write, write, write, sometimes the whole day through. To write, write, write, write, write, write, write, is what I liked to do.With a pen….With a pen… With a pen. Oh, come on, join in, second chorus now. Bring on the bit of welly.

I was very nervous, the only time my older daughter came mountaining with us. I mean there she was all geared up, as you can see of her in this picture….

 …ambling round the supermarket, getting her stock, to lug up some mountain. What did I take?  I could tell she was sort of shocked when I said oh, some tear off bread and a bottle of water.  What about first aid kits? And maps? (Maps, excuse me, I may look as if I am studying one here, it’s a hundred percent certain, it’s upside down.)


Oh…and rehydration drinks? And all? Nah, nah, I still told her. We travel light.  It’s a hell of an incentive to get up and get down. Okay. Sometimes it’s been on the wrong hill, but there.  You find the start. You see the end. You somehow get from one to the other.

But I got scared, so did the other half, just thinking about the clean pair of heels she was going to show us. The irony being…well, you’ve guessed it. We cajoled her up the last hundred feet.

 I don’t know about how you write. A friend of a friend, can’t put pen to paper until she has it all mapped out. Her PC screen is a mass of sticky notes. She has charts everywhere. Story arcs. Character arcs. She may have Noah’s ark there too for that matter. I don’t know but  I would dearly love to write like that. But I can’t. I write like I do mountains, seeing the beginning and the end. And in the middle well… I just hope I don’t fall on my ass too much. That I will find the answers for the things that have appeared on the page, the things I never saw coming. And the trust that I will.


Maybe I don’t have the right equipment but it sure allows flexibility.