Piece of Me #6: Summer Sun vs. Winter Wonderland

As crispy autumn leaves fell from the trees and a bumpy blanket of conkers covered my drive as I left for work this morning, I frowned at the fact that summer was well and truly over, and winter is on its way.

Gone for another year are lazy summer evenings and sunny student holidays. Bbq’s, Pimms and tennis out in the garden will have to patiently wait in the wings for their next chance.

And then, all of a sudden, I remembered. Winter’s not so bad after all.

Even though the cold darkness eclipses the daylight, and getting into bed is painful if you’ve forgotten to put your electric blanket on, there are so many things I would miss about British winters...

Frosted grass crunching under your feet. Clouds of your own breath in the bitter air. And dare I say- the most clichéd icon of the Christmas season- roaring log fires.

Now I’m reminiscent of layering up, going for a winter stroll, coming back with numbed fingers and toes, sitting on the Aga, and drinking one of my mum’s divine Hot Toddy’s (warms the soul!)

It won’t be long until we put the clocks back, and that’s when you know winter is just around the corner...

Now I’m unexpectedly longing for that blanket of conkers to turn into a blanket of snow...
Bring it on!

Piece of Me #5: Sea-Fever

My 25 days of oceanic adventures cannot be put down on paper because my words would not do it justice. So I've called upon some help- in the form of John Masefield's beautiful poem 'Sea Fever'.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.


I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.


I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.