Rainy Day Office Companions

Some days are just plain soggy. The rain has been hammering at the window for hours. Walking the dog has been a wet affair. I’ve spent much of the day at my desk with a pot of tea by my side.

I’ve heard that working from home can be lonely, perhaps particularly so when the damp keeps all our doors firmly shut. But, I’m pretty happy hibernating on a day like this. After all, it’s still a hive of activity in this little room..

I’ll admit some of us are busier than others. Mabel is a master in carrying her entire body weight in sunflower seeds across the length of the desk at high speed. Rolo offers a fine repertoire of creaky yawns, enormous sighs and full-body stretches. He’s certainly fitting more yoga into his day than I am.

I’m settling in to the routine of self-employed life, discovering the delights and challenges of being accountable to noone but myself. Early days have involved plenty of big-sketch planning, strong black coffee and fresh air. And why not? I’m pretty sure Mabel won’t bust my ass for taking a long lunch break.

PS – you can catch up on my recent SaLT by the Sea work over here.

Countdown to Blogtacular

This time last year I had just returned from Blogtacular, brimful of inspiration, plans, new ideas. I was expecting a good time, but left with so much more, thoughts that filtered through different corners of my world and left me feeling lifted.

This year, the conference of blogging kickassery is on 13th June, just one month away. I can’t wait to meet far-flung friends in person and soak up all the colour and sunshine (there’ll be sunshine again this year, right?) I’m hoping to nab a place on the early morning photowalk and catch a word with Benjamin Hole (with his beautiful spot of Purbeck looking across to the Island we’re practically neighbours after all.)

Have you got a ticket? I’m so excited to see everyone there!

Project Dog: One Month with a Rescue

I’m writing this with a dog by my feet. I’m still surprised that I’ve managed to pull it off. I can’t quite believe we found such a lovely dog (completely unbiased opinion) and also convinced someone we’re capable enough to be responsible owners. I shouldn’t really be surprised, given how many dogs are in need of rehoming. Favourable odds on finding a good’un and a rescue centre willing to entrust him to us. Still, I definitely don’t know what the hell I’m doing. It turns out there’s a fair few lessons to learn in training a dog.

Some of it has felt simply perfect from the first moment. Exploring quiet corners of the countryside, or chilling out by the fire. I defy anyone to be strict about ‘no dogs on the couch’ after the utterly peaceful delight of reading a good book with one curled up next to you.

Out and about things feel less certain. Training classes are hilariously bad. A room full of other dogs is way too exciting and only fistfuls of chicken will keep Rolo quiet. So, we’re still seeking out quieter spots to wander. Our beautiful Northwood Park has a hidden green knoll, perfect for a long leash and a frisbee. He’s a fine catcher, mid-jump and all. He just needs to figure out that fetch is more fun if you bring it back.

We still have a way to go. I’m looking forward to being able to take a calm Rolo down on the seafront. To skate. I think it might be a while…

Collecting Passport Stamps

I miss the days of cardboard covered passports, pages wrinkled and fattened from being thumbed and stamped by various customs officials. Speedy scanning with microchips just doesn’t have the same romance. On the very rare occasion where I do find my passport being stamped I get a little thrill.

Of course it’s not the stamps, but the places themselves. The memories we collect, shared with others or thumbed through on a grey weekday back home. I swear Tom has polar bear blood in him. He is always suggesting we head North for our adventures: the Faroe Islands, Svalbard or the Norwegian Fjords. The destinations on my adventure list are a little warmer. I’m pretty sure they’d all still stamp my passport…

Cycling to India
Ever since reading Dervla Murphy years ago I’ve imagined stepping out my front door and pedalling until I reached India. I’d make up the route as I went, no time limit, simply seeing where the journey took me. I often mention cycling to India, a throwaway comment in the lull of a conversation, to cancel out the terrible predictability of the work/mortgage/train delay topics that crowd our lives. Its nothing if only mentioned; I really do have to do it. Some day.

Sailing round the Solomon Islands
Another destination inspired by a teenage read, this time from a woman who spent a year on a tropical island. It seemed hard, harrowing, barely survivable. But years later Lucy travelled back to the local community with her children and it sounded wonderful. Free, adventurous and filled with laughter. I’d have an old wooden boat, well-appointed and water-tight, to park my home on a sandy bank, meet the locals and splash through the clear shallow waters.

Hiking through Peru
Few things can compete with the view from the top of a mountain, especially if you’ve earned it through sweat and tears. I’d like to walk through the Cordillera Blanca, snaking between remote passes with map and compass in hand, nothing but me and my boots to thank for reaching the top. It’s perfect simplicity, a reminder of my tiny self and the enormity of this incredible planet we live on.

Pebbles In My Pocket

Seizing the last of the light, we found ourselves at Rocken End, the entire stretch of pebbly beach to ourselves. The beach isn’t far from the road, but it is a twenty minute scramble from the car park through overgrown jungle-like landslip. Of course, the harder a beach is to get to the more magical it is.

With picnic dinner, coffee and a long leash for Rolo, we had the most deliciously chilled time. As we wandered the shoreline, throwing the frisbee and playing around, I collected a couple pebbles for my pocket.

The last time I picked up pebbles was two years ago on a sunrise trip to Culver Cliff. Those stones stayed in my pocket through everything. In the middle of winter, my hands braced against a storm, or reaching for my keys on a grey supermarket run; every time my fingers would brush against that smooth sunny memory. So when the last one finally disappeared a month ago our evening trip to Rocken End seemed a perfect moment to hold on to.

Do you collect flotsam on your travels? Ian McEwan returned some rocks to Chesil Beach after the public outcry over his beach theft. I don’t think a couple pebbles sitting in a pocket will tip the balance too greatly and carrying them with me makes me happy. Surely such simple pleasures are not the worst crime.