The empty nest

Squidgeling T's about to head off to uni, so Mr Squidge and I are faced with the prospect of being on our own for the first time in 20 years.

It's a weird thing to be thinking about. On the one hand, of course we want the Squidgelings to go off and be independent and follow their chosen paths of study and career choices. It's awesome that they feel confident enough and have the ability to do that.

On the other hand, the Squidgelings have been a big part of our lives for a long time - time during which we've all changed and grown, including Mr Squidge and me.

We need to find out who we are as a couple, now. A couple with grown up kids, who can go on holiday on their own (though I can't stop feeling guilty about that one - I might have to work myself up to a real 'holiday' with weekends away first!), who don't have to worry too much about working around other people's events in the diary, and who can eat a much wider range of foods!

It'll take time. I have a sense of us needing to re-connect with each other, to re-discover what we like to do together and then actually get on and do it. We can put ourselves first without feeling selfish or guilty...

Well, up to a point.

The cat's still living at home.

Charnwood 2019

I've been to camp again recently, with 5,500 campers from the worldwide family of Scouts and Guides. It's the ninth camp of this sort I've attended (only the eighth I've camped at.)

(You can find out about my long association with Charnwood International Scout and Guide camps here, and what I did in the 2016 camp, here. And if you want to see a more general history, check out the Charnwood website too.)

The site was HUGE - the biggest yet, as you can see from this aerial photo. Look closely - you might see the wind turbine. Not Bib Bob, I hasten to add - probably a distant relative though!

Main sub camps to the right and bottom, staff subcamp to the left,
main arena with the biggest marquees! 

Those two marquees? Breathing Space.

I was part of the Breathing Space team, who were tasked with providing a quiet and faith space for campers, run along similar lines to the Channel Your Thoughts tent of 2016. The success of CYT meant that this time round, our presence was advertised and promoted well before the camp began. We also ended up with more space; in 2016, we were in one large marquee. This time, we were spread across two marquees, both individually about three to four times the size of the 2016 one. And again, we were in the central area, available to anyone.

Our Breathing Space logo...in 3D. Provided a great photo opportunity...

...and our distinctive team neckers, complete with
Breathing Space Challenge Badge

We had three zones across our marquees: Sshhh, Haven, and Reflection. Sshhh provided quiet, mostly self-run activities such as colouring, Lego, puzzles, games, a few crafts which changed daily, a small library of books and Beano comics, and a stitched banner. It also housed our friendship postbox and the Worry Monster!

Haven was an area of the second marquee which had some similar quiet activities for campers who either needed a smaller space and fewer people to feel comfortable, or who needed someone to talk to if things got too much for them. And Reflection was the rest of the same marquee, which housed our team 'office', a large area for specific faith services, thought for the day sessions, and on site trainings, as well as a private prayer space. It worked really well to separate the areas, not least because we didn't have to reorganise the tent at any point.

Well, not until Tuesday, but I'll get to that in a moment.

We opened on the Saturday afternoon as campers were arriving on site, and were pleased to see leaders bringing the young people who they thought might need us to the tent straightaway to orient them and introduce team members so there was a familiar face when they next popped in. Our 'triage' approach worked well too - we were able to identify campers who might need a little more TLC than others and direct them to Haven rather than Sshhh.

And then it started raining. Now, rain on camp isn't usually a problem, but it came down in buckets. The campsite quickly became extremely muddy or was under water in several places, and some sub camps were left fighting to keep liquid mud from running through their sites.

Standing water...

...which turned into slurry as thousands of folk
all walked the same way to their activities

It rained on Sunday, too, and camp conditions deteriorated so much, I sent Mr Squidge to a well known camping store to buy welly boots, as it turned out that my walking boots were not in the least bit waterproof.

Not very clear, but my very muddy and wet boots,
just before I got into my sleeping bag!

(He was ready and waiting when the shop opened on Monday morning - they only had large sizes left as there'd been something of a run on wellies because some international groups had arrived without suitable footwear. Fortunately the lovely shop assistant rummaged round the back and found a pair of size 4 pink wellies so Mr Squidge snapped them up and brought them over to me. Dry feet! A luxury!)

Monday, the sun shone. It began to dry out some areas of the site, but sub camps were still pretty bad. Friends who were camping with their units were cooking while standing ankle deep in water. I saw photos of others scraping the worst of the liquid mud up with baking trays to try to keep it from entering food prep areas.

I hadn't seen camp conditions like this since Charnwood 80, which started muddy and then dried out.

That wasn't to be the case this time. It began to rain again. And it kept on raining. We didn't realise at the time that Leicestershire was having a month's worth of rain in two days. Hay had already been put down on Sunday in the worst places to try to mop up water. Now it was bark chippings in the car parks to prevent vehicles getting stuck, and trenches being dug to try to re-route running water. Some groups went home with wet gear that night to dry off and come back the next day...

And then on Tuesday night, after relentless rain all day, we got the order to strip out our marquees to provide communal dry sleeping space for campers who were flooded out of their tents. And still the rain kept coming down...

We woke on Wednesday morning to the news that camp was going to have to close early. The conditions were simply too bad. To my knowledge, it's the first time an international camp in this country has had to close in this way due to weather conditions. It was very, very sad - but the best decision under the circumstances.

The Breathing Space team were asked to stay on. We were working just in one marquee now - the other had people sleeping in it - and we couldn't provide all that we had planned to. But we kept the space open for those who needed us and what we were still able to offer under challenging circumstances. And we stayed until Friday lunchtime, one of the few tents continuing to offer activities for campers - particularly some of the international visitors - who couldn't leave on the Thursday.

In some respects, it was the hardest camp I have ever been on. Even without the weather, we were busy from the moment we opened our marquees at 8.30am to the moment we shut them up, around 10pm (later if someone still needed us.) We had a lunch hour so we could eat, and we protected our evening meal times as far as we could, but other than that we never stopped. And we waded - literally waded - through mud, in the dark, back to our sleeping tents (which stayed standing and mainly dry, despite the awful weather).

In other ways, it was the best camp I've ever been on. Everyone pulled together. The longest shift we heard about (Facilities and H&W were literally working non-stop) was 26 hours, as folk battled to keep the site working, and the spirit of Guiding and Scouting - the 'do your best, have courage in all difficulties' - was very much in evidence. The young folk still had a brilliant time. Breathing Space was enjoyed and appreciated by those who needed us. And I had the privilege of working in an amazing team who supported each other just as much as they supported anxious or tired campers.

I met some incredibly inspiring young people, and was blessed to witness several moments of deep spirituality within the services and inter faith sessions I helped to provide.

I was in the camp newspaper twice, (!) and met many international campers I probably wouldn't have met if I'd been a guider-in-charge looking after a unit.

The Taiwanese scouts were a lovely bunch

Very proud of our interfaith prayer space  - it was used several times.

Yes, I was tired, and muddy, and sad when I got home, but on balance, it was a brilliant camp. Here are a few more photos - with thanks to fellow team members for letting me share their pics, because I took so few of my own.

What camp looked like in a rare sunny moment, with all the flags flying

Our psychedelic colouring wall after it got dripped on!

Big Knit hats. You might spot my pencil, a couple of
funky chickens, and my frog's eyes...

My 'haul' of badges; now need to sew them onto my camp blanket!

And the next one? Due in 2023. We're already thinking about it...

Back on the Wagon

For the first time in weeks - maybe months! - I'm writing again. Still working on the oldie, but beginning to get a feel for the voice of the MC, now that I know who she is.

It's been a while, and I admit to having procrastinated left, right, and centre while I've tried to work out the HUMUNGOUS plot problems I discovered re the MC's motivation.

I have procrastinated with quilting. With knitting. With facebook. With looking up vicar job descriptions (No - not me! Ours is leaving after nearly 20 years with us and as I shall be standing for one of the churchwarden posts later this year, I could be involved in the process of finding a new one). With jewellery making (Part 2 of Diary of a Rookie Silversmith will come soon - but it's taking me a LOT longer to complete the pendant I'm working on than I expected, thanks to my inability to solder properly.) I have written a short story. And I have read.

All of that's fine, but it took me away from the WIP in terms of writing time. Did it help any? Don't know really. I have had time to think about the story and the new MC, so perhaps the break did me good. But the sense of frustration in knowing that I'm NOT writing and I ought to be has been difficult to overcome. A 'can't see the woods for trees' kind of moment, where you know you need to crack on, but don't quite know where to start.

Hopefully, now I'm back on the wagon, I'll stay on it.

A Squidgeling starts uni!

This weekend, we took Squidgeling J to Bristol University, to begin the great journey that is student life.

Have to say, I had a couple of wobbles in the week prior; Squidgeling J had caught a rather nasty cold off Squidgeling T (he's got Newschoolitis and has shared it round at home) so she wasn't feeling at all well, and I was rather worried as to how she'd cope with being away from home and ill.

We drove down to family, who live about a forty minute drive away from Bristol, and took the train from there into the city on the Saturday to get our bearings, find the hall of residence, and see some of where J's going to be spending the next four years.

It was great. We went to Brandon Hill and climbed Cabott's Tower (fab views, very tight spiral staircase; if you didn't know anyone well before you went to Bristol, you certainly would after crossing on the stairs with them!) I saw my first Banksy ('Well Hung'), and we spent a good half hour trying guitars and flicking through sheet music in the Hobgoblin Music Shop.

The train back to the family was...interesting. Half an hour late, then the train disappeared from the screen. Mr Squidge rushed us all off to get a train to Bath so we were a little closer to where we needed to be, but we missed it. Only to discover that the train that had disappeared from the screen had reappeared at an even later time. Except it wasn't at the platform it was supposed to be at.

All became clear when the nice BR man (!) came up to tell all us numpties waiting that the train was now on a different platform and was about to leave... Cue mad dash to that platform, then a Hong Kong kind of squeeze onto one of the two carriages we were allowed onto because the train was going to be split further up the line. Blimey, but it was packed tight. When we reached Bath, there were folk left behind because we simply couldn't squeeze anyone else on...

Eventually got back to family and had a lovely evening with them, even though J was starting to feel rather poorly after the exertions of the day.

Sunday morning, up bright and early, J feeling much better (hooray!) and we set off for Bristol. Yes, the car was packed. It had all the usual - clothes, kitchen essentials, bedding, plus fencing kit, camping kit, circus kit, a violin and a bike. Good job we have an estate car! J likened it to playing boot tetris...

Traffic wasn't as bad as we'd feared - it was the Bristol half marathon the same day, so we allowed extra time, just in case. Arrived, parked up, got the key, and started to unload.

Now, the thing I remember most about going to uni myself was my mum making my bed, so that was the first thing I did. J was busy saying hello to her flatmates who had/were arriving, so I unpacked as much as I could for her. She has a room in a flat on the top floor of the hall, (four flights of stairs!) so she's going to be fit when she comes home!

We left around half one after going out for lunch...J seemed happy and was looking forward to the hall social that evening.

And yes, that's a homemade duvet cover and patchwork pillows...
Like mother, like daughter.

Reminded me so much of my uni days and my room... I have a photo somewhere, almost the same as this, of me sitting on my bed in Randall Lines House...

Funniest thing happened as we left and reached the street, we whistled; we Squidges have a particular whistle to attract attention. Worked better than yelling and yawping when the kids were little, and still continues to work now. Anyway, we whistled from the road, and J peered out of her window. All we could see was the top of her head, then her hands waving at us, then her jumping up and down. Look closely...you can see her, just! Reminded me of those cartoons, with the caption 'Wot no...?' next to someone peering over a wall.

Saw my second Banksy on the way back, (Girl on a balloon swing) as well as some Silent Hobo - who, I have only just realised, did a huge mural in Loughborough a few years back!

I didn't cry. Thank goodness. Not until I got into bed that night, anyway, and the light went out and I imagined her in her new room, on her own...

Family Time

This weekend has seen the first real family time for the Squidges since the holidays started.

Friday night, I went to the dogs...literally. As in greyhound racing. My mum was 70 a couple of years ago, and I knew she'd always wanted to go to a proper greyhound races - it's the only sport she likes. So for her 70th, we promised her a night at the races. Her birthday's quite late in the year, so we planned to go the following summer, but unfortunately mum had some health issues last year so we had to wait until now to make good the promise.

I told Mum and Dad from the start they'd each be given a fiver to lay bets - no more - as the tote takes bets from as little as 50p. We'd see at the end of the night who'd won the most...or perhaps it should be who'd lost the least! Mr Squidge was allowed the same amount, though I'm sure he cheated and justified at least three extra pounds for himself...

I chose not to bet, as the licensing laws are quite strict about not involving children; if we were seen to be 'advised' by the kids, (as in 'which dog d'you reckon might win? OK, I'll stick a quid on a place') or they handled tote tickets (even spent ones - go figure!), we could be asked to leave. So for the Squidgelings and myself, it was going to be a purely paper-based exercise in trying to pick the winners.

We had a great time - the birthday girl won about £3 over her original £5 stake, so ended the evening on a major high! Even T said he'd never seen his granny so excited before! Dad and Mr Squidge lost a few quid each, and on paper... T was our 'winner', but I'm sure it was just because most of the winning dogs seemed to come out of trap 6, so in the end he stopped looking at times and statistics and plumped for the same trap number in every race!

Saturday, the Squidges took to the Cloud Trail. This is a lovely cycle and walking route in Derbyshire, and Mr Squidge came up with a roughly circular 10-mile route. The weather was lovely, the going was (relatively) flat compared to some of the rides we've been on in the past, and it was great to be out together.

By the end of the trip, we'd added another 3 miles onto the total distance, because where we'd hoped to get off the Cloud Trail, we couldn't. The most interesting bit of the ride was the Swarkestone Bridge, an ancient bridge that used to cross the marshes and is the longest stone bridge as well as the longest inland bridge in England.

Oh - and the track that was about six inches of clear ground, bordered by brambles and nettles...and the 'Udder stuff' ice cream, eaten overlooking Melbourne Lake. We were four very tired Squidges by the end of the ride...

And today, it was a different kind of family time - a church family event. The curate who's been with us for the last couple of years is moving on to her first post, so it was an opportunity to say farewell to her and her family before they set out for pastures new. A bring-and-share lunch for 70 in a marquee in a garden... with sunshine, laughter, and a few tears... A different kind of family time, but no less important.

So all-in-all, a good weekend.

Have I done any writing, apart from this blog post? Nope. Am I worried? D'you know what? I don't think I am.

I've been having too much fun to think about it.

As one door closes...

Today, I left my job.

I've been working part-time as a learning support assistant in a primary school for just over three years, but my association with the school goes back ten, to when my daughter first started there and I offered to help in her class. My son followed - as did several different roles on the PSA, helping in the library, going on trips, etc etc.

At the leaver's assembly, (I was one of seven staff members leaving or retiring) some very kind words were said which brought tears to my eyes and I was given a beautiful rose bush and a very heavy present. Now, knowing that I do a great impression of Rudolph whenever I'm teary, I deigned not to open the pressie until I got home...just in case.

Most of my colleagues know that part of the reason I've left is to write; their present couldn't have been more perfect. I received a fabulous satchel, packed with the following;

Six notebooks - four lined, one plain (they know I like drawing too) and one full of scriptural quotes with plenty of space to add my own thoughts. Each book is beautifully decorated and completely unique - one with butterflies and birds, one with fabric clouds (!!), one with an Indian theme, one with leaves, one with flowers. And they are all different sizes too - from handbag size to A4.
Pad of sticky notes
A propelling pencil
Biro
A dozen coloured pencils
Half a dozen sketching pencils
A box of HB pencils
A LAMY fountian pen.

I was, to put it mildly, overwhelmed; I cried for ten minutes.

I have no excuse not to write now, do I?