The Round Room - surrounded by Lenkiewicz's art

It's almost impossible to describe the Round Room at Port Eliot. Great windows look out over the lawns and parkland beyond, letting in the light to illuminate the bizarre throng of characters that form a massive carousel. Robert Lenkiewicz painted a great mural here many years ago. One is surrounded by huge, realistic people, each one clearly telling a story or representing something, but without an explanation simply existing as an almost nightmarish cartoon. Death is clearly one of Lenkiewicz's favourite themes, particularly his own.

It's a large room, carpeted and with a gleaming motorbike against one wall. For the purpose of the festival it was filled with elegant chairs in neat rows, and a massive table. I found it overwhelming and my description here is not doing the amazing room justice, because I really couldn't take it all in. Especially in my state of nervousness at the prospect of giving a talk here.

Normally when I speak to an audience it's clear where to stand or in my case, perch, because if there's a table I like to sit on that to address people. I've spoken in so many different places now. Countless village halls to many WI groups, schools, universities, racecourses, pavilions, town halls ... the list goes on. But never anywhere like the Round Room at Port Eliot. The ranks of chairs all faced the centre of the room and this was where Caz helped me out.

"Where do I stand?" I asked nervously. "I don't want my back to be to anyone."

"Here," she said, gently pulling me into the centre of the room under an absolutely enormous crystal chandelier.

"No, I don't want to stand under that!" I said panicking, thinking of the Only Fools and Horses chandelier episode.

"Say something," she said, so I did. "Now say it again."

This time she'd put me directly underneath the beautiful crystal. Immediately my voice was amplified, softly yet completely. It was incredible.

"Where are the microphones?" I asked, peering up at crystal above me and almost losing my poppy and wheat head-dress as I craned my neck.

Caz laughed at this.

"It's natural. Perfect acoustics and part of the magic of this room. Just stand here and everyone will hear you perfectly."

So I did, propping my huge poster of the Stonewylde Wheel of the Year against a chair next to me and the selection of corn-dollies I'd brought along from the gazebo. The room gradually filled with people coming to hear my talk, and the security people ejected all those who'd just come in to look at the paintings, including a large group of small children which was a relief, lovely though they were. I think they believed I was an extension of the exoticism of the whole room as they gazed at my golden ballgown, strangely in keeping with the surroundings despite it being a sunny Saturday lunchtime.

My talk went fairly well I think, given that I was so over-awed by my surroundings. I hope people enjoyed it as they'd chosen to come to hear me rather than the gracious Jung Chang, a lovely lady whom we'd met the previous evening at the drinks party. She's a best-selling author most famous for her book "Wild Swans", and represented pretty stiff competition!

It was a relief when the co-ordinators of the festival peeped into the room through the massive double doors and made winding down motions at me - events were non-stop all weekend with no leeway for over-running. I gathered up my dollies and wheel and made my exit, feeling relieved and in need of coffee. And sleep.

I've found an interesting article about the late Robert Lenkiewicz, who by all accounts was a completely larger than life character. Our own Cornmother who made me the dollies had sketches of her children done by him many years ago when he was scratching about trying to make a living. This article explains some of his exotic life. I felt him all around me in the Round Room and could only imagine the strangeness of him painting in there with his friend Peregrine, the Earl of St Germans, watching on.

Sleepless in Saltash

Above are the before and after photos. The gothy one is me on Friday night before bedtime (mattress-time?), near the campsite. Please note the necklace which I shall tell you more about another time. The beautiful one of the empty grounds swathed in morning mist is after the sleepless night.

It wasn't really the toddlers' fault at all. In fact most of them were very well-behaved and slept beautifully all night. But there was one who whinged and moaned throughout the night and of course with only a couple of sheets of thin nylon between us it seemed she was crying right in our ears. She didn't howl or sob - she just made this awful wailing sound that went on and on and on. And she kept it up in the daytime too. But really it wasn't her fault totally - there was a group of yobs who decided to carry on with the party after the music stopped at 3am. They shouted and yelled at the tops of their voices at regular intervals until 5am, waking Moaning Laura (I know her name well because her parents spent most of the night saying ineffectually, "Laura, have you stopped crying?" which was absolutely stupid because clearly she hadn't).

So we'd get shouts and raucous laughter, followed by lots of wailing, followed by parental hissing. All would go quiet after ten minutes or so of this, I'd just about drop off into sleep again, and then it would start again! It stopped not long after 5am because I pulled on my jeans, jumper and trainers and marched across the misty site to the group of tents where the horrible louts were still drinking beer and started taking photos of them. They didn't like this. Then I marched back towards my tent but luckily at that very moment two buggy loads of security men (where had they been all night during the anti-social behaviour?) drove past and I flagged them down and sent them over to the drunken idiots. I don't know what they said but it worked. All went quiet at last!

But by now I was wide awake and still in high dudgeon. The sun was not yet up and everything was bathed in pearly mist; it was so peaceful and beautiful. So I went for a wonderful walk all along the river and into the maze - the one my lovely Mr B had helped to build as a nineteen year-old - and pondered the meaning of life for a while. There were very few people about and I took some fantastic photos. The rain-clouds had vanished and the wind had disappeared, and I was very relieved to find the Stonewylde Gazebo still standing on the slope.

As people started to wake up I went back and made us both tea and bacon rolls. We had a busy day ahead, setting up all the Stonewylde stuff, and I had a talk to give! It took ages to get our things unpacked and displayed properly. Cornmother had made me lots of beautiful corn dollies, and I also had my lovely Green Man, some hares, owls and of course books to set up. Being on such a steep slope was a challenge as everything just slid off the tables. We became quite ingenious in our methods of stopping slippage. We also decorated the gazebo with ivy, sunflowers, poppy and wheat, not to mention a huge blown-up poster we'd had made of the Stonewylde Wheel of the Year. Finally it was all to our satisfaction and I nipped back to the campsite to change into my Corn Mother costume. And would you believe it, Moaning Laura was still at it?

There's something about wearing a full length ballgown and a head-dress that immediately makes one feel both regal and special. Walking back from our tent to the main lawns where Mr B waited in the gazebo, I felt very like a real Lammas Queen. People smile at you when you're dressed up in a costume. It was lovely!

But the time for my talk was approaching, and the lack of sleep and general excitement was beginning to take its toll. My eyes felt scratchy and my head was full of dandelion fluff. There was a brief ten minutes of panic as we thought the famous Round Room had been double booked, but that was sorted out. I don't normally get nervous before giving a talk but this was somewhat special, and I must admit I walked into the beautiful room feeling more than a little apprehensive. But then Caz, the lovely security lady with blonde pigtails and a broad Scottish acccent showed me the secret of the Round Room, and that was it! There was no stopping me then.

Drinks with the Earl of St Germans at Port Eliot

Sadly I don't have a photo of me and Mr B having drinks with the Earl and Lady St Germans on the Friday night (it would have seemed a little crass to be snapping away at such a posh do!) but this is a photo of me in my Corn Mother of Lammas costume taken in the famous Round Room at Port Eliot. In the background you can see some of the incredible mural which graces this whole room, painted by the late and notorious Robert Lenkiewicz.

We arrived in Saltash very late on the Thursday night and stayed in a hotel. On Friday amidst showers we arrived at Port Eliot, and it was pretty chaotic there with guests, exhibitors, performers and staff all over the place. The organisation of such a huge and complicated event must be a nightmare. There was staff everywhere with walkie-talkies and fluorescent jackets, and everyone was as friendly and helpful as could be, despite the obvious stressfulness of getting everyone organised in the right place. We quickly pitched our tent in the campsite in a nice empty spot overlooking the whole sweep of parkland, and then made our way to where we'd been told to put up our Stonewylde gazebo.

Mr B and I had bought a lovely black gazebo specially for this event. We spent a while putting it up on a very steep slope, which it didn't like very much at all not being designed for this. We had no idea if it was waterproof either, and the weather was showery. There was an air of great expectancy all around, excitement and anticipation as people started to flood in. Finally the gazebo was erected as well as we could manage, with its side panels protesting about the strong winds and its guy ropes straining. We made our way back to the camping bit to get changed for the drinks party in the great house itself.

We then discovered that the site had somewhat filled up in our absence and we were surrounded with tents full of toddlers. Noisy ones. We're at that happy stage in life where our children are pretty grown up but with no grandchildren yet in sight - so we're most certainly not in toddler-friendly mode at the moment. It didn't bode well for the night ahead. But remaining resolutely positive, we changed for the posh evening ahead.

Artistes and performers had been invited to a special drinks party at the house and we'd been really looking forward to this. Mr B had spent a very happy year in St Germans as a young student back in the 70s, with Lord Eliot as he was then as landlord. Mr B had been one of the village lads called in to help build the maze in the grounds, and had happy memories of his time there. So being invited into the house as a guest, thirty years later, was something of a special event for him.

We spent a wonderful two hours sipping champagne, devouring Duchy Original canapes (I know one is meant to nibble but I was ravenous!) and talking to all sorts of interesting people. It seems to me that Port Eliot Festival is unique in its scope. It's a literary event and yet it's so much more than that - there are many musicians and other strange performers, and it has that wonderful alternative flavour too. Very arty and different. I just loved it.

Mr B had a long chat with the Earl, who was utterly charming. He remembered Mr B and the building of the maze, recalling incidents from that time and seeming genuinely pleased to meet up again with someone who loved Port Eliot so much and had such great memories. Later I sat down on the sofa and talked with him myself, admiring Roo his beautiful whippet. I'd heard tales of what a generous and sweet man the Earl is, and this chat with him confirmed it for me.

After the party we had the most delicious food in a huge tent belonging to a company called The Food Groove. Petra the owner, who's also an artist, was excited at meeting us as she'd heard of Stonewylde and wanted to read the books. We arranged to meet up later over the weekend, and then, feeling exhausted and quite merry, made our way back to our tent for a good night's sleep. Ha! Fat chance of that, and I shall tell you why tomorrow.

Return from Port Eliot - back to reality

We are back from the most wonderful, magical and extraordinary festival at Port Eliot and I wish I were still there. We arrived home last night well past midnight after an amazing weekend away. I want to tell you all about it - the people we met, sights we saw, things we did - but we have friends and family coming to stay tonight and more arriving tomorrow so I need to empty the car (still packed tight with muddy tent/gazebo/wellies/clothes) so I can get out to the shops to buy some food. Then quickly hoover, make up beds, start cooking, put tent and gazebo out to dry ..... Aargghh - I don't want to do this ordinary stuff, nor deal with the 80+ e-mails that are now awaiting my attention! I want to be back at the place of my dreams feeling that peculiar sense of magic that is Port Eliot.

I shall post blogs and photos about the festival and the place throughout the week, whenever I get a minute around my guests, my business stuff, arranging the Harvest Gathering weekend and everything else. In the meantime, here are a couple of photos taken on Saturday at sunrise. To anyone reading this whom I met over the weekend - wasn't it brilliant?

Leaving for Port Eliot Festival!

In capital letters on my three lists today it said "WRITE BLOG!". Oh dear. And now we're about to leave for Port Eliot. It's 8.30pm and we won't be arriving at Saltash until after midnight I reckon. We're booked into a cheap hotel for the night - all set to arrive in St Germans tomorrow morning, bright and early and refreshed after a good night's sleep! That's the plan anyway.

I've been so very busy this week. It was my youngest son's graduation which was wonderful. A very proud moment for me indeed and we had a lovely day. Mr B treated us all to lunch in Covent Garden after the ceremony, and we cracked the champagne out. Will has a place to do an MA at Kings College, London where he did his Batchelors degree, but has deferred it for a year in order to work and save some money to pay for it. It's a weird feeling when your baby proves once and for all that actually he's grown up now.

All week I've been frantically sewing my costume, getting all the bits and pieces ready for the Stonewylde Gazebo and making my head-dress. I'm dressing as the Corn Mother and our gazebo will be full of corn dollies made by our famous Corn Mother from the forum. Today I received a parcel of beautiful jewellery, lent to me by Where the Wild Roses Grow, also from the forum. She makes the most exquisite pieces and the idea is that I swan around Port Eliot displaying her jewels and people will stop me and ask "Where did you get that gorgeous necklace from?"

And actually I think it may work. The place will be teeming with the rich, famous and influential. As well as lots of nice ordinary folk too. I'm going to be interviewed by Simon Costin for the Port Eliot radio show - he has an hour programme on the Sunday and wants to talk to me about Stonewylde. He's a big fan so that should be good. I've also been asked to appear in a TV interview too which sounds interesting. I'll write all about this next week when it's over.

So now I must leave. Mr B is fidgeting. He's a patient man but even he has limits. I need to do some more work on my talk, which I'm giving on Saturday in the famous Round Room. Maybe I can do that tonight when we arrive in Saltash. Most of all I need to chill out after all the frantic rushing around this week. I can't wait to be in Cornwall! My mother's family were Cornish and I feel a very strong sense of homecoming every time I cross the River Tamar. We're off! The car is packed so tight that at least nothing can break. Wheat, golden dresses, sunflowers and lots and lots of Stonewylde books!

Race for Life - in memory of Debbie

I've done it! My first Race for Life - 5kms! It was really great and if you've been thinking about doing it yourself but weren't sure, then make it a date next year because it was an amazing experience.

I've been training since January. I'm not a natural runner at all and it didn't come easy to me. But I followed the training schedule where you start by running for 1 minute, walking 2 minutes and repeat eight times - and you do this four times a week. Gradually, week by week, you increase the running time until by the end of it (about 12 weeks I think) you can actually run for 30 minutes, which is about 3 miles. When I say run, maybe jog is closer but I don't know the exact difference, when a jog becomes a run.

There were apparently 2750 women and girls registered to take part in this afternoon's Race for Life at Reading (and a similar amount this morning). The venue was packed with people, both participants and well-wishers. There really were females of all shapes and sizes and ages, dressed predominantly in the Race for Life pink although this is not compulsory. I'd been a bit nervous as I'd entered as a runner and was worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up (well I am in my fifties!) or might need to stop for a breather, but this didn't matter at all. The faster people left first and the walkers left last, and everyone else left in the middle. It was easy to dodge people who were a bit slower, and easy to slow down yourself if you needed to walk for a few metres to catch your breath.

I had a sad spell this morning when I logged onto my Race for Life sponsorship page to check how much money I'd raised. I read my tribute to Debbie, my best friend who died of secondary breast cancer in March of this year. I wrote this tribute just after she died and before her funeral, when I was feeling totally devastated and raw. Now in July, four months on, I'm over that stage of grief thank goodness, and at the point where I just miss her terribly and forget sometimes that she's gone for ever from this life. I think "Oh I must tell Debbie that" and then remember all over again that she's dead. Mourning is a healing process and the grief isn't so debilitating any more, as the memories of her suffering and last weeks fade and the good memories surface again. However, reading my tribute to Debbie this morning brought it all back and I had a good old cry.

But running the Race for Life is such a positive thing and Debbie was so pleased I was going to do it. She was such a fighter and refused to accept the possibility of death almost up until the very end. She had faith in medical science and the chance of a break-through in cancer care. She also believed in the power of positive thinking and practised this all the time. I'm sure this is why she survived longer than predicted. I hope that the money raised by every woman taking part in the Races this year will help to prevent others dying and suffering so much. I know many women who have successfully fought cancer and are still with us today, which is the wonderful thing we must hold on to. This is in no small measure thanks to the work of charities such as Cancer Research UK, who organise the Race for Life.

Thank you so very much to all those who sponsored me. I can't believe I raised over double my target, and it's all thanks to you. I was thinking of you all today whilst running round Prospect Park with the wind blowing and the odd spattering of lovely cool rain falling on my face. And of course I was thinking of dear Debbie, and my mum who also died of breast cancer a few years ago, strangely on Debbie's birthday. They'd always got on so well and often ganged up against me, usually about my untidiness. I carried memories of them both with me today as I ran, as I shall carry them for ever. And I certainly intend to take part in the Race for Life again next year. It was one of the most positive things I've done and it really helped in my grieving for Debbie. And my sponsorship came to £1,105!!! Thank you xxx

Dowsing at Rollright Stones

Today Mr B and I spent a very enjoyable day at the Rollright Stones near Chipping Norton in Oxfordshire learning about dowsing. We joined Maria Wheatley and Busty at the stone circle with a group of dowsers to find out more about this ancient art. The sacred site is wonderful, a perfect circle with many stones all jostling together like children playing "Ring-a-ring-a-roses". With views over the ripening fields of crops, and shelter from the brisk wind, it was a lovely place to spend a Saturday.

I've written quite a bit about earth energy in my Stonewylde books. But I've never dowsed before and there's something about being in a group that brings out the sceptic in me. I was ready to believe but also ready to dismiss. Maria was very welcoming and went to great lengths to give everyone plenty of attention. Busty lent each of us a pair of stainless steel L shaped dowsing rods, showed us how to hold them and we started dowsing straight away, searching for the energy within the stones themselves.

Mr B's and my faces must have been hilarious as our rods immediately swung round. No question of "is it real?" - it was real! The rods really did seem to have a life of their own. Maria explained about the different types of dowsing, which I won't go into here as I can't remember all the proper names for things. Basically we looked at the patterns between each stone which all interconnect - the ley lines, which are energy lines between things above the ground. We searched too for the concentric circles of energy which are created within all circles and are to do with the inherent properties of the shape itself, and also the geospiral of energy under the ground - the earth energy.

This was all very interesting as I hadn't appreciated the difference between ley lines and earth energy. We also dowsed with pendulums, which to be honest neither Mr B nor I had any success with. As you can probably tell from my expression in the photo above! Busty said this was because I was trying so hard not to let the crystal start to spin. That's true - I thought people were deliberately swinging the pendulum themselves so I was trying to be good and not to cheat!

We also dowsed at the nearby King Stone, with more glorious views over the Oxfordshire countryside, and the Whispering Knights. Here we found the Belinus Line too, which is a very long line of earth energy which snakes from the Isle of Wight to the tip of Scotland apparently. The Whispering Knights are much older than the Rollright Stones, and have all sorts of myths attached such as how they whisper the name of future husbands to maidens at the full moon! It was lovely to see little offerings of flower posies on them, and quite a few coins too.

It's been a while since I took part in a group event like this, and I'd forgotten what an interesting and offbeat bunch of people are attracted to such things. Maria and Busty were lovely and explained their theories, answered questions as best they could and gave us all plenty of their time and attention. I realise I couldn't possibly learn in one day what it's taken them many years to discover, but they gave us a good introduction to dowsing. I'd like to do it again with a Y rod of wood (Maria recommended hazel) which would feel more natural to me.

If anyone is interested in dowsing with Maria, take a look at her website on www.theaveburyexperience.co.uk. She normally works at Avebury but also does work at Stonehenge. She's very knowledgeable and has a great sense of humour too.

Pagan cops and robbers

Today there was a story in the media about police officers being given days off to celebrate the pagan festivals. Just like other religions really - all respectable and proper. It made me smile. How far have we come from the days - not so long ago - when I used to teach in a Church of England school and was absolutely terrified of losing my job? I wasn't a witch but I was so scared of someone discovering my interest in paganism and "shopping" me. I don't think legally I could have been fired, but my position would have been untenable. I would have had to resign.

I imagine it was until recently the same in the police force. We may have anti-discrimination laws, but we all know that in reality, peer pressure and other subtle forms of bullying can make it impossible to be open and honest. A bit like being gay - it may be legal and above board but in the real world sometimes it's easier all round to say in the closet.

But according to the news report today, pagan police officers can now officially come out of the broom closet. Requests for leave to celebrate the pagan festivals will be viewed sympathetically, and there's even a Pagan Police Association. There's also the Pagan Police Group UK, a website for pagan police officers and their families. Presumably the brave souls who have declared their beliefs are subject to a lot of ribbing and teasing from their colleagues, but it's a start.

And in a similar vein I came across an interesting person recently on Twitter, who works as a Pagan Prison Chaplain. I didn't know such people existed but she very kindly sent me full details. Apparently every faith has a right to be represented in prison chaplaincy because prisoners come from all faiths. So any inmate who either professes themselves to be a practising pagan, or expresses a serious interest in learning more about it, is entitled to access to a chaplain from the Pagan Federation Prison Ministry. People who undertake this work are volunteers and it seems on reading all the information sent to me that it must be a very demanding role indeed.

I was thinking today of how difficult it must be to feel that connection with the earth and the seasons when you're incarcerated in a high security prison. It made me think of an idea I read about a while ago, something on the lines of this: imagine if the skies were covered every single night and nobody ever got a glimpse of the stars. And then imagine if, for one night only, the skies would be clear and the whole universe of sparkling stars could be seen. Wouldn't everyone on the planet spend that one precious night outside just gazing and gazing in awe and wonder? Yet in reality most nights we spend tucked up inside watching our screens, totally oblivious to the beauty above us. We just take it for granted.

This must be what it's like for a prisoner. The simple joys of walking out in the woods or hills or along a beach would be seen as something so very special, but something we at liberty may take for granted. It made me think that I must keep my eyes open and appreciate what's around me all the time. I'm not planning on any spells inside of course, but we can become prisoners in our homes all too easily.

Tomorrow I'm off to a famous stone circle to do some dowsing with a lady who's an expert in this field. I'm looking forward to this immensely, and shall spare a thought for all those who cannot for whatever reason get out of doors to enjoy the fresh air and wonders of nature. Even torrential rain must seem lovely when you're inside with no access to the outside.

If anyone's interested in finding out more about the Pagan Federation Prison Ministry, do contact the Pagan Federation for further details. And the link to the story about pagan police officers is http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8154812.stm.

Corn, poppies and golden organza

I'm very busy today preparing for the Port Eliot Festival. And I'm SO EXCITED !!! Our tickets arrived today, mine as "artiste" and Mr B's as "guest". Whoo hoo! They confirmed my speaking slot for the Saturday at 12.30 in the Round Room, which for those of you who know anything of Port Eliot, is a very famous room indeed. It's round (obviously!) and painted with murals of local people by the controversial artist (now deceased) Robert Lenkiewicz. I shall be talking about harvest traditions, corn dollies and of course, Stonewylde, with a reading from Moondance of Stonewylde which features Lammas.

But the speaking slot is only a tiny part. We'll be there from the Thursday night, ready to set up our gazebo on Friday morning. Our wonderful Cornmother from the community site has sent me so many beautiful corn dollies and favours, and we'll be creating a magical room of Stonewylde related things - the dollies, hares, green men, a crow etc - and of course plenty of Stonewylde books too.

Mr B and I shall be dressing up in showman style (inspired by dear Simon Costin - I've always liked razzmatazz and he's kind of given it authentication) and I'm very busy today and for the next week making my Corn Mother costume. I'd like to be known as the Corn Maiden but fear that perhaps I'm a little old for that, so Corn Mother it is! The photo above shows some of my workshop (the sitting room floor) and my creative endeavours. The dress was a bargain from e-bay (some young thing's prom outfit - now put to much better use!) and is a beautiful silky golden affair with organza and beading and a laced bodice. Ooh-er! I'm accessorising with red satin, poppies and corn, and hoping the whole ensemble will be spectacular.

Mr B's will be slightly less extravagant as he isn't quite such a show-off as me, but will involve a bowler hat and maybe a frilly shirt! I can say no more at this point. I'd better stop here as Mr B says I waffle on far too much in my blogs and need to be more succinct. But one thing I must say: the photo above I took on the little camera, got it into my laptop, saved it somewhere, rotated and resized it and even managed to get it straight onto the blog!!! Feels like the old days before I met Mr B when life, computers and cameras were simple. No horrid networks and complicated stuff! I feel re-empowered and there's no stopping me now.

Right - now to thread my needle and start hemming.

Stonewylders at Leeds Health & Healing Festival

We spent a lovely but hectic weekend travelling all over the place, and yesterday was the Health and Healing Festival in Leeds which is a long drive for us. But boy was it worth it! We arrived a little late as usual and quickly set up our table with Magik Thread. They're a fantastic bookstall crammed full of interesting, alternative stuff and are also a mine of information for the browser. At these events, they give us a whole table for Stonewylde and we decorate it with the books of course, and my green man, the labyrinth, corn dollies, cards, etc.

At this amazing venue there were the usual Mind/Body/Spirit stalls, with many workshops and talks going on in four different rooms. Some festivals charge for their talks but at this one they were all free. Leeds Town Hall is beautiful, highly decorated and with owls everywhere which of course I loved. A whole gang of Stonewylders arrived to say hello - in this picture you can see five of the old faithfuls who really feel like old friends now. There were two others from the Stonewylde forum at the fair too, sadly not in this photo, and it was so good to meet them.

Mr B is confusing me even more now with the photographs because he has a new phone and has decided this is better for photos. But he took some photos too on the small camera (as opposed to the large camera which didn't make it to Leeds I don't think - just as well). We're having issues with photos as some of you may have picked up on because I'm getting so FRUSTRATED at not being able to access them. So in order to silence my bleatings, dear Mr B kindly uploaded and resized the Leeds ones for me when we got home late last night - and today I find that there are only about half what I'd expected. I thought we had a lovely one with all the Stonewylders in it. It may of course not be poor Mr B's fault at all but simply my dodgy memory.

Anyway, it was absolutely wonderful to have seven forum members present in my talk, with many others in the audience who've read the books including two young teenage girls. It was great to be able to share my story and experiences with such a sympathetic crowd and I really enjoyed giving the talk. It was also interesting asking the audience about their totems (in relation to the Stonewylde pendants given at the Rite of Adulthood) and I may develop this theme further for next year. There's a limit to how often I can talk about my hare and the labyrinth!

The event in Leeds also brought home to us how we need to get on with the next Stonewylde T-shirt. We've sold out of all of them except for a few small ones, and have had requests from some ladies for strappy vests as well as T-shirts, so we need to crack on with this. We may go for black next time as people do love their black T-shirts - what do you all think? I welcome any suggestions either here, or on the forum, or by e-mail, about the next T-shirt.

Now it's a very busy ten days ahead leading up to Port Eliot, and I shall explain more about this in my next blog. I also have my Race for Life next Sunday and am trying to practise for that as I'm woefully behind in my training. If anyone would like to sponsor me (and many, many thanks to those who already have) you can do it online, and there are Race For Life links on both the main Stonewylde website and the forum. Every little bit helps so please do if you can.

Children, housework and life's purpose

I had the most wonderful news on Wednesday. My youngest son Will got the results of his degree - a 2:1 in War Studies from King's College, London. I am so proud of him, and am still glowing with a lovely warm feeling of fulfilment and completion. Of course that's not it as far as being his mother is concerned, nor is it over with his education as his grade was high enough to enable him to take up his place on the Master's course. He's had to defer this for a year due to lack of funding (more about this another time - my blood is still boiling about it) but actually that's probably a good thing. He never took a gap year and too much adademia isn't good for you.

Some of you will know from my talks and my bio on the website, and of course in the "Acknowledgements" page of my books, that I was a single mum for many years and brought up my three boys alone. My husband left a few weeks after Will was born and with two toddlers to care for as well as a new-born baby, I really didn't think I'd manage. Life was a terrible struggle, both financially but also emotionally. I wanted the best for my children as any parent does, but felt that I couldn't ever give it. We had no money, I was constantly frazzled and exhausted, and we lived in less than salubrious surroundings.

So Will's achievement on Wednesday meant even more to me than it would have done if we'd been a "normal" family. I'm saying this not to blow any trumpets but as possible inspiration to any other single mums out there, or couples bringing up children on a low income. It is possible to do a good job of it! We really had nothing for years - living in a council house, no car, tatty furniture, all our clothes second-hand, homemade presents, very basic but wholesome food, no expensive hobbies and clubs - none of the trappings that kids see as normal today. As time went on and my teaching career progressed, money became a lot easier although we never had very much. But my boys grew up appreciating the value of things, not expecting much materially, and using their imaginations to play rather than relying on expensive games. They also had to help a great deal with cooking and housework, and are all pretty good cooks now and handy around the home.

In a couple of weeks I'll watch Will graduate and being a soppy mum I know I'll cry. I cried when my eldest son graduated too, and now my middle one has applied to go into nursing so that will be a cause for more celebration if he gets accepted. And of course it works both ways, because my boys are very proud of my achievements too. George texted me once to say, "Mum, the person in front of me in the queue at Paddington is reading Moondance! I want to tell her that my mum wrote it but I don't think she'd believe me!".

On a similar vein to this, about the things that matter in life (ie not material stuff, not expensive holidays, etc), I twittered yesterday that my step-father was coming to stay and I was guiltily busy hoovering and dusting, not having done any housework for a while. One of the stalwart Stonewylders, Cornmother, twittered back with a link to a lovely poem. I've come across this before but never had a copy of it, and I wanted to share it with my blog readers. According to Wiki, it was written by Rose Milligan but is usually attributed to "anon".

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Remember, a house becomes a home
when you can write "I love you" on the furniture.....

Have a lovely weekend everyone! We're off to Leeds Health and Healing Festival on Sunday for a booksigning and a talk, and looking forward very much to meeting up with some of the lovely Stonewylders who are coming along. But now I must attend to my poppy and wheat head-dress ...

PS the pic above was taken two years ago and they'll go mad if they see it here! Can't find a more recent one of just me and my boys though. All now have shorter hair.

Head-dress and dowsing

I'm in a state of great excitement today, which is just as well as it's helping take my mind off the agony of my hips. I'm still feeling like a little old lady and it's making me very cross. I trained for that half-marathon walk. I didn't enter as a complete newb with no walking experience at all. And yet today and yesterday I've been so stiff and hobbly. Not calves, buttocks, thighs, knees etc which I know are all quite normal after a long and fast walk, but on my hips. Now I've been dreaming about hip replacements. Is it normal for hips to hurt so much after power-walking? If anyone out there knows, please tell me. It's worse when I've been sitting still for any length of time. And of course running is out of the question for today at least.

The excitement has come about because I heard this morning that there's a place for me on a dowsing event at the Rollright Stones later this month. I've never been dowsing, and nor have I been to the Rollright Stones so it's doubly exciting. The problem I've always had with dowsing is fairly early on in my path, I came across some really silly people who were into dowsing and it just put me off the whole thing. You know how you can associate things in your mind. So although I've always believed fully in the concept of earth energy/ley lines/energy spirals/etc (you only have to read Stonewylde to see just how much I believe in them) I've never actually dowsed before. I've held a dowsing rod and felt it twitch, but it was always in the company of people whom I didn't really want to share such a special thing with. I either like doing magical things alone, or with special people. I get put off if I feel those around me aren't in tune, which is why I call myself a solitary.

Anyway, I'm now going on a special trip to Rollright with someone who's meant to be a real expert in the field and knows their stuff. I am really looking forward to the whole experience and will report back afterwards - not for a couple of weeks yet.

The picture above is one Mr B took nearly two years ago at Lammas in Eastbourne. We were there by invitation of Jerry Bird (who's since moved to Dorchester) who was one of the organisers of the big Lammas Festival held there every year. We had a wonderful time, and were particularly taken with this beautiful lady dressed in Lammas finery. Mr B was even more particularly taken with her and when I suggested he went outside with her to take some photos for the website (me being busy signing books at the time indoors) he leapt at the chance. I can't remember her name now (although she gave permission to use the photos we'd taken) because in my mind she was Miranda with that beautiful hair.

When I was invited by Lady St Germans to attend the Port Eliot Literary Festival at the end of this month (see my News and Events page on the main website for full details) I suggested that I dress as the Corn Mother complete with golden outfit, dollies and of course the head-dress. Those of you who've read Moondance of Stonewylde will know all about this. Lady St Germans was very excited about this and so now I'm going to be appearing in costume (for the whole weekend, weather permitting) and am in the process of putting it all together.

Yesterday I started to make my head-dress. I shall keep you updated on progress but let's just say - I'm not very good at this sort of thing! If only my friend Debbie were here! She was brilliant at anything fiddly (helped me ice my wedding cake for instance) and would have loved to make me a corn and poppy head-dress. I'm modelling it loosely on the one worn above by Miranda but don't hold me to that! I'm now just about to start weaving some vine leaves into the circlet, if my creaky joints will permit me to sit on the floor. It's strewn with wheat heads, vine leaves, poppies, sunflower heads and florist's tape at the moment. The cats are loving it.

Quest and Sunwalk weekend

Firstly just how brave am I publishing this rather unflattering photo on my blog? But a photo of me in my ivy-covered bra was promised on Twitter so I have to keep to my word, even if I do look dreadful. Believe me it's the best of the bunch, so you can imagine how ghastly the others were!

But let's be chronological here. Quest first, on Saturday. This is held at Newton Abbot racecourse in Devon every year at this time. Last year's was a washout weather-wise but I had high hopes for this year. Because of my sponsored walk on Sunday I could only go on Saturday so Mr B, my 12 year old step-son and I set out almost at the crack of dawn (well, 8.30 but you know what I'm like in the morning by now) down to Devon. A beautiful day which clouded over as we went south and west. By the time we arrived it was overcast and grey and the clouds seemed ominously heavy. Typical!

We did a quick circuit - it's a lovely venue with the indoor bit jam-packed with the usual Health and Healing /Mind, Body, Spirit stalls which I'm getting quite accustomed to this year, and also a lot of outdoor gazebos and tents with more ethnic/new age stuff for sale. I tried to persuade Mr B to buy a colourful Afghan hat but he's still a bit of a refusenik about anything too unconventional. Although improving by the year. My step-son bought a black sort of gangster hat though - mostly I think because it made him think of Michael Jackson in the Billie-Jean video - and he did a hilarious impersonation later.

I said hello to many friends with stalls including Mercury Rising (great books, Tarot cards, etc) and Celtic Moon (beautiful things like moongazy hares, jewellery and a wonderful range of head-dresses). After a healthy lunch (Mr B's diet is going very well indeed) we went along to Bob Broadway's bookstall where I'd arranged to be all afternoon to sign books. I've only recently added Bob as one of my hosting booksellers, and it was great to meet him. He's completely Stonewylded which helps enormously and surprised me as he comes across as someone quite sceptical and business-like. But as we know, Stonewylde seems to go down well with all sorts, and he's 100% behind me, promoting the books and looking for opportunities.

We spent a busy afternoon talking to new people and selling books, but also meeting up with Stonewylde fans and readers who'd come over specially. I really do love that. Quest is such a popular event and there were many Stonewylde readers from all over the country there, from as far afield as Cornwall to Leeds! They all came up for a hug and a chat, and I enjoyed that very much. During the afternoon the heavy grey clouds gradually but sneakily cleared and the sun blazed out. I was wearing a sleeveless summer dress and no hat, and Bob had put me outside his gazebo at my own little table. The suncream was in the car, Mr B and my stepson were wandering around and doing interesting things like a drumming workshop, and meanwhile I gradually burned! So stupid - I was really cross with myself.

Whilst we were there, Fiona who organised Quest came to meet me and invited me to do a speaking slot or workshop next year. I gladly accepted (it's such a popular event and I came to it too late this year) and am looking forward to that already. We also met Bo and Carolyn who are the organisers of Kernowkopia, the wonderful Cornish festival in Newquay in November. They have plastered me all over their promotional literature which was everywhere at Quest (these festival organisers are very supportive of each other which is lovely to see) and this earned me some Brownie points with my step-son, who now believes I'm actually quite famous! I'm so looking forward to Kernowkopia too and hope to get most of my Christmas shopping done there!

We spent the night in Bristol with family, and I had nightmares all night long it seemed about my half marathon walk the next day. I was really suffering from sunburn, and in my dreams I'd forgotten not only my competitor's number and safety pins, but also my sunhat. I was told by the organisers that I couldn't take part because of this, which was a bit of a relief. But I woke early and realised, yes, it was all a dream (and that takes me back to my teaching days when every child in the class used to finish their stories with that immortal line until I cruelly banned it). So ... smothered in high factor suncream (horse/bolting/gate?) and feeling ridiculous in my ivy-covered bra and hat, I was driven by my lovely Mr B to Ashton Court where the Sunwalk starts.

Once there I was no longer ridiculous at all as every one of the thousands of women (and some men) present was sporting a decorated bra. Mostly pink and fluffy, it has to be said, but still ridiculous. How brave are some women! All shapes and sizes, and walking through the streets of Bristol in a bra, showing off your tummy too, takes a bit of courage. Walk the Walk is the brand-name of this charity, and it organises the famous marathon Moonwalk as well as this half-marathon Sunwalk. The millions of pounds raised by their events around the country all goes to help fight cancer and its horrible effects. One of their many projects is to provide scalp-coolers to chemo units. I saw these when I used to sit with my friend Debbie during her chemo sessions. They're like an old fashioned hood-dryer, and they help combat hairloss which is often the final demoralising straw for the cancer victim.

The field at Ashton Court was teeming with colour, balloons, excited women and lots of flesh. It was hot and sunny and my sunburn was throbbing under its sunscreen. We did a big razzamatazzy warm up with music and lots of cheering and clapping, but then the lady on stage asked for a minute's silence to remember why we were all there. The whole arena and the thousands of people went silent, and then by pure coincidence there was a great peal of bells from a nearby church. That was the undoing of me, as my friend Debbie had always loved the sound of churchbells. I'd signed up for the Sunwalk whilst she was still alive and it hit me anew that I would never see her again in this life.

Then we were off - so many bodies pouring through the narrow start gates under the massive digital clock. Up the hill, a stomping good pace but too many people. I usually walk alone and this felt like being in a herd of buffalo! But gradually as time wore on people found their pace and it thinned a bit. I tried to keep fairly near the front and a fast pace, mostly because there were only a few toilet stops and the prospect of queuing with thousands of women was not good. So I marched along, listening to snippets of conversations, looking at the amazing diversity of decorated bras, smiling to the many people who lined our way wishing us well and cheering us on. It was great!

Until it started to rain. I don't like rain or cold and am not very hardy. Bristol's quite high up and exposed in places, and the downpour hit when I was up on a windy open plain. The organisers hadn't of course handed out the little plastic ponchos as it had been blazing sun when we left with only a few innocent cotton wool clouds about. Hah! I was glad of my hat as the huge raindrops lashed down for a couple of miles. To make it worse we actually went past Bristol Zoo whilst it was pouring, and I knew that Mr B and my stepson were inside, probably warm and cosy in Bugworld or something. I was very tempted to peel off from the walkers and join them!

All the way along right from the start, I'd felt like little Gretel in the old Grimm's Fairytale. There'd been a strange sporadic trail of cerise coloured feathers which started at the beginning of the walk. At some point in my efforts to get near the front, I'd overtaken a group of women all wearing bright pink boas (yes the event was at times slightly reminiscent of a hen-party but without the stilettoes) and had thought "Phew! No more pink feathers to follow!" Don't get me wrong - I like pink (although maybe not cerise) and there's nothing wrong with a boa in the right place, but for some reason these ubiquitous feathers were reminding me of the dreaded pink socks incident in the labyrinth, which many who've attended my talk will know all about. I felt a similar irrational irritation at the sight of them, so was pleased when I finally overtook their source.

Anyway, we crossed the Clifton Suspension Bridge (spectacular!) and then the rain eased off and the pavements and roads began to steam in the brilliant sunshine. It felt tropical! My spirits lifted as I saw the 11 mile marker - only two more to go! I was aching by this point but okay. I kept remembering bringing parties of primary school kids on their residential trips to Bristol a few years ago. We had some great times, but if only I'd had a glimpse then of July 5th 2009! I was several stone lighter now, happily married and an author! My old self would never in a million years have believed it - and walking 13 miles would have been out of the question then. The only good thing then was that my friend was alive and well.

Finally, we triumphantly turned into the top gates of Ashton Court! It was literally downhill from now on - which when your legs are so aching and tired is actually worse than being on the straight. And then I saw it - a damn cerise coloured feather! No!!! I'd been so convinced I'd finally overtaken them! Passing back under the digital clock through cheering crowds was wonderful, as was having the medal on its pink ribbon put around my neck. Sadly Mr B was still at the zoo at this point so I don't have a triumphant photo, but the banana I was given was almost as welcome as him. And the fetching foil wrap too, for by this time it was overcast again and with the walking over and the seizing up beginning, I needed something to keep me warm.

I loved doing the Sunwalk and hope to do it again next year - maybe repeating the whole weekend with Quest on the Saturday and Sunwalk on the Sunday, if the dates coincide again. Today I'm in agony but there's no time for that as the 5km Race for Life run is less than two weeks away and I need to start training for that again. It's all gone out the window with this recent heatwave. But no more excuses - tomorrow I'll go running. Provided my legs work, which they certainly don't today! I'm hobbling around like an old lady and with a burnt nose and shoulders too.

Still in caterpillar form maybe?

Oh dear! From promising an exciting metamorphosis into a "blogger extraordinaire" I've now shrivelled back into caterpillar form - can't even pretend I'm a chrysalis. What went wrong? Mark Thwaite would be so disappointed in me, failing my marriage in just the first week. So much for daily commitment.

How do regular bloggers do it? I follow Dovegreyreader Scribbles, one of the best literary blogs in the world (literally in the world as she has followers from around the globe) and she posts without fail every day. She actually posts the day's blog at night-time and today when I saw some of her responses from other countries I realised why. Else it would be a day late across the water. I love her blog - she manages to review a book a day almost, and also chats about other ordinary things. She posted a little survey today asking about why people follow her blog (she's giving a talk at Port Eliot LitFest later this month - more about this another time) and one of my responses was it's because reading her blog is like popping into her sitting room - intimate and cosy and very interesting.

One of the problems I have with blogging is that I haven't yet found my blogging voice - probably because I haven't stuck at it enough. I'm torn between different identities and don't know my audience. I feel that my readers who are complete Stonewylde obsessives already get a good dose of me on our community site. The more casual browser can find lots to read on the main website. So who's reading this? What do you need or want? Tricky one. Darcy (one of the high profile members of our community whom I finally met last weekend) says he wants to read personal stuff that's amusing. As he is a brilliant blogger himself, I feel I can't write anything that will impress him. We'll have to see. Let me know how I'm doing, Darcy!

Last weekend Mr B and I were in Buxton for the Health and Healing Festival. I managed to excel in my late-leaving. Four hours later than planned! Four hours!! So of course most of the driving from Reading to Buxton was in the rush hour (and didn't I know it in the mish-mash of roads around Coventry!) and it took me five hours to reach the B&B. Absolutely pathetic - and to prove how bad this was, let me tell you it took us three hours to get back on Sunday.

We were staying in a gorgeous farmhouse B&B, and I'm now a complete convert to this form of accommodation. So much nicer than a similar priced hotel which can be grotty and impersonal. We stayed at Stoop Farm with Karen and her family and were made to feel so welcome. Karen has only recently converted a barn into B&B rooms (three of them) and no expense has been spared in making the place luxurious (for a farmhouse - it's not the Ritz!) and personal. Every little detail was taken care of and the cooked breakfast (of which I'm not normally a fan) was so delicious. I definitely recommend the place.

We went for a wonderful walk in the Peaks that rise all around the farmhouse. We followed an old cobbled pack-horse trail down into a valley where it meets a river, an ancient stone bridge and a meadow. I've been trying to resize a photo of this to post here, but Mr B in his wisdom has a complicated system of storing photos. He also insists on taking large ones (I mean in terms of Mb's) and the combination of these factors means I've just wasted a whole hour with no photo to show for it. Grrr! And I nearly lost this post altogether and at this rate the whole blog thing is going to end in divorce. Sorry Mark!

Buxton itself was lovely - a really buzzing and attractive little town with proper shops rather than the homogenized chain stores you get in every town across the country. The Pavilion where the Health and Healing Festival was taking place was brilliant. A pink round interior with lots of glass, although the glass wasn't so good in the stifling heat. Loads of my wonderful Stonewylders turned up to say hello and that was the best bit. I gave my talks under the most appalling conditions imaginable as the room I'd been allocated had a glass roof and no windows! The aforementioned Darcy was there, smiling and nodding to me through the ordeal, as were other Stonewylde readers. The funny thing was that Darcy mentioned afterwards in his blog how the electric fan I was standing in front of was blowing my hair all over the place, and every time I mentioned the word "hare" (which was often as this is largely what my talk's about) my hair billowed out around me. I can't say I noticed as I was busy fighting off waves of faintness, but Darcy said it looked quite dramatic. It's what they do to models, isn't it? Waft their hair around them to make them look windswept and glamorous.

We also visited Arbor Low whilst we were staying in the area. This is a beautiful stone circle set in a round ditch system. The huge stones are all lying on the grass rather than upright, with sheep leaping about. We watched a couple of sheep playing "dare" on a stone, going closer and closer to the edge until one pushed the other off. They kept climbing back on and doing it again and I really think they were playing. We basked in the setting sun for some time on the stones, on our way back to the car passing two small children clutching chicken eggs. "They're still warm!" one of them cried, and I remembered how I dreamed as a child of growing up on a farm. There were muddy bikes everywhere and I thought how magical it must be to live so close to a sacred site with warm eggs in nests to collect on a summer's evening.

It was a lovely weekend altogether, despite my late start. Attending these festivals is work, but not as we know it, Jim. We get to travel all over the country, stay in a variety of places we'd never normally visit, meet up with the most wonderful people who are all Stonewylded and so very friendly, and also get to publicise the books too! Darcy very cleverly described the festival as if he'd been transported to Constantinople in mediaeval times, and that's exactly what these Mind/Body/Spirit events feel like. A complete mish-mash of smells, noises, and sights, with vendors ranging from gorgeous to downright weird all touting their wares and offering their services in an enclosed and crowded place. Very exotic.

I must now, after a quick dash to Waitrose for tonight's food, prepare for our visit tomorrow to Quest at Newton Abbot where it will all start again. I'm not giving a talk tomorrow as by the time I'd accepted my invitation all the speaking slots were taken. But I'll be at Bob Broadway's bookstall signing copies of Stonewylde and chatting to people. And Sunday we're in Bristol as I'm doing the Sunwalk - wearing a green bra covered in ivy leaves. If you're very lucky Mr B might sort his system out so I can actually post a novelty photo of this. If not it'll be another good old book-signing photo! Have a lovely weekend, folks.