Flash Fiction

Earlier this year I submitted a story to a flash fiction competition. Flash fiction is a very short story - in this case, less than 500 words.

Imagine my joy when I was short-listed! So, I didn't go on to win a prize, but to be honest I didn't really care. If it was good enough to be short-listed then at least I knew that what I was writing wasn't total drivel.... Not bad for a first attempt at a short story.
Who knows, with a bit of practice, I might just make it onto the winning-list next time!
You can read the story below:

The Window
If any of the people walking along the street on that dark Tuesday morning had been inclined to look up from the dull task of tracing their steps into the beginning of their busy days, they would have seen her at the window of the upstairs flat. The rotting, peeling wood with the dirty net curtain pushed back to one side behind the glass perfectly framed the woman’s tired face. Well, girl really. She was just a girl.
As she looked out, her two hands raised and placed flat against the glass, she let her forehead fall against the cold, wet pane. She let the frigid feeling against her skin wash over her and it brought the blood rushing back to her head.
She looked down at the street below; at the busy people rushing to start their decent days. She remembered there was a time when the piercing rage of envy would stab at her when she saw these people filled with the normality of life. She was crazed with jealousy that they were free to walk to work in the morning, free to walk home again and free to follow dreams woven into real lives and real pain. Now? She felt the cold, wet pane of glass and not much else.
She peered out at the muted black streets, the rows of roofs and the soulless square box houses stretching on forever into the long grey morning. She remembered there was a time when she felt she could drown in the slow wave of sadness that tumbled over her when her senses were filled with this foreign, monotone prospect. Memories of home running headlong into her vision would taunt her, and the grief of loss would hit her in the stomach harder than a blow from any man. She would reach out silently for the scatter of brightly coloured buildings she couldn’t see anymore; the laughter of a village she couldn’t hear and the soul warming sun she couldn’t feel. Now? The memories didn’t come to her so much anymore. She knew that her soul was sliding a little further away from her heart every day she looked out of the window.
She started as the door flew open and the tall, dark man she remembered from yesterday strode in with his hands reaching for his trouser buttons. She stepped away from the window and the outside world, and automatically let her dressing gown drop to the floor as she walked towards the bed.

Drum for Books

Book Drum is an incredibly innovative new website that pulls readers deep into the hidden worlds of their favourite books. So far, contributors have created almost 100 in-depth profiles of different books, with summaries, images, maps and detailed analysis.
One of my favourite books is The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak, and you can find my profile of it here:
http://www.bookdrum.co.uk/books/the-book-thief/9780552773898/index.html

Welsh Wonders

Having been banished to the depths of the Welsh countryside for the last three weeks for dog/cat/house sitting duties whilst my family live it up on holiday without me, I thought I’d take this opportunity to get all nationalistic and dive right into the murky depths of traditional Welsh cuisine. I have emerged with some right royal treasures, I can tell you.

Up until a few years ago, it wasn’t too cool to be Welsh; Wales was mainly associated with dozy sheep, dozy farmers, coal mines, slate mines and a fierce anti-English movement. But, then came the Cool-Cymru campaign, not least boosted by a glut of Welsh bands and musicians that hit the charts in the mid 90’s. From the Stereophonics to the Super Furries, and the Gorky’s to Goldie Lookin’, it was suddenly cool-io to hail from Wales.

Unless of course, you are the fabulously outspoken food critic AA Gill who took great delight in proclaiming that Wales is a “culinary desert”. Once upon a time, this may have had an ounce of truth; little ol’ Wales would struggle to compete with the delicate delights of French, Italian, Indian or other such classical cuisine ranges, but today, top chefs are putting Wales back on the map.

Welsh cuisine grew up around the diet of the working man. Rewind even just seventy or eighty years ago and life was tough for the average Welsh farmer, miner, quarryman or fisherman. Conditions were harsh, the weather was inhospitable beyond measure, and food wasn’t exactly plentiful. They ate what they had, and they made the most of what the wet and wild landscape could give them. Food in Wales has always been about local, seasonal and traditional produce sourced from people and places that are neighbours and friends; long before “seasonal” and “local” became the biggest foodie buzz words of the twentieth century.

Think enormous crock-pots on an open fire, full to bursting with hearty, thick stews and soups, or cawl as they are known here in Wales. Usually made with leftover pieces of lamb, or mutton in winter, with whatever vegetables were around and a bit of bacon if you were feeling really extravagant. Faggots, Glamorgan sausages (not a meaty sausage at all, but a kind of sausage shaped pattie made with cheese, onion and breadcrumbs) and Snowdonia Pudding (a kind of heart-attack inducing suet and dried fruit pudding) are among the other treasures that stake their claim as traditional Welsh delicacies.

And let’s not forget that Wales produces some of the best lamb in the world; the salt marsh lamb that comes from the marshes of North West Wales is famed for its delicate taste and subtle flavour. The huge variety of sea marsh plants that the lambs munch on daily (grasses, sea lavender and samphire to name a few) mean that tastier, sweeter meat is produced. And, as the salt in the plants kills of some of the more harmful bacteria, the lambs aren’t pumped full of chemicals and pesticides. Everyone’s a winner!

Bara Brith is the famous speckled fruit loaf, and the little griddled Welsh cakes are traditionally served up full of dried fruit, a little spicy and spread thick with welsh butter. For seafood lovers among us, there are cockle cakes, or Teisennau Cocos, a kind of cockle pancake and Bara Lawr, or Laverbread, is fast coming back into fashion, but isn’t for the faint hearted. Best described as a gloopy, thick, dark and seaweed-y (yep, it’s made out of the rich, green seaweed found on the rugged coasts of west Wales), it’s nothing like bread in the traditional sense. It became for a while, the must-have ingredient on any Michelin menu worth its Anglesey Sea Salt.

There are now four Michelin starred restaurants across this little country, so things have come a long way since AA Gill’s scathing criticisms. I wonder if he’s been back since? If you’re reading Mr Gill, maybe it’s time for another visit….

Did you know that the town of Wrexham in North East Wales was one of the first places in the UK to brew lager? The brewery was set up by German immigrants in 1882 who were trying to re-create the taste of their local sup from home.

Nightmares on Cotton Fields

Cotton really is big business. And it can be a ghoulish one too. The cotton industry has long been synonomous with flouting ethics and environmental concerns, but read my post at Eco-Salon Magazine below, for some of the worst of the issues....

Cotton the Fabric of our Nightmares

Strange Men in Pubs

The fact that it was Thursday, and it was after 6pm was enough of an excuse for a post-work beer with Mr B in our lovely local pub. My sparkly g&t and his beer were also laced with the taste of a mini-celebration thanks to a fab new job offer, and we were enjoying slurping both immensly, when the innocuous looking man next to us leaned over and asked
"are you here just for the football?"

No, we weren't here for the football at all really, Mr B mumbled in reply, but had to admit that more than half an ear and eye had been following the muddy game as we were slurping and chatting. A full flowing football conversation then ensued as I gazed deeply into the bottom of my gin glass.

It struck me that it is only ever men who strike up these random, football based conversations with strangers in the pub. I suppose in a way you must take your hat off to them, men that is.
I don't think Mr B has ever been in a situation where he's had to watch a game in the pub on his own, thanks to the cheery banter of other lone football souls around him.
They'll be close as custard for the duration of the game; eyes focused sharply on the screen but ears pricked up keenly, listening intently for the cheer from the other side that means a giant blow to team pride.

But can you imagine the reaction if I leant across to a lone woman and asked if she was just here for the gin? Or the attractive barman? Or the pie and pint deal? Perhaps not a technique I'll adopt for making new friends, but you never know; if you hear of a mad old woman talking to randoms in pub about gin, it might just be me!

Cup Cake Crazy

“I love you more than cake” I proclaimed to Mr B the other night. A bold statement, I know. But I do. Do I? Yes of course I do. But cake? Oh how I love cake.

If I’m having a bad day, it reminds me that there are good things out there.
I love how the soft, squashy sponge surrenders so easily when I bite into it.
I love the squidgy, carby comfort.
I love the rainbow of icing and cute decorations.
I love that it is so so so right when chocolate is added.
I love the fact that you can even add vegetables to cake and it still tastes delicious.
I love cake with cream; with fruit; in fact with anything.

So it’s lucky for me that cup-cakes are making something of a comeback. At one time only destined to be packed full of e-numbers and shoved with grubby fingers into podgy little mouths at children’s birthday parties, these delectable mini-cakes are now to be seen on dessert menus of fashionable restaurants everywhere.

In fact, not far from my flat (exactly a twelve minute and thirty four second walk. Erm roughly. Not that I’ve ever timed it in case of cake-fix emergencies...) there is an entire shop dedicated to cup cakes. A. Whole. Shop. I only have to peer into the window at the dainty displays and pretty parcels of deliciousness and my heart beats a little faster.

But sometimes, there’s nothing nicer than the warm glow of satisfaction that oozes out of the oven along with the smell of cakes baking happily in your very own kitchen. Be warned though; there’s not many a worse thing than badly made cake. Soggy, flat or stale? Yuck, no thanks. If you fancy making your own slice of cup cake heaven, then these are my tips for a perfect rise every time.

1. Choose a reliable and well tested recipe. My grandmother is the cupcake queen, and she swears by weighing two eggs (raw and still in shells) and then measuring out exactly the same weight of flour, sugar and butter. Mix them all together and it’s as easy as that. And it really works, I promise!


2. Don’t over mix the batter or you’re cup cakes will be chewy and not pleasant. Mix until the batter is fluffy and light, and not a moment longer.


3. Don’t fill your cake cases too full, or the mixture won’t cook. But don’t be stingy either. About half to two thirds full is about right.


4. Put the cases (or alternatively use a good quality, heavy and non-stick pan) on a cold baking tray and place in the middle of the oven, rotating half way through. Only cook one tray at a time, and make sure the oven is heated to the correct temperature as you put the cakes in.


5. Keep an eye on them while cooking. Little cakes should take no longer than twenty minutes to cook, but test them with a skewer or toothpick after 15 minutes. If, after inserting into the middle of the cake and holding there for ten seconds, the skewer comes out clean, then they’re done!


6. Eat immediately! Sponge cakes are best eaten the same day as they are baked, but if you do have any kind of willpower and insist on keeping some of them until tomorrow, then store in an airtight container.
   
   Get baking, get decorating, and of course, get eating! Enjoy!

Masquerade Issue 2

It's here at last!
The second issue of Masquerade Magazine is all about passion, love and seduction - better swot up before Valentine's Day!
You can read it here:
http://www.masquerademag.com/

The Headless Snowmen

Snow. Chaos. Snow-day. Smiles. Snowman.
Pretty much in that order.

It’s almost nice to get back to some kind of normality after the chaotic snow-filled week; but maybe we’re secretly mourning as the excitement and drama drips away, slowly and steadily with the melting snow.

From giddy cries

"yeah, we’ve got 5 inches here, at least”
“The roads are like ice rinks”
“The salt is running OUT”
“It took me 4 hours to get here”

to deflated sighs

“nothing to report here”

But it is the headless snowmen that I feel the most sorry for; with round little bodies and poker straight arms. Their smashed heads laying in a crumpled heap on the floor at their feet; knocked off by youthful desire for destruction.

The poor headless snowmen are bound to the ground by invisible snow glue, and sentenced to a long and undignified demise.
Until the next snow-day….