The smashed wine of hope and dreams

Hey guys, I hope you’re all still feeling the spookiness of Halloween and your Christams fever hasn’t quite started yet.

Even though Aldi have released their Christmas advert and Costa’s and McDonald’s have their cute little cups in. Companies need to chill, it’s literally 4 days into November. We still have to celebrate Guy Fawkes failing to blow shit up and remember all the soldiers who died for us. THEN we can move onto Christmas.

So turns out I have developed a new habit of destroying alcohol. First it was the wee cider (which will make no sense if you haven’t read last weeks post.) And now I have smashed a full bottle of mulled wine in Morrsions.

It’s like a ghost is haunting me, but instead of scaring me, it just knocks things over to make it look like it was me. I am trapped in an eternity of smashed bottles and soaked jeans.

Aside from that, I went home for a few days because it was Jak’s birthday. He is now 17, and I have accepted my fate as an elder, I would get into knitting if I was trusted with the needles.

I asked Jak what he wanted to do, thinking he’d say the cinema, the trampoline park or even Laser Quest. But no, Jak wanted to go to The Range and buy a bin.

That’s right folks, for his 17th my brother bought a bin. I’m starting to think maybe all of mu family is just insane.

Alas, I had to return to the horrors of Crewe because I had to go and pitch ideas to professional writers. Whilst this was all-in-all and okay experience, I’m having a crisis about it all.

I have a problem with finishing stories. I just can’t do it. It’s always so unsatisfying, and I want to fill it with plot twists and brilliance. But, I did come up with a solution:

I would stick to short stories.

Short stories are easy to finish, I don’t know why. Saying that, I’ve only finished one. The agent I met reminded me that short stories are sold as collections, and I felt my stomach drop through the many floors of the overly posh university building. I already knew that, but it still somehow felt like a rejection.

The second agent was lovely. I pitched my script and she said to continue with it, but it’s going to need a big budget. That I didn’t mind so much because she didn’t shoot me down as much as agent 1.

Being a writer means I better get used to struggling getting places, but hopefully I’ll get there in the end.

I haven’t done much else this week, even though I’ve been up at 6 every day. So I’ll leave you on this note:

It’s only 7 weeks til Christmas!

Is my hometown even real?

I grew up in a tiny village in The Lake District. For those who don’t know, The Lake District is a beautiful place where people pay ridiculous prices to go and stay in a cabin, or where the rich people go to retire. Either way, people don’t stay long.

Sometimes when I go home, I laugh at how much the place is like a fantasy novel, and I love it. It’s like it’s stuck in time, always a little bit behind the rest of the world. So, without further ado, here is the list I’ve made over the last few weeks:

Reasons why The Lake District is some sort of Fantasy Land

  • Carlisle is literally nick-named ‘City of the Lakes.’  Even though there are no lakes in the city? Misleading but magical.
  • In one of the villages I lived in, there is a beck leading to a river. Kids splash and play in the beck all summer, and the road even goes into the river. How many children can say their parents drove through a river on the way to school?
  • Down the road from where I live, there is an Ice Cream Farm. That’s right folks, we get ice cream straight from the cows udder. There’s a place where you can pet the calves and there’s even fake cows for you to sit on while you enjoy your ice cream. I always thank the cows for the deliciousness they’ve provided. (The real ones, not the fake ones. You numpties.)
  • There is a man in the town centre who goes by the name ‘Tatty Tim.’ I’m not even going to explain that one.
  • There is also a man so famous that our town wanted to name the Wetherspoon’s after him. I’m not entirely sure who he is or why he’s so legendary, but where you at Rowland?
  • Buses? Pfft, who needs them? There is one bus trip a week from my village, and if you get on it, you better know when it’s due to come back. Otherwise you’ll be camping there for the week. You may also have to pick a fight with the elderly if you want a seat, and NEVER sit in ‘Margaret’s’ seat, even if she’s not there. The others will batter you.
  • The biggest event of the year by far is Appleby Horse fair, where the population of 3,000 increases to 30,000 as travellers from across come together to trade horses. They literally come to celebrate horses, wash horses in the river, and leave again. I get it’s traditional, but outside of Cumbria it does seem a little strange.
  • There is a marmalade festival. I kid you not. There is an entire festival, where people stick pictures of oranges everywhere and sell marmalade? What even?

So that’s my list so far, no doubt it’ll keep getting bigger the more I travel home. But for now, Netflix is calling my name.