On the move...

It’s that time of the year when everyone, including me, seems constantly on the move. Friday saw me tottering around in wedges at a Summer Party. Saturday brought a Travel Writing Workshop (TWW) in London and Sunday a flat tyre, which then meant I had to run between my parents’ houses. Or sprint, as I was slightly late. Yesterday, I could be found in Bournemouth testing out new Salomon ski gear and tomorrow I will be racing across the city to two different meetings in quick succession. Finally, on Saturday I am off to Devon to chase the waves, inevitably missing most of them. The words hectic and exciting come to mind.

Having never been to a TWW I had no idea what to expect when I entered the small room in the Indian YMCA near Warren Street station at 10am on the weekend. Greeted by course leader Peter Carty, a very experienced travel writer, we (a small group of 10) switched on our brains and settled down. Aside from giving us excellent tips on how to write travel features, he also showed us how to go about getting them published. Wanting to give us the best possible Travel Writing Workout, lunchtime saw us disperse into cafes, museums and bars to compose an article in triple-quick time. Never have I had to eat with one hand, write with the other and talk between mouthfuls to anyone that would listen.  

Food is no longer simple either. My stomach is now only being fed Gluten and meat-free products after complaining. A lot. And although I am missing pasta, nuts seem to be doing a superb job. And I can always rely on those trusty beans. 

Wine and dive…

After a few tiring, but very splendid days I am ready to hit the sack. Unfortunately, as it is only Tuesday this is looking unlikely. So instead, I am going to share with you a true, and rather funny tale… I’m glad someone can be as beanpole-like as me!

We were sitting on the bank, lapping up the sun and sipping white wine. What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than at Henley Regatta.  And the day was about to get even more enjoyable. A punt, complete with a gramophone and four very rich people sidled over to the bank where we were sitting outside Maggie’s Bar. Bumping to the shore a dark haired lady called out with something along the lines of, “can you possibly find my daughter? She’s wearing a green dress with flowers…she’s very pretty…” A tall girl soon emerged and seeing her, the lady started to make her way off the punt. Wobbling slightly, she grabbed onto the gramophone, which instead of steadying her, swung out onto the water…she followed. Diving headfirst with a yelp, (grabbing a branch which then snapped) she then emerged dripping. Hair plastered across her face, and still clutching the gramophone she dragged herself back into the boat gasping. (Her hat meanwhile was floating off down the Thames.) The hushed silence that had spread around the punt in case she had hurt herself, soon changed to chuckles and then hysterics. Only moments before we had said, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if someone fell in…’ Well, it was.