Guest Post: Blob Thing Writes About A Recent Adventure

I'm ever so excited.  My person is letting me post on her writing blog today.  It's about time too.  My life hasn't been as thrilling lately as it used to be.  Last year she took me with her on a thousand adventures and then, after my sister was born, she took my sister took.  Then she gave me a blog of my own and I used to write that every day for a while with my person's help.  Then I got to write it less.  It doesn't mean I had less to say.  Quite the opposite.  And then we got to this year.  Can you believe it that my person has only taken us out a few times?  Can you believe that she hasn't let me write my blog?  Not once.  It's ever so sad and she claims that she hasn't got enough time but I've seen the amount of time she wastes watching rubbish TV shows or playing games.  She could be putting her time to much better use.  I'm sure you'll agree.

So who am I?  Some of you will know already.  My name is Blob Thing.  I am a small pink autistic soft toy.  I was created by my creator on New Year's Eve 2015 in an evening of inspiration.  I became a close friend for my person and helped her lots.  Then in the middle of 2016 my sister was born.  Her name is Winefride and she was named after a Saint who had her head chopped off and then reattached.  Winefride is autistic too.  Some people would say she's severely autistic because she's pretty much nonverbal.  But I love her lots and am very proud of her.  She's even happier than I am.

Photos.  You need photos.  Because some of you might not know me.  You really should.  I'm worth reading!  I say so.  Take a look at blobthing.blogspot.com and you'll find the adventures I got to write about.  I want to write more but I have to be very patient because my person is doing her own thing.  I think I'm going on an adventure today.  My person is taking us to The Sage and I think we're going to be dancing with swords or something.  It sounds very dangerous.  I don't want to get my head chopped off.  I suppose it wouldn't matter too much because I haven't got a body for my head to be chopped from.  The executioner would be very confused.  I'd lay my head over the edge of the guillotine and would just fall into the basket still alive.  Even before the blade came down.  There are advantages to being a small pink soft toy.  Think about that next time your head is in a guillotine and you're being tried on charges of heresy or treason.  Think of it too next time you're on the gallows.  How your neck is between your head and body and is very squishable by the noose and how if you were me you would live to write and adventure another day.

Photos.  Yes.  I'll show you some pictures from the adventure we had last week.  It was so good to get out.  So good to see the world again.  There's plenty to do at home but I like being in the open.  I like walking and exploring and Winefride gets very excited about all the new things.  This first picture is of me.  So now you know what I look like.  We had to cross the dangerous stepping stones at this point and I was very glad that we didn't fall off.  I worry about Winefride because she doesn't quite understand danger and I keep a tight hold of her reins so that she doesn't get washed away by any rivers.

This next picture is Winefride.  She's sitting at the entrance to a little cave.  I confess that it was me who got into difficulties there.  It looked very exciting and I just had to go in and explore.  I got a bit stuck and couldn't climb out on my own.  I even stopped smiling for a moment because I thought I might die in there.  I was very lucky because my person helped me to escape.  She might have saved my life.  Or possibly there was a tunnel through the cave and I might have emerged above ground by the home of the forest goddess who lives nearby.  She's a giant rabbit.

Doesn't Winefride look amazing.  She is wearing three badges.  One is an autistic pride badge.  The others were ones she found at the Greenbelt festival we went to last year.  We had lots of adventures there.  One hasn't got any words on and Winefride likes the pattern it makes.  The other badge shows the Camper Van of Dreams that we visited.

Another picture of me now.  We had to navigate past this difficult waterfall.  My person loves it there.  She likes to sit or lie on the rock right by the water, close her eyes and lose herself in the noise of the water.  She likes waterfalls.  I like them too.  She should take me to more waterfalls.  

It was time for a break.  Winefride and I reached a play area.  We love play areas.  On Winefride's first day out we went to a play area and my person got addicted to the zip wire.  We played on everything and Winefride's first day was very special.  It didn't even seem to matter too much when we nearly got arrested by the policemen.  You can read about that on my blog that my person should start helping me with again.   We played on a swing in the play area and my person even took a little video of the fun we were having.  We held on tightly and didn't fall off.  We like slides too.  And climbing frames and getting dizzy on roundabouts and we've been on boats and eaten ice creams and then there was that time I did everything in my power to escape from Fleetwood by tunnelling out and fleeing to another town that proved to be less of a paradise than expected.  I've met gods too, and fought supernatural creatures.  It's all there on my blog.  And it's all true even if my person's memory is faulty.

After playing we continued on our adventure.  Things took a turn for the worse.  Our merry path became more and more dangerous.  Vultures flocked overhead and we could hear wolves in the woods and an old lady with a wart warned us of progressing any further.  But I'm very brave and Winefride doesn't understand danger and my person had to follow us because I forced her too.  Our optimism wasn't even dampened when we found this signpost.  See.  We're still very happy.

We got through Hell.  Of course we did.  Otherwise I wouldn't be able to tell you about it.  Very often I find that suspense stories and thrillers aren't particularly suspenseful or thrilling.  The hero is put into all kinds of situations that should lead to near certain death.  So what?  If we know they are alive at the end of the story we also know that they escape their doom.  So the cliffhanger at the end of the episode isn't really a cliffhanger.  It's only truly exciting when the hero is allowed to die.  And stay dead.

Here's Winefride with one of the monsters we met in Hell.  He was surprisingly friendly.  I suppose that since everyone in Hell is going through a bad time they just get on and help each other through it.  Hell can be a much more charitable place than heaven and its residents can be so much more forgiving.  My person says that the people she's found most likely to not forgive her are the same people who are most likely to reject her.  The ones with a religion that talks of forgiveness all the time.  It's a curious thing when people with a forgiveness creed are sometimes the most judgemental and the ones who bear the biggest grudges even when someone is sorry for doing or saying something wrong.  We're autistic.  And my person sometimes has big troubles arising from mental health that mean she hardly knows what she's saying at all.  Sometimes we say things wrong without meaning to at all.  Because we don't quite understand the rules or see things differently and we just make big social mistakes.   My person says that the people who have cut her off completely when she said something wrong are mostly Christians.  I find that statement to be very sad.  I wouldn't believe it if my person wasn't saying it.  She's made mistakes.  But she's doing her best and is always very sorry when the mistake is pointed out.  Too sorry because she can get physically ill from being so sorry.  There are Christian ministers who have never spoken to my person again after she said something wrong even though she apologised and was very, very sorry.  I don't think those ministers are Christians at all.  And according to the Lord's Prayer which they pray so often they aren't going to be forgiven by their God.  Sorry ministers.  If there is a real Hell you're going to it.  As a result of your own prayers to your God.  You need to repent because my person is just like most people.  Very fallible.  But trying hard.  My person is telling me to stop talking about it now.  Actually she told me to stop talking about it ages ago.  But I wanted to say what I wanted to say and I don't want to stop now.  I'm going to.

Here's me in another part of Hell.  This skull was quite friendly too.  Apparently it was worn briefly by a certain Skeleton Detective.  I wonder if I'll ever appear in a book about him.  His name is Skulduggery and he's lovely.  Except when he isn't.  I wonder if he wants this spare skull back.  If he does he should contact me and I'll tell him where to find it.  I'd quite like to take him out for tea too and maybe his creator and my creator could share a lunch somewhere and then play some improvisational writing games together.  My person would like that.  Derek Landy, if you're reading this - and I know that's incredibly unlikely - get in touch.  My name is Blob Thing and I'm a fan.

I'm not going to tell you how we escaped from Hell.  I'll just tell you that our escape included a close encounter with a tortoise.  I'd share all the information but my person wants to get on with doing other things.

I'm glad that my person has allowed me to write something today.  It's been far too long.  I love my person dearly but I need more adventures and free rein with my creativity.  Never mind.  We're going to see my creator in a few days.  Perhaps while we're there my person will take us out on an amazing adventure.  Show us something we have never seen before.  That would be wonderful.  I'll let my person write her own post tomorrow.  Please person.  Can I write my blog again one day.  Please.

Days of Gratitude - Creativity, Charity, Cafes, Carousels, Coaches. And Darkness.

Five more days.  They were good days.  I spent them in Manchester staying with an awesome person, the creator of my soft toy Blob Thing.  She's a very busy person these days, excelling in her passion and slowly working her way towards her dream.  I believe that she will achieve that dream.  She has found her niche and it's a place where that great passion is combined with a talent and definite flair and I believe that she is going to affect the lives of lots of people in a very positive way as she continues to walk this path.  Autistic children will benefit massively and so will their parents/guardians and those around them.  They already do benefit massively but this is only the beginning.  One of my joys over the past sixteen months since meeting her has been to watch the way she has run down this path with such total enthusiasm and to watch the way that she has begun to create something pretty damn marvellous.  When I met her this thing did not exist anywhere but her head.  And now it does.  And there is much more in her head to become a physical reality at time progresses.  I am looking forward to watching it happen.

Five more days.  Since Amanda is so busy I now have to occupy myself quite a bit when I'm there.  I am finding ways to occupy myself and know that there is never a cause for me to be bored either when reading and writing at her house or when I go out - walking, visiting a town, writing in the library, or finding new places and people.

This visit was no exception and below you will find a few things I am excited about.  And a cafe that I'll be returning to.  It even has convenient plug sockets for a laptop.  Southport has also given me a writing prompt for a story that is churning in my head right now.  At some point it will come to rest and I'll know the broad outline of the tale.  But that's not something for now.  I'll just tell you it involves palmistry and an impossible fortune becoming possible.

Something else.  I am typing this at the Literary and Philosophical Society Library.  I joined today.  Yes, I am now officially a member.  I plan to spend lots of time here writing and reading.  Perhaps there will be people to meet too and it will become the source of more surprises in my life.  I hope so.

16^th December


Grateful to have found amazing places and things while having to spend hours in Manchester city centre without a plan.

Here:

A brilliant free creative space in Afflecks. With a possibility something similar might happen one day in Newcastle.

The awesome art cafe.

Some great street art.

So many pictures to choose from.

17^th December

Grateful for a great day with Amanda in Southport.

Chips, ice cream, charity shops, a carousel, and tea. Our kind of day.

And it was the first time I have ever seen the sea it Southport. On every other visit it was miles away.

18^th December

Grateful for darkness and light.  The not-church church I attended in Manchester was based on the theme of darkness.  I liked the people there.  I don't think it would be "my" place but I did like them and I liked the honesty and openness that was greater than that seen in most church churches.

And grateful for the women's toilets here in Nexus Art Cafe.

Yep, a gratitude post about a toilet.

19^th December

Grateful to spend most of the day with Amanda.

We caught the bus to Leigh for charity shops and to visit a very good cafe there.

A screen in the cafe displays slideshows of someone's photos. As I was paying I noticed the photos at that moment were of Newcastle.

20^th December

Grateful to have achieved the front seat on the coach back from Manchester.

Grateful for an easy journey.

And grateful for roast chicken. Because I am still a corpse eating monster.

Days of Gratitude - Tea, Cafes and The Rocky Road To Manchester

Five more days.  The solstice will soon be with us and then Christmas.  And then the close of this year of gratitude.  I'm still undecided on what will replace the gratitude diary next year.  How about this:

http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/

or this:

https://dailypost.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/365-days-of-writing-prompts-1387477491.pdf

Each of those contains a writing prompt for each day of the year.  I think personally I prefer the look of the first set.  I also have a couple of books with daily writing prompts.
Maybe that should be the replacement.  A short piece of writing every day from a prompt.  It would be both enjoyable and a challenge.  I wouldn't be too religious about it or force myself to catch up if I missed it every day for a week.

At this point I don't know how my writing will develop in 2017, how much I'll be sitting in the Lit & Phil Library, whether I'll be entering any competitions or submitting any work in the hopes some editor will like it and publish it.

At this point I don't particularly care what I'll find out about those things.  I do expect my writing will develop, that I will be sitting in the Lit & Phil, and that I will probably see some competitions or calls for submission that look enjoyable enough to play with and not care about so-called "success".

So here, five more days of gratitude.

I type this while sitting in the Nexus Art Cafe in Manchester.  In a couple of hours I'll be back in Salford.  I arrived here at 10.30 for a not-church church thing called Sanctus and stayed to write and be in a nice place for a while.  If you're in Manchester I can highly recommend the place.  Unless you need wheelchair access or can't deal with steps.  It's in a deep basement - with a window into a back courtyard - and the place doesn't have a lift.  Apart from that, I can vouch for the toasties, the tea, and the cake.  Also the toilets.  They're pretty cool too.

I spot that I haven't posted anything apart from gratitude posts recently - unless you include Blob Thing's blog which has been a little wild recently.  I'll try to post something else soon.  I hope to get a story posted here by Christmas.  It's a Christmas story so it should be posted by Christmas!  I'm quite happy with it and, at 15,000 words, is by far the longest piece of fiction I've ever written.

It's all progress.  Looking forward to the progress of 2017.  It's going to be special.

11^th December


Grateful to have been able to spend more time than expected with a friend.

Grateful for her treating me to lunch at Tea Sutra.

And that she wrote something meaningful for me.

12^th December


Grateful the new printer works so I have been able to print the Christmas story for a friend so she can be the first to read it.

Grateful too for a year old memory shared.

Cheating - but it's the only photo!

13^th December

Grateful for a quiet day.

Grateful for new internet, and new electricity and gas meters.

Glad to have finished two of my many unfinished books. That's almost miraculous.


14^th December


Grateful to have found the item I needed to complete Amanda's present.

Grateful for everything said at the school parents' evening.

Grateful for comments about the last Blob post. It's the graveyard one at blobthing.blogspot.co.uk
Unless it's a .com.

3400 words of an event I don't remember.

15^th December

Grateful to have returned to Manchester.

Grateful for Megabus tickets and odd sights in Salford.

Days Of Gratitude - Sexism, Acceptance And A Farewell To Snowdogs

December.  The final month begins.

It's getting much colder.  Except when it isn't.  The last few days were much warmer than average.  On average we can I suppose expect warmer than average days since 2016 is globally the warmest year since records began, beating 2015 which was the warmest year and which beat 2014 which was also the warmest year.  Climate change is real and 2016 saw the election of a man to be President of the USA who has stated that climate change is a Chinese hoax.  There is much to be worried about environmentally - are we all doomed already?

There is also much to be worried about economically and socially.  In the UK there are increasing reports of malnutrition, one million people now are forced to rely on food banks to feed themselves, homelessness is rising and laws to persecute homeless people are being introduced.  Disabled people are losing out under government policy and the rich poor divide continues to increase.

Across the world there are wars - often fought using the weapons sold by the UK and USA - with all the human suffering that war brings, and the civilian suffering and fallout is perhaps greater than ever with so much fighting taking place not on the battle field but in the cities and towns.  The refugee crisis is increasing rather than declining and across Europe refugees face another winter.  I saw a video a couple of days ago about the situation in Greece, posted by a local woman who I've met but don't know.  Maybe next year that will change.  Her Facebook feed has lots about the crisis, about human rights, and about the humanitarian work she is involved with both here and overseas.  Since much of it is publicly shared I'll share it here.  It's under this link.  If you would like to look at the video I mentioned, Ruhi's post is here.

December.  The final month begins.

So it's not the final month is it?  It's only the final months of one particular version of a yearly calendar.

Though there is much to be worried about and much that I'd like to find a way to become more involved with in 2017 there is also much to smile about.  I've been trying to smile and be thankful each day this year.  Sometimes it's been very difficult indeed and my mental health has been wildly changeable.  But I'm glad I've done it.  I'm glad I've kept up this diary.  In another month I think I'll have stopped and will be finding another way to be thankful or to channel positivity and passion.

The final month begins.  You'll see that it's not all roses and sparkles.  But so far the month has been pretty frabjous.

Just wait until the next gratitude post.  You'll see some very joyful frabjousness.  Or should that word be frabjosity?

1^st December

Grateful for time spent with a Sunday Assembly person. Good times.

Grateful to hear Laura Bates who started the Everyday Sexism Project.

Grateful to have so much good in my life and to have written about some of it last night.

Picture is some wise graffiti seen under a bridge. Sometimes it can be easy to forget it and to want to give up.

2^nd December

Grateful for Snowdogs!

The elusive Patchwork Northumberland

I was able to take my soft toy friends to the farewell event. Really good to see the dogs again.

Bye bye dogs. We enjoyed you.

Newcastle and Sunderland Football Club Dogs

And you will raise lots of money for a good cause.

3^rd December

Very hard day.

Grateful for silly computer games.

And grateful to have spent 20p when out, on a new little friend.

This is Merghost. He's a merghost.

4^th December

Grateful for the choir. An extra rehearsal today for a couple of hours.

Great to sing with great people. And fantastic to be totally accepted as a woman within a women only space. It's the first time I've deliberately joined a women's group.

Photo was taken on a dark street afterwards.

5^th December

Grateful that I managed to get to the Sunderland autism drop in for the first time in a year.

Pictures: A sky on the way there, a light tree there, and a hopefully not to be returned to piece of the past on the way back.

The Special 250th Post: The Way Things Are Now. Seven Joys.

This is the 250th post.  That's an important milestone for me though, objectively, it's just another number.  I decided a while ago that I wanted to write something more out of the ordinary for this post.  Or at least more out of the ordinary for my blog.  I didn't want it just to be some days from my gratitude diary.  I didn't want it just to be some photos from an enjoyable day out.  I love both of those things and they're going to get another mention later.  I wanted something more.

The trouble was, I didn't know what that more should be.

Should I give a rundown of everything that's happened in the three years since I began posting?

Should I give a rundown just of this year?

Should I state some of the things that are important to me?

Should I list the things that bring me joy, the things that are providing meaning and centre and direction to me at this point?

I didn't know.   I'd written the 249th post - one of those with photos from an enjoyable day out.  And I didn't know what the 250th post should be.  Not yet.

Tonight something happened.  Something that only filled a few seconds of my life.  Literally.  A few seconds.  And now I know.

This evening I attended a free event at the Literary and Philosophical Library in Newcastle.  The second I've attended this week and the third I've attended ever.

I was pleased to be at this one, a talk by Laura Bates, who started the Everyday Sexism Project and wrote and compiled the excellent book Everyday Sexism.  If you haven't got a copy of that book then get one and read it.  It's worthwhile.  It doesn't matter whether the book is a real eye opener for you or whether you know it all already.  Either way it's worthwhile.

Yeah, I was pleased.  She spoke at Newcastle University a while back and I missed hearing her and was glad to be free to hear her tonight.  She spoke well.  It was clear, eloquent and highlighted many of the things that the project has expressed both through hard evidence in print, and in soft evidence of anecdotes - evidence that becomes very hard when the anecdotes are piled on top of each other, thousands upon thousands upon thousands upon thousands.

Laura Bates is great.  She is.  The project is great.  And the work that she's found herself doing since the project began is great.  I don't think she could ever have predicted it when she started what was planned as a tiny thing.  I am glad I attended her talk.

But something happened.

And it happened less than fifteen seconds before entering the library to hear the talk.

It was this:

Two women passed by me in the street.
One of them pointed at me.
She said "What the fuck is that?" (exact quote)
And they walked on.

I was surprised.  That kind of thing doesn't happen much to me.  Not recently.  But more than anything I was amused to receive such a transphobic comment when almost at the door of a talk about sexism.

Now.  I could write this 250th blog post about this incident.  About transphobia.  About the pressures on transgender people to look a certain way.  About the quest - which I confess I followed somewhat - to pass.  About the privileges a transgender person gets if they pass.  About the privileges they lack if they don't pass:  Namely the privilege to be able to walk down a street without being abused for being transgender.  I could write a lot about the meaning of this kind of abuse, about how those women were saying in effect, "I believe that a woman has to look and be like this and you don't fit the picture in my head and so, as a lesser human being, it is acceptable to insult you."

I could write about how all that fits in with sexism.  With gender stereotyping.  With sexual stereotyping.  How women are pressured to look a certain way.   How men are expected to look a certain way.  How trans women and trans men are expected even more so to look a certain way.  How non-binary people get stuck in the middle of all this and how that in itself raises a whole load more issues.

I could.  I could write lots of thoughts that are in my head - thoughts that have been developed over the past three and a half years since I realised that I absolutely needed to transition and started to tell people and live as the woman I am.

I'm not going to write all that.  Not today.  I'm not.  Because all those things are out there for you to read already.  Some of them are in posts on this blog expressed with a greater or lesser sense of clarity or coherent development.   But mainly because this is my 250th post on this blog.  And I want it to be a happy one.

I thought back to three years ago.  Three years ago my life was different.  Three years ago such verbal abuse was almost a constant in my life.  Because I didn't pass.  (And had worse dress sense and less confidence)  For a while, almost every single time I left the house alone I would receive verbal abuse of some kind.  It was really very bloody horrible.  At times I didn't know how I would be able to do this transition thing.  Perhaps without the support I had - from family, friends, Metropolitan Community Church, and the local transgender support group - I would have backed out and said it's too hard for me.

That was three years ago.  Abuse.  Abuse.  Abuse.  When alone in the street, abuse.

Things are very different now.  Abuse is rare.  I was talking with someone about this today.  About how far I have come along this path of being me.

Things are very different now.  Mostly, any abuse doesn't affect me.  Water off a duck's back.  I was feeding ducks today.

So.  My 250th blog post.  Isn't about abuse.  It's not really about the three years since starting this blog.  A blog I started in order to write about being transgender, about transition and which hardly turned out to be about that part of my life at all because, let's face it, it's actually quite dull!

My 250th blog post.  Is about some of the things that help me.  Right now.  Things that have developed during the last twelve months.  I have found this year very difficult at times.  But I am blessed in so many different ways.  These are a few of them.  Not all of them.

One year ago none of these things were in my life.

Three years ago I hadn't really thought about the possibility of these things ever being in my life.

Thing the First

This autumn I joined a choir.  Not just any choir.  A brand new choir in Newcastle.  This is SHE Choir, something that already exists in London and Manchester.

It's a women's choir.  A women only space.  And it's the very first time that I've managed to be brave and confident enough to put myself forward to be in a women only space and part of a women only organisation.  The first time.  That's massive for me.  Massive.

A friend who has never got to the choir - a friend from another singing group I attend sometimes - posted about the first rehearsal on Facebook.  I thought it sounded good but normally I might have scrolled over it.  A designated, explicitly women only space.  I'm not ready.  For some reason, probably relating to wanting to sing some more, I clicked on the group and took a look.

The group description began like this: A community choir for women, anyone who identifies as a woman, or anyone who identifies as gender fluid/gender queer.

Yes!  Yes!  That's the reason why I felt able to get to that first rehearsal.  A group description that was specifically trans inclusive.  Without that sentence I would probably have stayed away.  Afraid of not being accepted.  Afraid too of the perceived horror of possibly having to drop an octave sometimes when I sang.

I got there and found that I was completely accepted into that space as a woman.  And I cannot tell you what a relief that was, how good it felt, and how much it meant to me.  I am crying a bit while typing this paragraph because it has meant so much.  To have such a welcome and warm acceptance as a woman among a group of woman none of whom I had ever met before that evening.  It blew me away.

I've loved having that choir in my life and seeing those people each week I've been able to be there.  I love that I'll see them again this weekend and during next week and that we'll be having a little performance very soon.  I love that there is never even the slightest sense that anyone might be looking at me a bit weird for being transgender.  I love that.  Because I looked at myself a lot weird - and much worse than weird - for most of my life.

Yeah.  SHE Choir has helped me a lot.  Every week.  Plus singing is fun and I need to do more of it next year as my mental health continues to improve.  Plus there's the added bonus that I am singing the lowest of the three women's parts without yet having to drop down an octave.  Not once!  It's a push sometimes but I've hit every note without even switching to head voice.  Does that make me happy?  God yes!

I'm not the only one the choir has helped.  Someone at the rehearsal this week was saying just what it had meant to her to be there.  And there are others too who have found something that satisfies a real need they have, whatever that need might be.  It's been a force for good for all of us.

Thing the Second

I quit church this year.  After twenty-six years.  That's been very good for me.  Not because my church was a bad place filled with bad people.  Far from it, and I've already mentioned how I might not have made it through to this point without the support I found there from the moment I first walked in the door and happened to be greeted by the then pastor who within three short sentences let me know that I was in a safe space to be myself.

I officially joined that church.  Two years and a few days ago.  Much to my own surprise.

I officially left again this year.  Which was also much to my own surprise.

I am very glad I did.  Quitting, putting a definitive stop to my church going, has given me a great deal of freedom to explore more about who I am, what I believe, how I want to live and so on and so on.  I'm still exploring.  That will never end I hope.  And in the exploration I am finally learning what it truly means to live as myself and finally learning what it is that I can be passionate about without it being a self-destructive passion.

Thing the Third

I have a bus pass.  An autism diagnosis may not have brought me many practical, physical benefits.  But it's brought me this one.  A bus pass.

And it has changed my life.  In a staggeringly big way.  Especially once I got it through my thick head what having it could mean.  That didn't happen until April 22nd - a date I've written about in this blog.

I can now go places and not worry about us not having spare money to afford to go places.  Today I went to Morpeth - a Metro ride and a bus ride away.  I wouldn't have done that without the bus pass because of the cost of getting there.  Last week it was Woodhorn museum and a park.  Since April I have been out exploring and visiting places more than I have for the previous five years put together.

The bus pass has removed a worry and enabled a better life.  Which leads me on to 

Thing the Fourth

Photography!  I had taken photos before this year of course.  But I've taken far more this year and developed a love for it that may develop further as the next year progresses.

I have quite a cheap phone and it's the source of all the photos I've taken since replacing an even cheaper phone.  I'm counting the new phone as thing the fourth even though that's slightly cheating.  Oh well.  It's my blog and I make the rules!

Photos have brought me joy.   Taking them.  Posting them.  Remembering them.  A record of all the places that bus pass enables me to go and of the places I'd have gone to anyway.

Thing the Fifth

Blob Thing.  Yes.  My small pink soft toy has unexpectedly helped me.  He was made on New Year's Eve last year and I didn't know what to do with him.  The way he has become an important part of my life has astonished me.  His blog currently contains 119 posts.  And that way that's developed has astonished me too.  I love my soft toy dearly.  And I love his sister too who was added to the soft toy family in July.

Thing the Sixth

Writing.  Yes, that's new too.  It's not that I wasn't writing a year ago.  I was.  Sometimes.  It's that my whole relationship with writing has changed in the past twelve months.  I want to write about that more at some point.  A year ago I would write a blog post.  Every now and again.  I'd written a few not-good poems in the previous couple of years.  This year it took off.

After an enthusiastic beginning in December 2013, between 2014 and 2015 I wrote 57 posts on this blog.  This one will be the 176th this year.  That doesn't include the 119 posts on Blob Thing's blog.  That's 295 posts so far.  In 336 days.

But that's not all.  This year I've found the confidence to go along to something called The Writers' Cafe, a regular meeting for writers that takes place in a cafe.  The clue was in the name.  I've known about it for ages but would never attend myself because hey, I'm not a proper writer.  How could I ever hope to fit in among all those other people who must be proper writers because they go to The Writers' Cafe?

Just before the summer break I plucked up courage.  And why?  Largely because that friend who had clicked "Interested" about the first She Choir rehearsal clicked "Interested" on a Writers' Cafe session.  It sounded interesting and seeing her interest was enough to spur me to be brave and attend.  Was she there?  No she wasn't.  And I have never seen her there.  She's a very busy person and can't be everywhere she wants to be but has greatly improved my life through not turning up for things!

I found a warm welcome from the "proper" writers and was amazed to find that I did fit in, that the free written exercises we did were good for me and that what I wrote didn't seem to be total crap compared to everyone else.  In fact nothing I heard that day sounded like total crap.  We produced very different results to each other and some other people were also worried about sounding like total crap.  Aren't we a strange bunch of people.

So I went back and when time and mental health have allowed I've kept going back.  I've met good people and hope to get to know them all more next year and to meet more people connected with the many writing events that happen here.

The blog.  The cafe.  But that's not all.  I've written more at home too.  Stories.  Little bits of prose.  I wrote a 9,500 word story for Amanda's birthday and will one day return to it, improve it, and extend it.  I've written shorter stories, quite a few short pieces from prompts, things that won't ever see the light of day too.  I've written a 7,500 word monologue from an unrepentant killer.  I have nearly finished the draft of a Christmas story that will head towards 10,000 words.

In short I have written far, far more this year than I ever have before.  And I have loved it.

And that's not all.  Last month I had a moment of total clarity and as a result of that moment I gave up something in my life that could have been very good.  I gave it up and gave it away.  Because I knew that it wasn't what I was meant to be doing.  What am I meant to be doing?  Yep.  Writing.

I am very excited for next year because I know that I will allow myself to write more.  My skill will improve and I'll learn new writing skills.  I'll work through a course or two too.  I'll meet people and share the writing experience.  Perhaps I'll even find the bravery to get up and read things I've written, to perform.  And if I see something that looks exciting perhaps I'll even submit writing to publications or competitions, without caring much whether it is every published or prize winning because I'm writing it for my own joy.

Yeah.  Writing is big in my life right now.  And as I head into 2017 perhaps it's the thing that is bringing me most excitement and meaning.  I am loving it.  I find I am gradually releasing a passion into being.  I believe that writing will take me somewhere.  Somewhen.  Those unknowns are exciting too.  But if writing just leads me to my own joy and satisfaction then that's fine too.

Thing the Seventh

The Sunday Assembly.  Especially the Sunday Assembly Newcastle Gratitude Group on Facebook.  If you read this blog with any regularity or irregularity you'll have seen it and seen how I got a bit obsessive about trying to post in that group every day.

Thing the seventh is really this: Gratitude.  It's finding the joy every day.  Even on the days that are pretty crappy, the days on which I want to give up.  It's trying to look past all the rubbish bits and find that blessing in everything.  The group has encouraged me to do that and I've only missed nine days in eleven months - most of them because I was too busy doing good things and forgot to post.

Gratitude has helped me greatly this year.  As the song by Tankus the Henge says, "Smiling makes the day go quicker."  I could link that into another of the good and unexpected things this year has contained for the first time.  There's been a lot of crap in the last twelve months.  A lot of crap.  But it's been a great year.

Seven things.  That's enough.  A 250th blog post filled with happiness.  My closest friends and family might point to my list and say "What about this?"  "Isn't this thing new and important?"  My list of six isn't exhaustive.  I know full well that this year has contained many other brilliant things, some of which will come round and hit me with their meaning next year. 

The list is joyful.  It's positive.  And it all looks to my future with confidence.  This is part of me.  Now.

This is my life.  It's not quite what I expected.  But it's mine.




[3292 words]

A Three Reservoir Walk In May - 3. Turton and Entwistle, Lancashire

Moving on up, we're moving on up, moving on up ...

The path from the Jumbles Reservoir led me uphill.  After crossing the main road it led through a one person wide tunnel under the railway, across a muddy field and then into the woods up the hill.  At this point the path became almost indistinguishable from the rest of the wood.  But that was fine.  The way forward lay at the top so getting lost would have been difficult.  Difficult but not impossible.  I have a talent for getting lost even when closely following a map.  I once got lost on a mountain ridge.  With only one logical choice for my route to get down.  Yet I found myself in totally the wrong place, half way down a wet bank in thick clouds, knackered, and not knowing quite how I got there.  If only I had carried a camera back then - the Carneddau are beautiful even in cloud.  Is it always cloudy on the Carneddau?  Probably not, but I never once had a view from the summits of Llewellyn and Dafydd.

That was a day ten years ago.  I had carried a decent OS map and a compass.  If only I had remembered to use them before striding out confidently from the summit towards a handy cairn, just visible through the gloom.  If only.  It's okay.  No one died!  I got it sorted and eventually found my way out of the clouds and down to the falls above Abergwyngregyn.  Hey, they get a mention in my blog two posts in a row.

On my reservoir walk I journeyed without useful navigation tools.   All I had was a single sheet of A4 paper with some printed directions and a rough outline map with a route line across it.  My outline map showed the relative positions of the three reservoirs I was visiting.  But not much more.  So far the directions hadn't led me astray.  That would come later, just as an added bonus before finishing the walk.

The woods let out into open country and the warmth of the sunlight.  The route crossed fields before leading onto a track.  The views were good, the air felt good on my face, the light made me smile and it was too hot for a jumper.  Yeah, life was excellent.  I had to feel a bit sorry for my friend.  I had a conversation with her via WhatsApp while I stood and looked at the view.  She was stuck at work.  A necessary thing but I would much prefer to be in open countryside than stuck in a workroom in Manchester.

The view speaks for itself, even in photo form, which can never compare with the reality - even when people are clever with lighting and have super-snazzy cameras and then edit their photos carefully and fiddle with colour and contrast and everything else.  I'm afraid my pictures aren't like that.  They're all just point and click with a pretty cheap phone camera that I hadn't learned to use.  None of the pictures in this post have been edited in any way.  Not even a bit of judicious cropping.

These pictures won't win awards.  Nevertheless, some shots from the track:

Eventually the track descended back down to the road and from there it was just a short walk down to my third reservoir of the day, the Turton and Entwistle Reservoir.  The dam at the end of the reservoir was once the highest in Britain.  The water flows out and down to Wayoh Reservoir - the first I had visited - and then on to Jumbles Reservoir - the second reservoir of the day.

More pictures.  The path round Turton and Entwistle feels very different to the route round the other reservoirs.  Maybe it's due to the tall forest rising up around most of the lake.  Maybe it's due to the entire path being flat and very well made up.  Maybe it's due to the bigger car park and the popularity of the place.  Maybe it's just that my unfit legs were getting tired and hoped that they would be back at the railway station soon.  Whatever the reason, it was a contrasting experience.

A couple of reservoir views.  I think six months on I'd probably take slightly different photos.

Quiz.  What types of evergreen trees are native to the UK?

This reservoir felt large because I was tired.  But it isn't really very big.  The water in Kielder Water would fill the Turton and Entwistle Reservoir nearly thirty times and my entire walk length that day was a couple of miles less than the length of the perimeter of Kielder.  Next year I must see if there's any way I can get to Kielder.  It's tantalisingly close to home but public transport is almost non-existent and we have no car.  Does anyone want to volunteer to take me out walking there? 

Now.  I had a choice.  Should I continue to follow the reservoir path?  A nice, flat, easy, well made path.  A path that led to another easy path through the wood and back to the railway station.  A path I could follow with no difficulty whatsoever.  All I had to do was to cross one of the bridges over the stream feeding the reservoir.  And then follow that easy path.  That's all.  God in his infinite wisdom had given me a second chance to be sensible knowing that it was unlikely that I'd be sensible straight away.

The first bridge was large.  The second smaller.  Here's Blob Thing sitting on it.  He was trying to tell me to be sensible.  He said, "We've got to cross this bridge so we might as well follow the obvious path."  Would I listen to my friend?  Of course not.  The directions on my piece of A4 paper didn't say to follow the reservoir path.  They said to cross the bridge and turn left.  Head up into the hills again.  I had my directions and I had to follow them no matter what a reasonable soft toy was telling me.

My route - our route - rose steeply along an obvious path.  It then became less obvious.  It then became invisible.  I stood in the fields and all I knew was that I had to get to a stile I couldn't see.  Somewhere in the rough direction of over there.  Did I just go back down to the reservoir and follow the sensible route?  Of course not.

I would persevere.  My route directions governed me.

My route directions had guided me well.  But now they didn't.  Now they became quite useless and my map was of no use.

I made it though.  To that stile.  Across mud.  Across bog.  Across the unknown.  It wasn't at all pleasant.  But I made it to that stile.  Success.

The path then led downhill from that stile.

Back to the reservoir.

About a hundred yards from the bridge.

Dammit!

From there it was an easy stroll along the remainder of the water - I walked most of the three mile perimeter - and up to the station.

Entwistle request stop.  It's not the busiest of places.

The walk was over.  And I was happy.

We arrived back at the Manchester home and sat back on the sofa.  Content.

We rested and gave ourselves three rewards:

Tea.  Cake.  And memories.