Monday, March 31, 2025

March's Writer Showcase No 2: GAE STENSON

 Gae Stenson

I am very pleased to introduce our third showcased writer of 2025, Gae Stenson. I met Gae on the Open University MA in Creative Writing course, and have continued to follow her fabulous art work on Facebook. She is currently collaborating with a fellow writer, Dr Trefor Stockwell, to produce a book of short stories [Dr Stockwell is showcased alongside Gae this month].




Gae Stenson


Biography

Gae Stenson was born the year of the big freeze and has loathed snow ever since. The youngest - by a long way - of four daughters, she battled through her childhood with effectively five - or, if you count her aunt who also lived with the family - six mothers. Her parents must have longed for peace and quiet, especially her father who was well and truly outnumbered. Gae spent many months of her early life in hospital due to a congenital hip deformity and then she attended boarding school until she was eleven, when the family moved from a quiet Buckinghamshire town to Northampton.

Years passed in a haze of family, new home and making new friends. Meanwhile, Gae started to develop her interest in art and had hoped to go to art college. Many years later, she became the first person in her family to go to university, gaining a degree in English and then many years after that a Master’s in Creative Writing. Still, art was her first love, and she dabbled from time to time and taught her beautiful daughters to paint… neither is one bit artistic sadly. They take after their father and are very science-orientated.

In the gap between school and higher education, Gae worked in a few jobs until she met her first husband. Sadly, she was widowed very young and - still grieving -  she decided to move to Wales and start a totally different life. Since her childhood, Gae has been a great believer in fate and looking back can only marvel at the set of circumstances and choices that have brought her to this place in her life where old and new loves have converged and she can write, paint or read to her hearts content.



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Gae has sent us three of her illustrations as a sample of her work:


[Front cover]


 'The Death of a Nobody' 


'The Mayor of Rajskoe'.



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And finally we come to The Big

 Interview, in which Gae kindly

 answers writing-related 

questions and lets us into 

some of her writing secrets...



How old were you when you first knew you wanted to be a writer/artist, and what set you off on that journey?

I spent a lot of time in hospital as a small child, totally immobile in a cast from my waist to my toes. During my stays, sometimes up to six-months at a time, the teaching staff would encourage me to be as creative as I could be under the circumstances, so I always had access to paper and crayons. I did my first drawings and learnt to read in a hospital bed. 

From a creative point of view, I tend to be inward looking and usually content to create just for my own pleasure. I can’t remember exactly when I knew I wanted to be an artist as the idea, when I look back, seems to have been always there. Writing is more difficult because I enjoy the whole process. Creating art, for me, isn’t always an enjoyable process. I resent any interruption and I’m difficult to live with, unlike with writing. What I’m wanting to create always seems out of reach. I can honestly say I’ve never produced a piece of art and been totally happy with it.


Tell us about the books and painting and writers and artists that have shaped your life and your writing career.

I often hear writers say that they’ve been voracious readers from a young age. That isn’t my personal experience. I didn’t discover the joy of reading until I was in my late teens. The first novel I ever finished was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and, from then on, I was lost to the real world. I have no preferred genre for reading, but at present I’m reading cosy murder mysteries by the bucketful. 

I would say the writer who has influenced me the most as a writer is Anne Rice. I read Interview with the Vampire for my degree dissertation, ‘The Polymorph Metaphor in Vampire Literature’. Rice made me think about the importance of point of view in her second novel in the series, The Vampire Lestat. It suited the model I was using for my dissertation and highlighted for me how ‘reading a novel’ is something bigger than just enjoying the story which had been my previous pre-degree experience.

As to poets who shaped my efforts at poetry: I’m a massive fan of Dr Seuss, Spike Milligan and Blake. The Georgian poets, with their sacrifice, loss and at times brutal view of the hellish landscape of war, have been a constant on my bookshelf since school. Painting might have been my first love, but I’ve always dallied with poetry.

Paintings that have inspired me are too numerous to mention here, but Guernica by Picasso had an immediate impact on me. I remember our art teacher, Mrs Thomson, telling us that Picasso had passed away and she put a print of Guernica up on the wall. I must have been around ten at the time.

I discovered the impressionist painters in my late teens and their work showed me how important brushwork and texture are. I do love pointillism as a style but have only ever completed one painting in this style as I haven’t got the patience it takes. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood’s work appeals to my love of both literature and art. I’m always drawn to paintings that tell a story of some kind.


Have your children, other family members, friends or teachers inspired any of your writing/drawing? In what way?

I think I would say my husband has inspired me the most. Although not creative himself, he has given me the confidence I lacked to try new things. He is the first person I shared my poetry with, even though I have written poetry since I was a child, and he’s the person who pushed me to try studying at a brick university. He is my life model which gets a bit difficult unless I need someone with a beard.

Since we first met nearly twenty-years-ago, my friend Karen Hauler-Davis has been part of my creative journey. We have similar tastes and ideas, and it is lovely to have a non-judgemental person to bump ideas off. In fact, it was Karen who helped me decide on the creative writing MA instead of studying fine art which was the right move for me at the time.


Does the place you live have any impact on your writing/drawing?

Yes, but not in a good way. We moved in 2023, and our new home has the most amazing garden with a beautiful unspoiled river running through it. I can honestly say I spend most daylight hours gazing out of the window watching nature do its thing. I spent this morning watching two kingfishers start to build a nest. We moved to North Wales over thirty-years-ago and it was the best thing we could have done. 


How would you describe your own writing/drawing?

Now this is a difficult question. My writing is problematic as I have a tendency to write in the style of whatever I’m reading. When I was at university studying English, as an exercise we had to write a scene from a detective novel, and I was given 'hard-boiled' for my genre. The lecturer read it out to the tutor group and was astounded because I was this middle-aged, apparently middle-class housewife who was a bit mumsy, and she said I’d completely captured the voice.

As for my art, I hope I have a modicum of individuality. I’ve only recently started to dabble with illustration and so I’m very much looking for my style and how to use it within the brief. My style isn’t hyperrealist and, outside the project I’m working on at the moment, I’m enjoying dabbling with surrealism.


Are there certain themes that draw you to them when you are writing/drawing?

From the point of view of my writing, I’m drawn to darker themes. Dystopian landscapes fascinate me. One of the first novels I read in my late teens was Animal Farm by George Orwell and it has coloured my view of power and power-structures ever since. When it comes to my poetry, the main theme is identity both personal and as a society.

From the perspective of my art, I’m interested in the interplay between light and dark and how they create depth, not just visually but also emotionally. In my work, I’ve noticed that the image always comes more fully to life when we add the shadows. The interplay between light and dark interests me both in my writing and illustration.


Tell us about how you approach your writing/drawing. Are you a planner or a pantser?

I’m a pantser all the way for both writing and drawing.


Do you have any advice for someone who might be thinking about starting to write creatively or draw?

Do it for yourself. Don’t be temped to judge yourself against the work of others. There is no right or wrong, just your creation. This is good advice and some day I may be able to follow it myself.


Are you, or have you been in the past, a member of any writing/drawing groups, online or face-to-face?

I’ve been a member of Cybi Poets for a few years and although we haven’t had face-to-face meetings since Covid, we do keep in touch online. Trefor and I met online but through Cybi Poets. We became friends online and it was there he saw some of my drawings for Inktober and he contacted me to ask if I’d be interested in illustrating his collection of short stories, The Bureau of Lost Things. Online I’m also a member of Suffolk Writers even though I’m living in Wales. They are a very active group, and I enjoy participating in their regular activities. I'm also a member of the online OU Write Club.


Have you ever studied creative writing or art at university or any other courses?

I gained my degree in English from Bangor University and my MA in Creative Writing from the Open University. I’ve completed various art courses including an Access to Art and Design. I would have gone on to study Fine Art but there was nowhere locally that I could do so at the time. My preference would have been to go on and study Fine Art rather than English as I’m mildly dyslexic.  


What do you think about getting feedback on your work from others?

I do value feedback but prefer it from readers rather than other writers. As a writer I truly struggle to give other writers feedback. So far, I’ve been lucky and when friends have sent me books to read, I’ve been able to be honest because they’ve been exceptional reads. I dread the day that a friend asks me what do you think and it’s awful. It like the question, ‘Does my bum look big in this?’. Obviously, you need to be tactful. I think if you’re self-publishing you must have a group of people willing to read for you and be honest as they’ll pick-up on details a writer can miss.


If you have experience of self-publishing, what have been its challenges and rewards?

I started a boutique publishing business as eBooks were in their infancy and had a hell of a sell to get writers to believe that this was the future of the publishing world. It became clear to me that the future is self-publishing and I’m a big fan. The challenge for self-publishing writers is making sure their work is edited and proofread. Nothing puts off a reader more quickly than typos, bad grammar and poor fact-checking. The drawback for most writers is that you have to put yourself out there to promote your own work.


Where do you get your ideas from?

Usually from something I’ve read or seen. Oddly enough, dreams or daydreams do play a part. My day-to-day life is centred around my home, but even a word or a discussion over a meal may trigger something. I’m fascinated by the influence of the internet and have a collection of poems on this theme, as yet, not surprisingly, unfinished. It started life as my MA dissertation and has languished in a file ever since.


They say that successful writers/artists need to be selfish. How far do you agree with this?

Yes, I do agree. My everyday life intrudes into my creative life continually to the point where I take days, weeks, months, years and even decades away from my practice. Before I did the Inktober challenge I hadn’t picked up a pencil to draw in over a decade. In defence of my family, I am very easily distracted.


Beyond your family and your creative work, what other things do you do?

Not a lot really, since mobility became an issue for me. I used to love baking but when we moved to our new house we found the kitchen isn’t practical and is one of the things I’m longing to change about the house. I look out at the river so much and love nature. Obviously, I love to read, and the advent of eBooks means I’m not forced to look for large print versions. Listening to Audible while I’m sketching is good. I do harbour a lifelong passion for movies and would have taken film studies as more than a unit at university if it had been offered at the time. As with novels, I have no favourite genre, although I do love a good horror movie. I may also be a secret Trekkie and much to my husband's disgust I love comic book based movies, but keep that to yourself, Louise. [The Netflix series Resident Alien is my current favourite TV-from-comic-book - and I recently rewatched the entire Star Trek: Voyager series for the umpteenth time and found it better than I remembered]


Would you describe yourself as a ‘cultured’ person?

Not particularly. I love music and have quite an eclectic taste but have never enjoyed concerts because they are too loud. I used to very much enjoy going to the theatre and my favourite plays are by Shakespeare. Growing up, my family were not really interested in the theatre but at school they took us to see Macbeth and I was hooked from that moment. I took my youngest daughter to Stratford to see The Merchant of Venice and she loved it. There is something about Shakespeare that can speak to each new generation when they discover it and watching it in the theatre is magical. I’m also very keen on history thanks to the OU A102 Introduction to the Arts which I studied too many years ago to mention.

This a difficult question; yes, I love a literary novel, Shakespeare and I’m listening to Chopin as I write this, but I also love Star Wars, horror movies, chick flicks and I introduced my eldest daughter to the music genre Screamo. What defines a cultured person? I’m not sure I know so I wouldn’t be able to judge if I am or not. 


Are you interested in history and if so does it impact on your writing/drawing?

I am very interested in history and if it does influence me at all it would be my writing rather than drawing although art history has always been of interest to me. I think most writers and artists would admit to being fascinated by the human condition. We may not learn from it, but our history has an important role to play in who we are today as a society and who we will be in the future. 


How did the Covid pandemic affect you as a writer?

Before Covid, I had been starting out and had a couple of bookings as a spoken-word poet. I’m pretty sure it would have been a disaster as I hate public speaking. My husband and I spent a lot of time together and got into vegetable gardening and preserving. Basically, we looked retirement in the eye, and it wasn’t so bad. Andy, since Covid, has worked from home and we are chatters so I’m a lot less productive now and the house is a little messy.


Where would you place your own writing/drawing, on a continuum with PURE FANTASY at one end and COMPLETE REALISM at the other?

For both writing and creating art, I’d say pure fantasy. The one thing I would say is that most of my poetry is complete realism often based on my own experience of the world. Although, there are always exceptions - I have a graphic poem I’ve been working on for over twenty years based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Anne Rice’s vampire Lestat.


Do you have any particular health or other issue that affects your writing/drawing and if so how have you overcome this? 

I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and was born with hip dysplasia. I’ve now developed arthritis in most of my joints. My eyesight has never been particularly good, and I have significant scarring on my right cornea which means I now need three different prescriptions to see the world. All of this isn’t a problem. I’ve adjusted how I work and what I do as things have progressed. Writing is covered by an adjustable arm fixed to a coffee table which holds my laptop and enables me to write from the comfort of a sofa.

My art is a little different and I have had to make major changes. I did enjoy lino cutting for prints, but I don’t have enough strength in my hands for this now and painting is a little difficult because I can’t stand unaided. My drawing is fine if I work in short spurts of say ten minutes and give my hands a rest. Since starting to do more illustrations I work first by sketching then scan and upload the image and use a digital table to complete the work. I wouldn’t have considered digital art in the past but for the illustration degree I started it was a must. It helps because I’m not constantly changing pencils or pens and going to look for an eraser.

My family are wonderful and help constantly with the practicalities of my life. My husband and daughters will always step into the breach if I’m struggling.

Thank you, Louise, I’ve enjoy this friendly interrogation much more than I anticipated.  


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Thank you very much, Gae, for such an interesting and informative showcase. 


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In April, I will be showcasing 

a fabulous writer whose latest book 

has just been launched:

Karen Downs-Barton

Not to be missed!




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So far in this series, I’ve showcased the following writers: 


Ruth Loten – March 2023

Jane Langan – March 2023

Beck Collett – April 2023

Ron Hardwick – June 2023

L.N.Hunter – July 2023

Katherine Blessan – August 2023

Jill Saudek – September 2023

Colin Johnson – October 2023

Sue Davnall – November 2023

Alain Li Wan Po – December 2023

Lily Lawson – January 2024

Philip Badger – February 2024

Glen Lee – March 2024

DHL Hewa - April 2024

Tonia Trainer - May 2024

Mike Poyzer – June 2024

Judith Worham - July 2024

Chrissie Poulter - August 2024

Adele Sullivan - September 2024

Lin De Laszlo - October 2024

Wendy Heydorn - November 2024

Elisabeth Basford - December 2024

Karen Honnor - January 2025

Sharon Henderson - February 2025

Gae Stenson - March 2026 [collaboration]

Dr Trefor Stockwell - March 2025 [collaboration]


You can find all these showcases by scrolling back through the material on this blog.



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Wednesday, March 26, 2025

WRITING PROMPTS: March 2025

 

1. A Revelation [This is the theme for the story, not necessarily the title]

 

2. ‘Before she could speak, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her across the room.' [you have to include this sentence somewhere in your story]

 

3. A story with one of the following titles: ‘The Garden Party’, ‘The Old Horse-chestnut tree’, ‘Terra Firma’ or ‘The Soldier’.

 

4. Choose ONE word from each of three of the four columns below and write a story which uses all three chosen words:

delicate                         spaniel                        envelope                           boxing

serendipitous                shire horse                  telephone                          cricket

hirsute                           calico cat                   pencil                                 football

misogynistic                         grass snake               notebook                            hockey

astonishing                    tortois                        stapler                                tennis

gigantic                          budgerigar                 hot glue gun                       lacrosse

peculiar                          rabbit                         typewriter                          croquet

GALLERY

I am warming up, after not painting for a long time, by drawing and painting sketches in my sketchbook. I am trying out different things, getting to know the paint and to steady my hand. I realise the pictures I'm producing aren't very good so far, but I like posting them here as it gives me a chance to look at them on the screen and compare them to earlier ones. 





Poppies

[watercolour and ink]


Little White House

[gouache and ink]


Abstract


[watercolour, gouache]



Alien Landscape 1

[gouache]




Alien Landscape 2

[gouache]



Flowers
[gouache]


Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Mid-month musings: You're only as old as you act

How to age badly...




You know you’ve reached the brow of the slippery slope to decrepitude when you can no longer remember numbers - whether they be passcodes, telephone numbers or PINs.

A while ago I was shopping in Waitrose [I’m not going to apologise, as it doesn’t happen often], and I reached the check-out counter, proud of myself for having remembered my Waitrose card and the carrier bags from the car.*  However, after my shopping had been packed into those bags and I’d scanned my Waitrose card, I tried to pay for the groceries with my contactless bank card, and unfortunately it was one of those random occasions when it decided it wanted me to do it the old-fashioned way, as a security check.

And that’s when, with a rapidly lengthening queue forming behind me, I realised I had completely forgotten my PIN.

            It had vanished from my head as if I’d had a Men In Black memory swipe. The harder I thought about it, the less I could remember it. I roughly knew the specific digits but couldn’t think of the order they came in. I vaguely recalled that one of them was used twice, but had no idea which one.

            I felt that hot, clammy feeling of embarrassment creeping up my neck as I explained to the assistant that it was a while since I’d used that card, and it was the only card I had on me. But, now, the four digits had slipped away into the ether and my mind became increasingly blank the more I tried to remember them.

            The assistant was very kind. She advised me to sit on a nearby bench and relax and the PIN might come back to me. She reassured me that there was no rush. In short, she treated me like a little old lady. I was 61 last week. It was mortifying. In the end, I had to ring P and ask him what my PIN was. He’s the only person who knows it, beside me. I realise you’re not supposed to share you PIN with anyone, but when you’ve got a brain like mine, what else can you do other than tattoo it on your wrist?

I’ve always been a bit scatterbrained, but what used to be vaguely charming when I was young and slim is now the sort of behaviour that makes people shake their head, roll their eyes, and wish they’d chosen another queue.

Debit cards seem to cause many people of my age problems. I’ve had my card swallowed by ATM machines on several occasions when I’ve been unable to remember my PIN, particularly since Covid as I rarely use cash these days. My friend, D, recently had her card sucked into a cash machine, and the apparently nice young man behind her in the queue was later discovered to have done something to the machine that enabled him to get her card back out, after she’d left, and he had photographed her PIN somehow so he could draw out £140 for himself! Fortunately, the bank reimbursed her, but if young people are now such smart arses that they can do this sort of thing, what hope is there for those of us who are just beginning to lose their minds? We can barely remember how to use an ATM, let alone be expected to recognise which apparently helpful young person is actually about to steal our cash.

I’m not the only one to experience embarrassing incidents in supermarkets either. In a recent shop in Sainsburys, The Master himself picked up a handbasket and proceeded up and down the aisles, shaking boxes of All-Bran, rummaging through the packs of boiled ham, comparing the prices of support stockings and checking out the display of Werther’s Originals. As he went along, he found the basket was becoming increasingly heavy and cumbersome, and eventually a kindly shop assistant pointed out to him that he had picked up not simply an individual basket, but the entire metal stand into which the baskets are placed when not in use. He was actually dragging the basket plus the stand round with him, wondering why the bloody thing felt so heavy…

Then there are the misunderstandings. For instance, my friend, B’s, husband recently fist-bumped an RAC man who was actually holding out his hand for the car keys

It doesn’t stop me thinking I can do stuff though. A couple of weeks ago, I bought two circular raised flower beds, made of metal, and when they arrived I thought it would be a great idea to assemble them and put them in the garden before P came home. It looked simple enough.




Unfortunately, not only were the instructions in the form of simplistic diagrams which assumed the assembler could fill in the large gaps using common sense, but I have cataracts in both eyes and the diagrams were very small so I could barely make out the detail. Anyway, it looked simple enough…

Firstly, I underestimated how heavy the four chunky sections of each circular bed would be. Each curved and corrugated section had to be screwed onto the next by means of four screws. The sections were large and heavy – at least for a five foot two inch fat woman with short arms and the beginning of arthritis in both hands – and sharp round the edges. My back was hurting, so I had the initial idea of sitting on the settee balancing the pieces on the large footstool P refers to as the ‘pouffe’, but it quickly became clear that there was no way I could hold two of these sections together AND screw in the screws with just two hands and one footstool. So I had to sit on the floor, which I find very difficult.




If my back hurts, there is a great deal of amusement to be had in watching me trying to get back to my feet from a seated position on the rug. It takes longer than you’d imagine. I have to get on all fours, shuffle painfully to the nearest stable piece of furniture [the ‘pouffe’ in this case], then try to use it to drag myself to my feet. It’s like watching Douglas Bader doing a gymnastics floor display. I’m not always like this, but if my back is playing up, let the entertainment begin! Guess how many times I had to get up from the floor that afternoon?  Once to get the scissors to open the packaging – once to get the screwdriver – once to get a knife to help fit the rubber edging on the top bare rim of each bed – once to get the sharper scissors in order to cut the rubber trim once I’d fixed it on one bed so I could use the rest for the second bed…

I fixed three sections of one bed together before I noticed that the sections had a protective plastic coating which had to be peeled off first, so I had to take them apart and peel off this coating. And it didn’t come off with the satisfying ease of those cellophane strips that cover your mobile phone screens when they’re new. Oh no, this was heavy-duty protective plastic, the sort that would kick sand in the face of new mobile phone protective plastic strips. It took ages to find the edge and longer to pull the plastic off – it wasn’t stuck with adhesive but it was hugging that painted metal like a child clinging to its mother. Pulling it off was brutal and exhausting, and took far longer than I expected. But at last it was done and I screwed the sections together again only to realise that I’d fitted half the screws on the wrong way round...

Throughout this whole process, the TV was broadcasting the apparently 24/7 US evangelical Christian programme that seems to be the default setting on our smart TV. It consists of a group of mostly elderly white men - though one or two highly-coiffured women sing songs - who either sing dreadful hymns or give long sermones, interspersed with some audience participation and quite a bit of hand-clapping. It goes on and on and on. I couldn’t find the remote control, and I couldn't easily switch it off so I tried to ignore one over-excited preacher who spent twenty minutes telling a story he claimed happened to someone in his own congregation but I’ve heard this same tale told by several other such preachers and they all claim it for their own. What I find both compelling and hysterically funny in roughly equal amounts is the style of these preachers – like the traders on Barnsley market that my sister used to adore when she was a child [“You get not one, not TWO, but SIX - that's right, my dear, SIX - FULL SETS OF CROCKERY for the knock-down price of £3.40 – Ladies and gentlemen, this is a ONE-TIME ONLY OFFER, and I am going home in ten minutes so I’m knocking another 50p off because you’ve been such a good audience…!”]. They have a weird delivery, which swoops up and down, changing tone, pitch, volume, pace and intensity at random moments, but particularly towards the end of sentences. And they are quite compelling, it has to be admitted.

By the time I’d assembled my two circular raised flower beds, I was feeling very proud of myself, and also ready to accept Jesus as my lord and saviour.

 

***

*Incidentally, one of these bags was a Marks & Spencers bag while the other was a Tesco one, which made me remember my mum-in-law’s belief that it is morally wrong to use another shop’s carriers for your shopping – she thinks it is somehow an insult to the shop you’re using and that they will be offended, or even that it is against the law and could get you arrested. What do you think about shopping bag etiquette?

***

Check-out Assistants in different supermarkets:

Waitrose: - ‘Hi, how are you today? Do you know you can get a free coffee from the machine near the door with your Waitrose card?’

 RESPONSE: a warm cheeriness in the customer’s heart as they take their shopping and walk away.

***

Marks and Spencers:   ‘Oh, I love those ready-to-cook chickens, don’t you? I think that’s what I’ll get for my tea tonight’, ‘Those almond biscuits are my favourites.’, ‘Oh, is that a new dessert? I’ve not seen that one before. It looks delicious. I’ll have to get one of those’

 RESPONSE: ‘Oh, piss off, you lying corporate lackey’

 ***

TESCO: ‘Hiya, love. Wanna bag?’

 RESPONSE: ‘Yes, please – I’ve got hundreds in the boot of my car but I never remember to bring any into the store!’

 ***

Aldi: dead-eyed stare.   

RESPONSE: avoid assistant’s eyes as you pack your shopping into a Tesco carrier bag.

 ***


Some other tales of what it's like to get older:


Devi



"We were golfing many years ago on holiday and, as we were about to tee-off, someone shouted across from another part of the course: 'I don't know, these retired people having all the time in the world to go golfing on weekdays...'

When we turned round to where the voice was coming from, they were on the next hole, but were looking straight at us. We hadn’t even reached early retirement age at that point!

"Recently, I had a day off work, and when I went in the next day a colleague told me that a customer had come in the day before and said he’d been given some information ‘by the old Asian woman...' (I have salt and pepper hair, but my face has no wrinkles yet and I was in my early 50's at the time). She said they told him they didn't know who he was referring to..."



RUTH


"My experience is definitely menopause-related - in the last week, I’ve left my phone in three different toilets. I keep it in my back pocket and take it out so it doesn’t fall in the toilet. 

'The first time was on the ferry to Belgium. I’d got as far as our table in the cafe when I realised I didn't have my phone, and my son’s fiancĂ©e woke up to see me sprinting back to the Ladies, desperately hoping no one had taken it! 

'The second time was when we were leaving my in-laws on Boxing Day. I had no recollection of even bringing my phone downstairs and my poor husband had to unpack the car he’d very carefully packed, as we hunted everywhere for it. He mentioned the toilet and I suddenly remembered where it was! 

'I did it again at my brother’s house and I’ve also spent a good hour over the course of the week, wandering around the house trying to work out where I’ve left it each time! 

'I am NOT enjoying brain fog…."

 


Ron



TRAIN BRAIN STRAIN [a true story]

Last May, my sister kindly gave me a lift from my elderly mother’s flat to Newcastle Central station.  John Dobson’s famous porte-cochere loomed up out of the gloom as I strode from the car towards platform 3 and the 16:36 back to Dunbar. 

A worried-looking woman standing next to me said to her husband:

‘It’s coming in from the Manors side.’

‘That’s unusual’ I said to her, ‘I wonder why that is?’

I assumed engineering works or something and thought no more about it.  Precisely at 16:34, an East Coast Main Line train hove into view, from the Manors side, and pulled up at Platform 3. The woman had been right.

‘Funny,’ I muttered to myself, ‘I was expecting Cross Country.’  Nevertheless, the odd ECML train did stop at Dunbar, so I clambered aboard regardless.  I managed to get a seat next to an American student.

At times like these, the aged person’s brain does not automatically register the obvious fact that something is very wrong.  I was halfway over the King Edward Bridge before I had the most awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

‘What train is this?’ I asked the American student.

‘It’s the London train.  I’m on board till Peterborrow,’ he replied.

‘Hell, I’m on the wrong train.’ 

I dashed along the corridor, through the first class and into the train office.  The elderly guard, who looked and moved like Private Godfrey from Dad’s Army, was dealing with an imbecile who wanted a single to Darlington and was thirty pence short. Eventually, with just three minutes to go until the train stopped at Durham, Private Godfrey advised me to get off there, cross under the permanent way and stand on the down platform awaiting the 18:18 to Edinburgh, which stops at Dunbar.

‘That’s 105 minutes I have to wait - is there nothing sooner?’

He shook his white head. 

I stepped off at Durham and saw a bus standing at a stop near a roundabout.  It was a little single-decker and it had ‘Newcastle’ on the front destination screen. 

‘How much?’ I asked the driver.

‘Four pounds.’

I paid up, sat down, and looked at the train timetable.  The 18:18 that Private Godfrey had been talking about was due in at Newcastle Central at 18:39.  It was now 16:50, so I had bags of time.  Durham is just 15 miles from Newcastle, so I guessed on a traffic-free Sunday afternoon that 40 minutes maximum would get me back to the City.

 

It was only when we seemed to be travelling in the opposite direction that alarm-bells started jangling gently in my befuddled brain.  We rolled into little Durham villages with strange-sounding names that I had never been to before - Framwellgate, Sacriston, Edmondsley, Craghead, and South Moor. After half an hour, we had reached Stanley. We pulled in at a fairly new bus station. The driver got out. A new driver, plump and silver-haired, got in.  For a long while, nothing happened.  I was becoming a little agitated. Eventually, I plucked up enough courage to speak to the plump driver.

‘How long are you staying here?’

‘Three minutes’ was the terse replay.

‘Is there a toilet in the bus station?’

‘Yes’.

‘Would you mind waiting till I use it?’

‘I don’t mind, but you’ll find it’s shut’. 

We rolled on and on – Annfield Plain, Catchgate, Dipton, Tanfield Lea, Tantobie, Lintz, Burnopfield.  I kept looking at my watch – minute after minute ticked by and we seemed to be no nearer Newcastle.

We eventually reached Gateshead and, as if by magic, the driver suddenly woke up and took off from the Metrocentre like Lewis Hamilton in a Ferrari. He had the six of us left on the bus hanging onto the handrails for dear life.  To my delight, the final stop was only 300 yards from the Central station.  It was 18:28.  I had ten minutes to make my train.

I made it with three minutes to spare.

I never had any need to fret, but  had worried myself into a state of anxiety so chronic, I found I had unconsciously torn my train timetable in half. 

Whoever says that brain fade with ageing doesn’t exist and that letting the train take the strain is an abject fool, I say, and should be locked up immediately.