Janet Gogerty's Blog: Sandscript - Posts Tagged "holidays"

If Mary and Joseph had been on the internet they would have booked in advance; they would probably have also read reviews by other travellers.
The modern visitor to Bed and Breakfast establishments has some advantages, but this form of accommodation has surely been around for as long as people have felt compassion for weary travellers or seen a way to earn money or goods. In the happy days before The Reformation, monasteries offered shelter to all who knocked at their door.
B&Bs have long been popular with holidaymakers and weekenders, the endless variety suiting every pocket. Half the fun is not knowing till you get there what it will be like. One autumn we arrived in the town of Wick, near John O'Groats, to be greeted at the door by the owner with her leg in plaster. But she had made alternative arrangements and sent us to the B&B across the road, where we were welcomed by a little old lady who put us up in the back bedroom of her bungalow. It was very kind of her to take us in, as the only other guests were her relatives gathered for a family funeral. As she appeared to be on her own we wondered if it was her husband that had died.
This week we stayed in our best ever B&B, a farm on Exmoor, near the sea. The last few miles of our journey had been through thick mist on top of the moor, followed by a perilous journey down a narrow lane with high banks either side. As we jolted into the yard we were hailed by a loud voice, our host was larger than life in every way. Our accommodation was luxurious upstairs whilst downstairs we enjoyed breakfast in the conservatory overlooking rolling green fields. The door to the enormous kitchen was left wide open - a true farmhouse kitchen complete with several dogs. It was a writer's dream and I was delighted to note that the rambling old farmhouse was in many ways how I had imagined Holly Tree Farm in my novel 'Brief Encounters of the Third Kind'. Our evening meals were at the local, ancient pub, complete with open fires and the wonderful smell of woodsmoke. They also did bed and breakfast with dogs welcome to stay. The menu was as excellent as a smart restaurant, but the atmosphere relaxed, with children playing snooker and dogs curled up under most of the tables. After a meal we drank our coffee on the old sofa in front of the fire. Why fight over sun beds in a large beach holiday hotel when you could be doing this?

What does a writer take on holiday? Some might say nothing to do with writing, if it is supposed to be a holiday. Away for nearly a month, driving around the north of England and Scotland, the first essentials were clothes of every description to cater for any kind of weather. Then the other essentials, cameras to record our travels, including card readers and battery chargers, kindle, knitting and a bag of toys (electronic) to keep the rest of the party occupied while I wrote.
Fresh air, walking, seeing new cites and remote rural areas, meeting interesting people and getting inspiration for settings and characters, all important ingredients of a trip.
At a secluded cottage one can pretend to be a writer who has cut themselves off from the world. But with the right equipment an author can write anywhere.
Take a clockwork lap top and at least one memory stick with the current novel and all other writing. If wi fi is available the blog can also be kept up to date.
Always have a notebook handy for those pleasant times when the sun shines as you sit by the river with your coffee, or on the cathedral green with afternoon tea.
Take the paper manuscript of the novel in progress; if the electronics fail you can read, edit, check the plot lines…
Did I do all these things? Yes.
I downloaded photographs every day onto the lap top ready for my website and Facebook and when rain or mist descended I typed up the notes scribbled in the sunshine.
I’ve edited my novel and knitted a scarf for a family member visited on the way home.
Of course the other advantage of taking manuscripts, paper and electronic... if one should arrive home to discover the house blown up in a gas leak or flattened by a meteorite, at least the writing has been preserved.
Luckily our house was still standing when we returned.
And did the driver complain that I had taken too many bags on holiday? Yes.

You can see some pictures of places visited on my website; in the picture quiz and in Beachwriter’s Blog.

http://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter...

The world is round, so to reach the ends of the earth is impossible, but some places seem to peter out to the very edge. Our September travels did not go beyond Kent and Sussex, but exploring the coast brought us close to the edge.
Weather warnings of high winds made Beachy Head on the South Downs the perfect choice for a day’s outing. It is a beautiful area of rolling green, at 530 feet it boasts the highest chalk sea cliffs in the United Kingdom and the red and white lighthouse is iconic. Alas, simple small wooden crosses, nestling in the grass beyond the cliff edge warning signs, remind visitors it is also famous as a suicide spot. But help is at hand; Beachy Head Chaplaincy has been patrolling the cliffs since 2004. The day we visited, people were more likely to be blown off the edge than jump; with a coach party of tourists and local walkers there was little chance for morbid introspection. Blue skies, white clouds and the exhilarating winds ensured the views literally took our breath away; a perfect day to be alive.
On this holiday I also wanted to visit the past, a holiday remembered of a grey chalet and constant rain, three adults, my infant school friend and two toddlers. We got told off for playing in the muddy puddles and my little brother burnt his hand on the Calor gas stove. What a holiday for the poor grownups! The sun did come out at least once and I recall a bright road leading down to the beach. So we headed for the Isle of Sheppey, by the Thames Estuary, reached by a bridge, but soon feeling remote from the mainland. Leysdown-on-Sea boasts a short road full of amusement arcades with ironic names such as ‘Las Vegas’ and empty of customers. But the place was small and friendly, an old fashioned café served mugs of milky coffee not called lattes. My other half asked where our chalet had been. I had no idea, we had passed swathe after swathe of chalets and caravan parks, mostly shutting down for the winter and mostly a long way from the little beach.
Dungeness is a large headland of shingle beach which shelters low-lying Romney Marsh. Everything is low lying here. Dungeness is also the name of the nuclear power station and of the unique national nature reserve. About a hundred homes of various construction are scattered over the shingle. Some locals are fishermen, others are escaping ‘The World’. You can also reach Dungeness on the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch light railway. Despite torrential rain when we visited, passengers alighted cheerfully from the train into the station coffee shop. However remote a spot on the English coast, you are almost certain to find a café with pensioners and dog walkers enjoying a weekday morning outing. But away from people and buildings, out on the shingle amongst dilapidated boats and weathered burnt out fishing huts, there is a dystopian feel, completed on our walk by watching oddly attired people bashing each other with strange weapons. The presence of two cameramen suggested this was a perfect spot to film a low budget space fantasy; a perfect place to inspire writers as well. Who would come to live here and why?

Charles Dickens and I have one thing in common, not literary success, but we have both been to Broadstairs, Kent, on holiday. He enjoyed summer holidays in a house now called Bleak House, where you can still stay. My earliest holiday memory is of Broadstairs, two summers blended into one set of memories. There was only me at the time and Mum and Dad did not attempt to stay in a hotel again.
On one occasion I opened the wrong door, to be confronted with a lady wearing black underwear, I had never seen such an outfit. With brilliant insight she said ‘Are you looking for your Mummy and Daddy?’
The hotel boasted child minding, so one evening Mum and Dad left me; probably only for a little cliff top stroll, I’m sure they did not spend all night in the pub, but whatever the supervisory arrangements were, I had enough time to take our clothes out of the suitcase and wash them in the large washbasin in our room – this was in the days before everyone expected en suite facilities.
Apparently I never wanted to leave the beach, drawn to the sea already, and had to be dragged off screaming or bribed with a ride on the ‘Peter Pan Railway’.
Broadstairs, Ramsgate and Margate are all part of The Isle of Thanet, the easternmost part of Kent; an island formed about five thousand years ago and always a busy place, Stone Age, Bronze Age communities and then The Romans. The last ship sailed through the Wantsum Channel in 1672 and over the decades it narrowed, it is many years since Thanet was an island.
The next time I visited the Isle of Thanet was when we took our toddler, in the days when we wondered how anyone coped with more than one child on outings, on a British Rail Awayaday to Margate. It was a sunny day, but fog descended halfway down the line and never lifted. We sat on the beach, but never actually saw Margate.
When a branch of the family moved to Margate in 2015 we returned in sunshine; a great chance to explore more of the British coast. We were soon sitting in the cafe of Turner Contemporary Gallery, which had opened only four years previously, looking out over the sunny harbour. Margate claims the painter JMW Turner as one of her own, he loved the famous Margate sunsets.
May Bank Holiday Monday brought hot weather and hordes of visitors streaming out of the railway station. The Turner Gallery was gleaming white in the sun and as part of the Margate Bookie there was a book launch. Once again Dickens and I have something in common, we both have short stories in a new anthology. Shoal is a venture by Thanet Writers.
Writing is a solitary occupation; most of us are energised by meeting up with other writers in local groups or on line. To speak in public and read out your work is another skill very different from writing. Gathering people together, setting up a website, publishing and creating a book requires plenty of enthusiasm and yet another set of skills.
The launch of the anthology was very well attended and presented and the book is a delight. A varied selection, from the brief and poignant ‘The Pigeons’ to ‘Life and Times of a Zombie.’ There are flamingos in Pegwell Bay, an unhappy wife a hundred years ago and a fairy tale so much darker than Disney.
See more pictures of Margate at my website.
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapte...
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shoal-Anthol...