SPIRIT OF THE MARSH

The sun shone down on the 2nd annual Spirit of the Marsh festival which had a great atmosphere, great food, great music and marauding vikings.

The highlight of the weekend in Theddlethorpe was the procession of the Nordic invaders but there was plenty more on offer.

My other half was completely in awe of the vikings. I think it brought out the kid in him. He loved the longboat that carried the imaginary souls of 40 dead warriors. It was torched at the end of the procession so their spirits could be freed to Valhalla.

More photos are available HERE and the Mablethorpe Leader wrote about it too.

We were privileged to work as crew and earned our keep on car park duty. I'm not sure that my other half should have been given a Marshall vest because while wearing it he turned into a little clipboard and peak cap Hitler but as I'm more laid back to the point where I might fall over so we balanced out and gave good service with no complaints and a few good natured laughs.

The rain that drizzled on us as we pitched up our tent soon disappeared to leave a weekend of sunshine that got hotter as each day passed. It was truly glorious weather and a glorious event in a charming village I'd never been to before. I hope there are many more.

We will definitely be there next year come rain or shine. The Spirit of the Marsh is now a regular fixture on our summer calendar and it should be on anyone else's that likes music, fun, crafts, fire shows, beautiful countryside, camping, and great company.

FESTIVAL TEARS, HUGS AND TALENT

Hurricane winds, lashing rain and soggy tents characterised the last ever EcoFest which began some 16 years ago in honour of the start of summer and ended with emotional goodbyes to one of the best community events on the local calendar.

I first went in 2007 when I reported on it for the Grimsby Telegraph. My fee was a free ticket. The paper didn't need freelance cover for the event thereafter but they did send in a photographer to take pictures to go with a few words from a press release or gathered over the phone via a chat with the organiser Susi Mulligan.

This year BBC Radio Lincolnshire visited to capture the atmosphere at this last ever event and interviewed a few people about what the festival meant to them.

My free pass continued after 2007 as I managed to get myself on crew working the gate. During the last five years I've seen some great bands and artists, including Jon Gomm who was there last year and whose sudden fame hasn't taken him away from local venues. He still counts The Jolly Brewer in Lincoln as one of his favourite places to play.

As much as I wanted to go to the stage at EcoFest this year, the downpour was just too awful to crawl from out of the blankets that kept me warm but I thoroughly enjoyed listening to all of the bands from my tent including Lincoln based group The Validators.

It was real foot stomping stuff with an Eastern European flavour and the first time I'd heard the Russian sound mixed with reggae to produce something quite unique which you can hear thanks to the YouTube video I found and posted above.



Another one of my favourite bands is The Bad Apples from Grimsby. The band's guitarist is related to a friend who has worked on crew longer than me, the bass player rocks, and the lead singer has a powerful voice and a great stage presence.

They gave a message to David Cameron with the song Bullet with Your Name On, and the track Granny Takes a trip seemed apt for us older rockers - many brought their own kids to the first festival and had their grandkids with them at the last.

My other half sat and Eurovisioned marks to the bands. Like the European song contest, he awarded on politics and not the merit of the talent of which there was an abundance.

The Bad Apples, for example, didn't score highly for him because they were what rival Lincolnians call Cod Heads due to their Grimsby roots, and sadly the Validators, who would have won purely on the strength that they came from Lincoln, were marked down on my other half's scorecard due to the fact that they were more new Lincolnite and hailed from Derby rather than being an old Lincolnian born and bred in our home city.

The Bad Apples played a song in honour of Grimsby fishermen who lost their lives at sea and I could relate to that as my Italian ancestors were all fishermen facing those same dangers.



Merlin's Keep were another great band that defy you to stay seated and not get up and dance.

Links to other EcoFest performers over the years, including Sambalada, Starvin Sid, and the Rafters can be found HERE



There were lots of tears and hugs as the festival came to an end but for me they started on the first shift when I sat on gate with my friend Lisa and performer Andrea Ferguson who popped in for a chat during a quiet patch.

She spoke the words of a song that she had written in memory of her dad who died last year. Lisa, Andrea and I were filled with tears when she finished and then we all shared our own personal experiences of losing our parents, where we were when we heard the awful news, how we remember them and why such scars never heal if we can find a way to live with them and face them from time to time.

It was an intense, emotionally charged moment and all respect to Andrea for writing such powerful universal words that caused such cathartic and spontaneous grieving. I hear she has some possible gigs lined up in Germany and I wish her well with that.

It took Jon Gomm 20 years to become an overnight success and I wish the same for Andrea. A talent worthy of the same kind of recognition.

For the EcoFest crew sad that this will be their last gathering in June, they have the August festival Small World to look forward to on the same site at Badger's Farm, Asterby, Louth.

Word has it that now that EcoFest is no more, Small World will be bigger and better and in weather that is far more reliable at that time of year with lots of hope that the sun will shine on those who worship at the alter of damn fine music in the Lincolnshire Wolds each summer.

FESTIVAL TIME

It's Festie time again and I'm off to the gorgeous Louth Wolds to EcoFest where I work for my ticket on the gate.

Great music, fantastic company, lots of laughs, and peace of mind characterise the event which starts on Fiday, June 15 and ends on Sunday, June 17th

Small and welcoming, as one who has been going now for six or seven years, I can testify that what they say about it is true :

"Visit once and you become a friend, visit more than once and you're family."

I hope the sun shines but who cares when you're surrounded by such dramatic scenery in such brilliant company.

A full report to come when I'm back, showered, dried out and caught up on the sleep I'm sure I'll lose.

GOODBYE BATTY

I had to have my dog put down yesterday. It's not the first time I've faced this. I've loved three dogs in my life before but there was something special about Batty. I fear I'll carry the sadness at his loss for a very long time.

He was born on 19th August 2003 and came to us in January 2004. I wasn't sure about having him at the time. We'd lost our previous family dog Spider, a sassi white staffordshire bull terrier, three months earlier and it just seemed disrespectful to replace her so soon.

 She was very much my husband's dog. I loved her of course but we never got really close. She loved him and I was a poor substitute.

When she died there was an emptiness in the house. The kids missed her. My husband  missed his evening's walk with her and the way she would faithfully wait, untethered, as he popped into the shop; the way she would pine for him whenever he left the house without her.

 The hole she left in our family motivated my other half to want another dog as soon as possible and when he saw a white boxer for sale in the local paper, he was determined to check him out and an hour later a gawky, clumsy, bouncy five month old whirlwind dragged my other half into the house and headed straight for me.

He stood on his hind legs with his front legs hugged around me and then he laid his head on my shoulder. I was suckered.

There were times when that special Batty hug was a comfort like no other living animal could give. My husband never bonded with him quite and in truth, he came too soon after the loss of Spider the Staffy which is why my other half couldn't love him quite the same but I adored him immediately. 

 Batty came to us with the name Bruno. I suppose because he was a boxer but he was more of a lover than a fighter and it didn't really suit him. During a fun mock boxing match with my other half, he remarked how Bruno fought like a Battyboy and the name stuck. He was certainly in touch with his feminine side. We still used Bruno when he was in trouble or when he needed the authoritarian voice. 

 Batty was just a huge mass of energy and he did everything with gusto. My other half had been used to walking Spider who would toddle along at his side off the lead. When Batty was first unleashed, my other half chased him for hours before he could get him back. 

 Batty was also sociable to other dogs but he irritated the life out of some by wanting to play and tease until they'd turn on him and then he'd gallop off like a horse.  There was a pond on the common where he walked. One day he hurtled towards it. We watched in horror as he sank in the middle but suddenly Batty bounced out of the water like he'd landed on a coiled spring and then took off with us chasing him again . I trained him to come back by taking cocktail sausages on the walk and rewarding him each time he returned. 

 His last owners wanted rid of him because he was destructive and had eaten through a settee. He was spoiled rotten there and they couldn't cope with him because he thought he owned the house. My other half has always been great with dogs because he treats them like dogs, not children, with respect, and lets them know who's boss and where the boundaries lie. 

 He chased Batty out of the house in anger one morning when we got up and found he had literally chewed the plaster off the kitchen wall down to the brick. Batty hid behind a bush in the garden and wouldn't come out for anyone but me and then I got one of those cuddles again. Perhaps he needed them too. 

 When we took him to the vet's for his jabs, we were told that as a white boxer he had a very short life span and would probably not live longer than 8 to 10 years. He was three and in his prime when we were approached about breeding him with a friend's female boxer. 

 We'd been told that if he mated he would calm down and it seemed a great idea to have one of his puppies from the litter. He was such a lovely dog that I wanted to be sure that his genes would continue and if we couldn't have him for long, then at least we'd have part of him for a bit longer.

 Toad was born at the end of August 2006 and came to us at six weeks old. Batty took him under his wing immediately and they became very close. Batty didn't have to prove he was top dog, Toad was happy to follow his lead.

They became inseparable. They slept together, walked together, ate together, drank together. When Batty stayed over at another Boxer bitch's house to mate, Toad was inconsolable. I wondered then if anything ever happened to Batty how Toad would cope. That night he paced and panted constantly and sat facing the door - waiting. He went loopy when Batty came home the next day.

The second litter of puppies Batty fathered were like mini clones of him and Toad. If only I could have kept them both too but at least I have their photo if I'll never know how they get on with their new owners and Toad and Batty were quite enough of a handful - except when they slept.

Was Batty ill then? It was only last year. We have no idea when he got prostate cancer. Dogs never complain and he never showed us he had a problem until last week when he suddenly stopped eating.

We wondered what the problem was but at first we didn't take it too seriously. He'd gone off his food before but usually when we changed brand of dog food. He was drinking water but when he still refused food the next day, and turned away from his favourite treats like bacon, sausages and cake, we began to worry a lot.

Our village vet is only open three days a week so Batty had been off his food for four days before we could get him in.  He went downhill rapidly. We had one sleepless night  wondering if he'd make it. The news when it came was the worst. The vet wanted to put him down there and then but my other half wanted to bring him home one last time so we could all say our final goodbye.

The last two days of his life were full of pain. He slept, drank water and puked continually when he didn't sleep. Toad paced the house for two nights whimpering as Batty lay there almost lifeless. It was pitiful. I wished he'd been put out of misery rather than coming home to say goodbye. That was for our benefit and not his and we shouldn't have put through that extra day. My last memory of him is the smile he gave me as I helped my other half lift  him into the car for the last visit to the vet.

 He didn't move as he lay on the back seat but seemed focussed on the scenery as  it flashed past the window as the car moved. He was a bit of a dreamer. There were  many times on holiday and in walks in the countryside when he would just sit and gaze out as if he was taking in the view.

His last breath was a sigh of relief . It was a comfort to hear. His time  had come and he was ready to go. Whether he and Toad had The Big Conversation in their own way during those last two nights can't be known but Toad seems to have accepted that Batty, his dad, is never coming back. He hasn't fretted, paced or whined at all but he is a much quieter and calmer dog now that Batty has gone.

Perhaps he's finally grown up. I'm dreading the thought that his time might be as short as Batty's  and now I know why boxer dogs are so energetic. They have so much life to cram into such a brief time on earth.

 Batty may have been here for just less than nine years but he will live with me and in my heart for lifetime and I am comforted to know that he gave us Toad who has his same gentle soul. He has lived in his dad's shadow since coming to our house and now is his time. I want to make sure that the years he has left will be the best of his life.

MISSING INSPECTOR MONTALBANO

I happened upon the Inspector Montalbano series quite by accident and I'm so glad I did because it's the best thing I've seen on TV for ages.

 I confess that the weekly dose of Sicilian sunshine was very uplifting during the grey and dreary Spring English weather with the prospect of yet another summer wash out on the horizon minus the handful of scorching days that are so rare this side of Europe.

 As much as the lush scenery, clear skies, yellow sunshine, golden sands, and Italian architecture was an attraction so too was the melodic Italian language that I love to hear, but struggle to understand, and the likeable characters despite their gentle machismo and sexism.

 Montalbano, played by Luca Zingaretti, is the sort of detective you want to deal with in real life should you fall under suspicion but you wouldn't want him as a boyfriend given the way he treats his girlfriend Livia. He once left her sitting in the car for two hours because he forgot she was there, and he even stole away back home from a weekend trip leaving her alone after failing to tell her they were only there because he was investigating something.

 He is fair, perceptive and just in his dealings. He doesn't always get his man - or woman - and sometimes just walks away, or deals out instant penalties after making a moral judgment about whether something is right or wrong outside of the confines of law.

 His side kick Mimi Augello played by Cesare Bocci always has women troubles and despite his sexism and belief that all women will fall for his charm, I still like him because his weakness for women is his Archilles Heel, his dealings with them often leaves him with egg on his face, and he always ends up going home to his long suffering fiance Bella - the sort of Italian woman you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of.

 Most people can't help but be drawn to Caterella, the well meaning, incompetent, comic relief who appears in a fluster all of the time and anxious to impress the Inspector.

 He appears to be mentally challenged but everyone in this series has their strong points and for Caterella - the jester - it is his expertise in computers and his enthusiasm that makes him such a valuable, if somewhat annoying, member of the team.

 I like the fact that Montalbano uses his brain and clues in the old fashioned way to solve the crime rather than the polished and clinical approach of something like CSI where close up shots of science in action as DNA, or some other vital piece of evidence is magnified under a microscope to indicate who dunnit .

 Fazio, the God fearing younger member of the team and moral guide, is loyal, honest and hardworking and trusts his boss's judgement even when he strays over the line of legality.

 I have no idea when or if Inspector Montalbano will return to British screens with BBC Four but until then I do at least have a a whole collection of books to discover.

 Meanwhile, I'll be thinking about my own trip to an Italian seaside town this year when I hope to visit my Italian mother's family in Cecina Mare, Tuscany, where the sea is just as clear as Montalbano's fictional town of Vigata, the sun shines as brightly, and the community including my relatives and ancestors are as old as the town itself.

 Watching the series took me a little closer to my favourite place every week and now it's ended, Saturday nights are not quite the same.

GETTING THERE - SLOWLY

The 90 minute drama I've been working on is almost completed but now the time has come to stand away from it for a while to think about what more it needs.

I sent it out to one agent last year who rejected it and then I put it away for ages to think about how I could ensure it had more impact and that "squelch" effect which is designed to make the viewer laugh, cry, or hide in fear.

When I looked at it again, I found there were far too many irrelevant scenes that seemed to be saying the same thing over and over without moving it forward and it was slower than a dragged foot so the pace needed to be stepped up a lot.

I think what that first finished draft showed me was who my characters were and what I learned was that, in the main, they are foul. It is a story about absent fathers, inadequate mothers, drugs, child abuse and murder but I can't help thinking that such a dark tale is perhaps not the right one to send out as a calling card to agents or as a script to production companies with a view to development.

The rewrites that have kept me busy over this last month have ensured that it does now move faster, the plot and sub-plot are more streamlined and focused, it does engage the viewer and the bad characters do get the retribution they deserve but I feel it is lacking in redemption. Maybe it also needs some comic touches to lift the reader from the depths of depravity that some of these characters live in.

I think there are also some bits of dialogue that could be more realistic so as much as I wanted to be able to send it out for consideration again after this latest marathon rewrite, I really don't think it is quite ready yet and now more time away from it is needed to approach it with fresh eyes and a fresh mind.

I am also working on other scripts including one that is far more lighthearted but that has not progressed as far as this troublesome 90 minute drama which aims to show how the old working class has become corrupted by the break down of normal family life and the easy availability of drugs.

STORY THEFT.

(Image from HERE)

Oh dear. Writer Liz Fielding reports that someone has stolen her story which is not good news for those of us who are new to fiction writing and trying to find our feet.

It's hard enough to know where to pitch work and a it's a real slog in making contacts without having the fear that better known writers could actually rip off your work and present it as their own before you've even managed to get a foot in any publishing door either online or in print.

It seems it happens quite frequently but the Womagwriter's blog gives some hints and links on copyright HERE which might help if you suspect that a story of yours has been stolen.

Maybe I'll hold off from publishing more of my short stories up here until my fiction work begins to make more of an impact out there which seems a shame because while it's posted up here, I know at least that someone will get to read it.

Meanwhile, I'm busy rewriting my 90 minute script which isn't up here. I'm hoping to send that out to agents by the end of next week and then get back on with the 2000 words or more a day needed to push my crime novel along which has slowly begun to take shape even though the lion's share of the work still needs to be done.

At the risk of stolen ideas, I'll keep to myself for now what it's about.