and expanded it a little.
***
Saturday 10th June 1978
This is going to be such an incoherent entry; I know that right now. But I have so many thoughts I need to write down that it’s hard getting them straight.
I guess the big one is – I’m in love with James! How come I never realised it before? I think I was looking so hard at what he isn’t, that I didn’t notice what he is. I look back through the past months in this diary, trying to see if there was a moment when he stopped being a fun boyfriend who made me laugh; and when he started being more than that. I can’t pinpoint it at all. The change seems so gradual, so natural. I suppose that’s why I never realised before today. I’ve been looking so far into the distance I couldn’t see what was in front of me.
I’ve always hated that girly thing, that wish to find a knight in shining armour who will whisk you away on his white steed. Even as a child I scoffed at the fairy tales. But somehow, I think I’ve been doing it anyway, looking for that perfect hero, the one. But at the same time I’ve been pushing that away – telling myself it doesn’t exist, I’m too independent, I’m a modern woman who can damn well rescue herself. But, deep down, I think it is what I’m looking for after all. Not someone to keep me locked safely in a tower, but someone who I can rescue sometimes too. We are living in such scary times; I think everyone needs rescuing once in a while.
James disappeared in the afternoon. No one knew where he was, which is unusual. Turned out he’d been to see Dumbledore. There’s this group, he told us afterwards, this group that is dedicated to fighting Voldemort. He’s asked Dumbledore if he can join. It was when he told us that I realised. It made sense what Jenny had said to me last year. Love comes in all shapes and sizes, and so do heroes. James may not be the tragic hero of legend, he may laugh and joke about, but he knows. He knows what is right and he is going to fight for it. Why did I never see this before? Was I really so caught up in the child that he was that I couldn’t see the man he had become?
I told him I loved him. Right there and then in the middle of the common room and in front of his friends. I told him. I didn’t even notice they were there, to be honest. That sounds really stupid but, for that moment, it didn’t matter, it was just James and I. When he held me and kissed me tonight it was different. Because I love this man with my whole being and now I’m finally admitting it. James has always been a good kisser. I think I’ve realised why; he kisses me like there is no one else in the world.
And he’s inspired me, it seems silly, but he has. Honestly, I never thought the day would come when James Potter could inspire me. Tomorrow I’m going to talk to Dumbledore and ask if I can join the group too. Because I am one of the good people and I am not going to let evil triumph while I sit and watch.
I guess we are all heroes in a way. And when I said goodnight to James before coming up to bed tonight, I saw a glint of shining armour and I’d almost swear I heard a horse whinny in the background. And I am never, ever going to tell anyone that.
Current Mood:  hungry
Tags: fan fiction, harry potter
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03:28 pm
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Law firms: a minor rant
I've just heard from one of my agencies and they have got me a job interview for a temp job. On the one hand, I could do with some money coming in. On the other, I loathe working at law firms and this job is at a law firm. It seems like the only time the agencies contact me these days is for a law firm. Why? There must be other jobs out there, jobs that don't involve fighting the bad fight every day.
A few years ago, to take an example, I was working at a law firm and did a piece of research for one of the fee-earners. Afterwards he came to me and said "Thank you so much for that. It was a great success and we've won the contract to defend [huge money making PLC] against [small, non-violent animal rights group]." I'm a vegetarian. I love small, non-violent animal rights groups. I don't like huge money making PLCs. My contract there was just about up and I promised myself I wouldn't work for another another law firm again. I ended up working three years in a charity for a very bad salary instead. But here I am, selling my soul again.
The last law firm I worked at was a truly awful atmosphere. Solicitors, for those who don't know, are generally an arrogent bunch. There are exceptions, of course, but if you were to average out all solicitors on an arrogance scale they would be considerably above the national average for all jobs. They'd even be a huge way above the London average. I think the only group who might top them on the scale are barristers. Although post-grad law students would give them a run for their money. This lot were worse than arrogent. They were distinctly unfriendly. And the job was pathetic. They didn't need me - a trained monkey could have done the work that I did. They only wanted someone of my qualifications and experience to prove they needed someone. Their previous person had been there years, who knows what she did. Just came in, took their money, and went home again I suppose. I'm not saying that, given their attitude, they didn't deserve it but I couldn't live like that for very long.
Most law firm jobs I've had haven't been so pathetic and have truly required me to work quite hard. My main problem with them is the moral one (as mentioned above). I did work for one firm, the first law firm I ever worked for actually, that wasn't like that. There was a fair bit of arrogence (of course) amongst some of them, but they were relatively fluffy for a city firm. Yes they represented some big bad companies, but that wasn't their only area, they did a fair bit of medical negligence and personal injury stuff.
But I just wish I could go for a job somewhere else. I'd be fab in another charity, say. Or even in the civil service or something. I guess my options are fairly limited because I only want temporary jobs. Sigh.
Current Mood:  discontent
Tags: general
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12:13 pm
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Original fiction: Division D: Prologue
This is the prologue from my novel: Division D. It's Science Fiction, those who don't like the genre can avoid! Comments and suggestions are more than welcome.
***
“Why do they make the ceilings in these sorts of places so high?” Vive was not the sort to get intimidated easily, but this – this was scary enough without, well, without the atmosphere. This was her whole life, her whole future at stake. And this place …
Space was at a premium on stations, it always was. It was rare any TTC member ever saw wasted space. This whole place reeked of wasted space, of power. And this was only the antechamber.
Vive stood in the centre of the room. Waiting. She didn’t dare relax. At either side of each of the doors stood guards. None of them looked at her, they all stared straight ahead, silent, unmoving.
She had known what to expect, of course. She had known what she was doing. But she wasn’t even sure why. Even after these last three days in the detention centre, thinking of nothing else, she still didn’t quite know why she did it. Chezz was a friend, yes, an ex-lover true but no more than that. They had kept in vague touch but they hadn’t really spent any time together for 10 years. So why had she done it? Why had she thrown away everything?
This worked well she had to admit it. Three days in a cell so tiny that there was barely room to breathe; a cell that was basically a box with nothing but an uncomfortable bed and basic facilities. And then she was brought to this place; this huge room with vaulted ceilings and classically decorated walls; this room that screamed untouchable wealth. It was planned to intimidate. Planned so well that Vive had to keep reminding herself who she was and that she didn’t intimidate easily.
The silence in the room was palpable. Vive kept standing there, to attention, trying to think. Trying to ignore the guards in the room who were so carefully not looking at her. Trying to ignore her surroundings and concentrate.
She had her plan; it was the best she could come up with. It wasn’t the truth but maybe, just maybe it might work, if the judges were paranoid enough. It was her only hope, paranoia was a symptom of the TTC, the higher in the hierarchy you were, the more you knew, and the more you knew, the more you knew that there was that you didn’t know. Paranoia was a perfectly justified state for Division D management – for any TTC Division management in fact. Paranoia was life.
The door opened. Not a door, the door. The door into the chamber where they were waiting for her. Footsteps. Vive stared straight ahead. Her vision was blurred, everything was slightly out of focus but she didn’t blink to clear her eyes. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
“Squad Leader!”
“Sir!” she responded.
“Follow me.”
“Yes, sir.”
She turned and marched in step behind the Officer. He was a squad leader too, she noticed. He was older than her, career D Division, probably not planning, expecting or expected to progress beyond his current position. Not like her. She was fast track. Aiming for the top, expected to aim for the top. Not any more; unless she could pull it off today.
She followed him into the Court chamber. Their boots marched in time, the sounds echoing in the room. The two of them came to a halt in front of the dais where the three judges sat.
“”Squad Leader Vive Caster delivered for judgment, sirs,” he announced, saluted, and then turned and marched from the room.
Vive stood to attention, her eyes facing front, only her years of discipline allowing her to study the room without seeming to. They had certainly pulled out the big guns for her. Section Manager Bericho, Section Manager Clemens and Subsection Assistant Head Farso. If she hadn’t known she was in trouble before, she would now. These three were well known in officer circles. She had heard of the phrase “harsh but fair”. About these three it was whispered “harsh and no ‘but’ about it”.
Vive’s throat was dry; she tried to surreptitiously swallow to wet it. It was crucial that she project an air of confidence, crucial if her story was to be believed.
“Squad Leader Caster, you have been called before the court today to give evidence in the matter of the escape of rebel Barstow following the incident on station X360 three nights ago. Do you understand why you are here?” It was Bericho who spoke, her harsh voice ringing out in the chamber.
“Yes sir.” That was fine, Vive’s voice sounded clear and confidant – just the image she needed.
“Have you anything to say in defence of your actions?”
“Sir, which actions, sir?”
There was a moment of puzzlement. Then Bericho continued. “Do you deny you had the rebel Barstow in custody?”
“No sir. Two of my squad team arrested Barstow during the incident, sir.”
“And you spoke to her.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“And you released her.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“Do you not feel that freeing a dangerous criminal is an act that requires explanation.”
“Sir, if a Division D officer released a dangerous criminal then yes sir, that would require explanation.”
“But you do not feel the need to provide an explanation for doing just that yourself?”
“Sir. I did not release a dangerous criminal, sir.”
“But you released Barstow!”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“And Barstow has been declared a dangerous criminal.”
“Sir. I have seen that she has been posted as such, yes sir.”
“But you think you know better.”
Vive stayed silent. This was the key moment. They had to come to their own conclusions about this. If she said anything, tried to explain, even hinted too strongly at the explanation she had come up with, that would blow it completely. She wanted them to believe that she knew something they didn’t, that she wasn’t at liberty to say. She tried to project her utmost confidence that Chezz wasn’t a rebel, that Chezz could never do the things she had been accused of. The trouble was, as Vive knew very well, Chezz not only could but also would and probably had.
“Chezz, you owe me big – even if this does work.” She thought to herself. “Pity you are never going to be able to pay up.” Another voice, behind the cynicism, whispered to her and she knew that if Chezz would just stay alive and free, that would be payment enough.
Current Mood:  working
Tags: original fiction
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11:41 am
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Memories of the seventies: moving house
My earliest ever memory, it must have been my fourth birthday. We were living in a Bedfordshire village called Langford. I don’t remember much about what was going on around me. I just remember, standing there, I think it was in our living room. I was staring at my birthday present. It was perfect. It was, then, and still remains, the best birthday present I ever had. It was my first ever bike. It looked brand new and shiny – it wasn’t, of course. Mum and Dad, strapped for cash, had bought a second hand bike and Dad had spent ages in the garage doing it up. None of which I knew. To me, the only thing that mattered, was the fact it was a bike and, although I couldn’t quite believe it, it was mine.
Another really early memory was of going for a walk with Mum. I’m not sure how old I was, but my sister, Sandy, was still in a pushchair. We had left the pushchair by the side of the path while we wandered, but we came back to find some local boys, thinking it was abandoned, had taken it and thrown it about, breaking it. I remember Mum being really upset, and me being frightened. The boys looked so big. I didn’t realise that, Mum and Dad having very little money, they didn’t have the money to replace it. According to my mother, a friend of hers took pity on her and gave her a second-hand pushchair to replace it.
I have very few other memories of Langford; playing in the garden with the neighbouring children, sitting drawing with Sandy, a few snatches and flashes of school – I didn’t start school until I was five, we didn’t back then, no such thing as “reception” class for us.
My next, really vivid, memory that has context around it was the day we moved house. It was in October 1973, just after Sandy’s 3rd birthday. I remember sitting on the windowsill, in our old living room, because all the furniture had gone. We had our last lunch, sandwiches before beginning the drive to Stewkley. Siobhan, the dog, was very worried. I think Sandy and I were equal parts worried and excited. We had been reassured that our toys would be at the new house (we had both been worried about that, but only Sandy had been worried enough to ask), but it was still an unnerving experience.
The drive to our new house seemed an incredibly long time. It can’t have been, of course, it was less than 40 miles. We moved because Dad had changed job. He was working for the Probation Service in Bletchley. In those days the commute from Langford to Bletchley was too long for every day; these days, improved roads and faster cars mean that the journey would probably only take 25-30 minutes, so we probably wouldn’t have moved, but in those days it took far longer.
It was strange arriving at our new house. I think Mum and Dad were concentrating on sorting things out, Sandy and I stayed outside for a while. We each had a bag of sweets – this wasn’t an overly common occurrence, I think they were a special “comfort” treat to keep us happy during the disruption. At one point, Sandy left her bag of sweets on the car bonnet. This is how we first met the little girl next door to us, because she picked up the sweets and started eating them. Her name was Alison and she must have been only about two. Her brother, Matthew, was probably four as I remember him being between Sandy and I in age. Over the next few years we played quite a bit with Matthew and Alison. We also played with Gary and Gregory who lived a few houses away.
I seem to remember mud playing a big part in those early Stewkley years. We always seemed to be muddy. Both Sandy and I were quite tomboyish and, because we played with boys quite a lot, used to spend a great deal of time running about and getting dirty.
There were five houses in a row, all with a shared drive and front gardens that were open to each other. The end house was where Gary and Gregory lived. The next house had Sharon and Michelle, but they were younger and didn’t play with us so often. The middle house was where Matthew and Alison lived. Then there was us. Finally, in the end house, there were no children at all. It was an older couple who, I felt, disapproved of the very existence of children. They used to yell at us if we went on their grass, even just one foot. This made things a bit difficult because their front lawn joined to ours, and there was no fence in between, so it was sometimes difficult to tell where our lawn ended and theirs began – especially if we were playing a running about game, or chasing after a ball – which seemed to be quite a lot of the time.
Current Mood: contemplative
Tags: autobiographical
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11:01 am
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Aim of journal
I am planning to use this live journal to post the following things:
1) Original fiction. I started working on an original novel during NaNoWriMo 2005. Although I failed (and failed spectacularly I might add!) to complete it, I have now returned to it and will be working on getting it into some sort of shape. I also have a plot and a vague sort of plan for a children's serialised novel, aimed primarily for my niece to read! If I can ever get working on it properly, I'll be including that here.
2) Fan fiction. I have written a number of pieces of fan fiction, mostly in the Harry Potter universe. Although much of it is posted at fanfiction.net (under the name knowregrets) and some can be found on the SugarQuill in the challenges section (under the name dp360). However some shorter snippets, or pieces that don't yet have a home in a larger story, may be posted here.
3) Family memories. We have a number of family history projects ongoing at the moment. One of them is a "memories" project. I might be posting some of my memories of growing up in the 70s/80s in rural Buckinghamshire. The purpose of this project is to have something for my niece, and future generations, to illustrate how life has changed but in a very personal way for our family.
4) Family tree. Another project is our family tree project. My father and Aunt are doing my paternal side of the family, but I am researching my maternal side. Although the tree itself is posted at Genes Reunited, I might well include some of the research I have found in more detail. I also have a vague idea of trying to write a few fictionalised stories relating to real people in my family history. My knowledge of history is abysmal (I gave it up at 13) so serious research will be needed to get the flavour of any period I write about.
Current Mood:  optimistic
Tags: general
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