Two Little Boxes of Love and Evil

We had a lovely stay in Bordeaux and enjoyed a fabulous meal at a hotel situated on an industrial estate; it was strange because there were a cluster of hotels in an industrialised setting presumably in close proximity to a conference centre. We had enjoyed the drive down and the partner had uttered a handful of classic comments about the host country - previously it had been "no wonder the Arabs hate ya!" and this time, I'm glad to say, his experience of the French was a little more polite and he noted rather philosophically, "they don't have any spatial awareness".  This was in response to several drivers' behaviour when being passed - they would either speed up when we were alongside or wait until we had dropped back into the inside lane in front of them giving them the signal to overtake ... This infuriated the other half until we crossed the border and into Spain.  I took it as a universal need to communicate, the French, I find, are no different to ourselves and are basically unaware of our intentions - perhaps we should have had a flashing sign stating "Cruise Control On, get out of the way!"

The Bordeaux Pulman was an upmarket (same price as the IBIS apparently) hotel, boutique in style and had a Casino in tow, not that we are ones for betting or chucking our hard earned cash away you understand. No, we were more concerned with the young waiter in the restaurant - there was definitely something about the Basque buttocks that inspired us to try his Coquilles St Jacques and, very nice they were too. The asymmetric squirts, above and below said coques in both red and green pepper jus on the white letterbox china plates continued the driving theme. No spatial awareness eh? My main course was a Blond Boeuf fillet with, I presume, sweetbread on the top. What they may lack in spatial awareness they certainly exude sexually in their cooking. We were brought back down to earth with a platter of non-pasteurised cheeses to close. The waiter, whom we named Stephane, kept stopping off at the bar to watch a local football game on the wall-mounted when he wasn't serving us with his pert and efficient manner. Of course he liked football ... and shopping with maman too we presumed. On the whole though, we both agreed that he had a few too many teeth for our liking and it was off to bed.

The idea of taking a sabbatical was made quite a long time ago when Colin and I were at the house in Spain last time around. We talked long and hard about the time being right for me to take time away from the business and have a prolonged spell away from the UK and hopefully complete the novel that I started earlier in the year.
After a lengthy drive through England and France with two overnight stops, we finally made it to our second home in Aragón.  I am so glad that we made the trip this way and as usual, it is with thanks to His Master's Voice for arranging the trip and generally organising things in his usual calm way. We have a week together before he goes back on Sunday after staying with friends in Sitges. 
We are both, I suppose a little anxious about being separated from each other - it will be the longest period apart in thirty two years (I'm hearing in the background "thirty four!") and he is concerned that I will not be able to cope on my own. He may have a point; I am a serial communicator and my thoughts have spiralled into convincing myself that I will become some sort of Howard Hughes character with toenails like eagle talons and hair all over the place, wrapped in a quilt at the computer with the heating switched off.
Friends, too, are convinced that I'm on dangerous ground, their responses to my news about leaving the belovèd for a month have provoked a few looks of horror and dismay ... The fact of the matter is, this work would never get done if I stayed at home - there are far too many distractions - we are always doing something and focusing on others rather than ourselves and, running a business these days is tedious beyond belief. I have spent so many hours reflecting and processing on this journey that I am aware that coping with feelings of guilt and selfishness is a huge part of who I am - do all large families do this to their youngest?
Of course I am going to miss him and who wouldn't? It is going to be so weird communicating via MSN and a web-cam, so I am already longing for the time that I collect him from Zaragoza airport in a few weeks time.

So, what's all the fuss about? And, how is this piece going to be put together and, why do I need to be so isolated to get the prose down? Most of my friends and colleagues are aware of my passion for my charity, Survivors Hull and East Riding and our specialist topic around sexual abuse and trauma and the organisation remains an inspiration to me. I have an internal pact that my fiction is exactly that and no confidentiality is being broken with this work. In a 'method' way, it would be inauthentic to draw on modern therapese to write this book, after all, we did not have access to this language in the late sixties and early seventies.

What I have done is, if you will, created a jigsaw - all the shapes are cut and the writing process is to actually put the pictures on the face of each piece. The characters in the book are based on my own family experience and those of the sub characters - this has formed the foundation - the shape is the same, the personalities are created though. So, where the central protagonist has four brothers just like myself, the personalities are pure fiction. My real mother and sister too, are entirely different people. I have found this process illuminating because it is not wishful thinking - I had an amazing childhood and the only pain I can recall was a bee sting and the loss of two puppies - an elder brother had the task of drowning them because a rat had entered the kennel and gnawed at their tiny paws. I still don't understand why he allowed me to watch - perhaps he was trying to toughen me up. Weirdly enough, minutes later I was breezing up the street on my niece's powder blue trike with fabric wafting behind me like a silent movie screen star playing the part of Boadicea. I loved that bike! My childhood, I am sure was not as idyllic as I like to think it was - I was bullied at school and despite being allowed to express myself at home clomping about in high heels and make-up, my academic life was one of absolute fear.

This theme is central to the book; my nemesis, Kenny was a troubled character and basically missed his father who was never at home, he took his adopted role of being the 'man of the house' with him wherever he went - only he was angry and cruel with it. It wasn't until later in life that I realised he was as scared of the world as I was. In fact, he turned into a really nice person after school and he used to come into the local bar where I worked and he had lost all of that pent up intensity. He died in a  motorcycle accident not long after his 18th birthday. The other 'friend' character died ahead of his time too, which was a great shame, because he was a huge influence on me, encouraging me to follow my artistic side. In a way this book is more of an exorcism - on two separate occasions these two central characters have given me permission to write this work. Kenny came through at a reading at a local Psychic Centre and informed me that he had felt no pain - I was still too raw about his power over me to fully understand why he would communicate this to me - I had wished him in hell so many times! My friend, Stephen reminded me that I had thought about writing the book years ago when I was on a well-known psychic television show and that it was, indeed, OK to go ahead. Actually, this book is not the original version; however, I have included him out of respect for our wonderful friendship and out of concern that, for those of us who suffer from lack of self esteem whilst in a relationship with someone with supreme and effortless confidence, that we never know when they are going to be taken from us.