Cait's questionnaire

I love questionnaires. I am one of those peculiar (probably sad) people who will fill in pretty well anything. Multiple choice questions, ticking boxes, giving opinions – a totally underrated sport. Possibly they’re so appealing because they give me the feeling that I’m doing something important or necessary (while patently Not Working). Normally I am pretty honest although, every so often I have the urge (and give in to it) to answer with brazen-faced lies. Presumably the people who send out these things allow for this? Anyone in marketing? Would love to know what the ‘puck it’ ratio is amongst people who fill in these things. What percentage of answers do you wipe out as being unrepresentative – or is it just me that can’t resist the odd untruth?

Usually I adopt a persona – the rich, lazy man; the self-obsessed businesswoman; the harried mother of six. I think it started out of embarrassment at questions like income and number of homes (being a rabid people pleaser I hated to disappoint the upmarket magazines and so added a few noughts and a couple of holiday properties to reassure them their readers were indeed all top-notch).
Have been musing about this today as Cait (a long time back, this has been pending for months) has asked five questions and I am aware that this is one occasion on which I must not fib. Cait is one of those people (even though we have never met in person) that I could no more lie to than I could dance naked on YouTube.

So, here we have it. Honest answers. Honestly.

If you had your life to live over again, what, if anything, would you do differently?
Very very little. I count myself as incredibly lucky. I had an absolute ball at university (Manchester) – learned very little about English Literature (though a surprising amount about Early English) but could have taken a First in partying. I then lived a wild and reckless life in London in my twenties, being paid to go to gigs and films, interview rock stars and generally be Exceedingly Bad. Just as I was getting scared that I’d never find Someone to Love I met Adrian (at a Paul McKenna video promo at a hotel on Park Lane) and we discovered that we’d both burnt out the bright lights and wanted to move. Relocated to Somerset, got married, had James. I wanted to be a journalist and I did it. Wanted to write books – and have totted up over twenty. Fancied being on TV and did that too. Wanted the big rectory – had that. Craved the Good Life on a farm – did that. So really I have absolutely no complaints. At certain times I do wonder how it would have been to have had a daughter or another son but then I figure I’m so darn lucky to have one gorgeous child that I need to shut up. No, no regrets.

Who, or what has been the greatest influence on your life?

The Pelican Centre. A therapy and retreat centre on the Somerset Levels (now sadly no more). It was where I learned about Jung, practiced art therapy, learned to bake bread and discovered the healing powers of nature and silence. It taught me to look at dreams, to listen for the small voice of the subconscious, to celebrate mythology. It was a place where, above all, I could be truly and wholly myself. It saved my soul. I miss it like fury and simply can’t find anywhere to take its place which is a huge sadness. If anyone knows of a fabulous (and reasonable) place that does art therapy please let me know.

What is your greatest accomplishment?

My son. So stunningly gorgeous, smart, sensitive yet rugged – I have no idea how I created someone so darn fabulous. Or someone that is good at maths and sport. One of life’s deep and wonderful mysteries.

If you could have dinner with someone famous who would it be?
Jung. I’d bore him rigid with my dreams, asking for interpretations.

List your passions.
My family. Books. Early music. Wild places. Old houses. Egypt. India. Greece. Ireland. Ghost stories. Art therapy. Mythology. Ancient gods and goddesses. Shoes. Hearty hand-thrown pots. Labyrinths. Food, wine and rhubarb bellinis.


Phew. That’s that done.

In Praise of Northumberland

Long time, no blog…..blame two weeks in Northumberland (plus the bonkers house and the Amazonian garden). Our holiday didn’t begin auspiciously. I really didn’t want to go (still madly in love with the bonkers house and loathe to leave it) and so packed in a bit of a grump. Actually felt envious of our house/dog sitters! Then, of course, we managed to get ourselves caught in the floods in Gloucestershire and very nearly spent the night on the M5.
As we arrived in Seahouses, Adrian had a decided sneer on his face.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Why?’
He ummed and ahhed and finally admitted it was a case of horrible snobbery mixed with an upbringing in a seaside town. OK, so Seahouses is no Southwald – it’s upfront and brassy, with ticky-tacky gift emporia and a hoard of fish ‘n’ chip shops and some truly revolting architecture. But I loved it. After all, you’d have to have a soul of lead not to sigh at the view from our cottage window: boats bobbing in the harbour, waves crashing against the wall; the Farne Islands glistening and so close you’d almost think you could doggy-paddle over to them. An expanse of the perfect wide sandy beach stretching away, punctuated by the solid mass of Bamburgh Castle. Far away, a blue impossibility, Lindisfarne, Holy Island nudging the horizon.
Adrian came round (I thought he would)…wholeheartedly admitting he was wrong and I was right (that was a moment to savour). Suffice to say, we all fell in love with the land of the North and shall be returning next year for sure.
I won’t bore the socks off you with a blow by blow account but let us say there are many reasons to visit and, out of very many, these were our favourites….

1. The most beautiful beaches in the world (probably). OK, California has bigger surf and the Bahamas have whiter sand (and warmer weather) but truly if you have children or dogs (and if you don’t) there are no beaches better….. You park your car on a verge, wander through sand-dunes and find your own bit of paradise. Perfection. No rules - dogs prance merrily and nobody tells you not to swim here or sit there. It all polices itself very nicely, thank you.
2. Barter Books in Alnwick. Adrian spent hours upon hours in this bibliophile heaven. A HUGE second-hand bookshop based in an old railway station. Comfy sofas and chairs all over the place; pots of coffee on the brew; stacks of toys and a model railway running overhead to amuse the children….
3. The Cheviots. Greedy old Northumberland. Stunning beaches AND drop-dead gorgeous hills and moorland. Exmoor with knobs on. We walked to Linhope Spout, a modest hike with the reward of a pretty fabulous waterfall at the end of it.
4. The people. Friendly, down-to-earth, wicked sense of humour. After two weeks they were kind enough to make us feel like locals.
5. Castle overload. Heck, if you’re into ten foot thick walls and turrets, get thee to Northumberland. Turn any corner and there you go – big ones, little ones, solid lived-in jobbies, desolate madly romantic ruins. To be truthful, after you’ve done about five they all start segueing into one big fortification. But at least you get some mileage out of the swords and shields you bought at the first one.
6. Hadrian’s Wall. At which we (along with every other parent in the vicinity) try to ram a bit of history down our beloved children’s throats. ‘Gosh look….this is where they had their baths. Did you know that the Romans were such an advanced civilisation….’ ‘Hey, Mum, look at me rolling down this bank.’ ‘It’s a fosse…’ Oh, give up. Buy a copy of Eagle of the Ninth (that you will read out of nostalgia and which will be stoically ignored in favour of Harry Potter septimus) and move on. At least you feel like you’re getting your money’s worth out of your National Trust membership.
7. Hexham Farmer’s Market (Saturdays). Adrian in foodie heaven buying up local meat, pasties, cakes, veg, pickles…blah blah blah. Needless to say we ate VERY well (honourable mentions too to Swallows fish shop in Seahouses and the butchers in Bamburgh).
8. Scary as hell boat ride to the Farnes. The rest of the boats are big buckets that stolidly roll around the islands. We however were told that Aqua Trax was the boat for us, and Lloydie the man to show us serious seals and birdlife. Thanks @themill! ‘Oooh, isn’t this fun,’ as we speed (yup, it’s a speedboat) out of the harbour. ‘Aaagh, when will it stop?’ as we lurch onto open water and I think we’re going to die at every 90 degree lurch. When I wasn’t in mortal terror of my life, I did manage to oooh and aaah over the seals and puffins and so on. Fruity and deeply non-PC tales come free with the fear factor.
9. Newcastle. This of course was the main reason we went to Northumberland – to make pilgrimage to ‘the Toon’…..James is (for reasons we will never fathom) a committed Magpie. He threw his last nine months’ pocket money into the maw of the St James’ Park shop and emerged with many black and white souvenirs. Then we wandered around town – and what a very nice city it is too.
10. Purplecooers. Ah, the sheer joy. Saw @themill a few times, met her lovely family and was plied with copious libations of Fleurie…..she’s a total joy and I do so wish she didn’t live at the other end of the country. Had a lovely lunch with Crystal (and met Angel too for the first time - hurrah!) and toured her very spooky house….both Angel and I had exactly the same reaction as we went into one part of the house – palpitations out of nowhere. Deeply weird.

I am still awed by what a lovely bunch of people you all are…. Adrian is slightly perturbed that our future holidays may be picked on account of which blogger lives there, rather than more rational approaches...but hey, I can think of worse places to visit than Shropshire, Suffolk, Cornwall, Yorkshire, Scotland, Ireland, France, New York, Canada, New Zealand....I know, I know, I've missed a bucketload but you get the idea....

I could go on and on but I think that’s enough for now. I felt truly desolate at leaving. It is one of the most beautiful places in the British Isles and one that is blissfully unspoilt – for now. Part of me wants to say, ‘well actually it was really crap – avoid it like the plague’ so it will remain untrendy and divine. But I can’t lie – truly it is fabulous. Do yourself a favour and get thee up there (or down there), preferably renting out Spitalford….and say hello from us.