Shabby Treatment

The view from my window as I write

© Diana Morrison  20/01/16

After ten years of paying rent to the same landlord for the same property, you’d be forgiven for thinking that you might be treated with some consideration. Perhaps I am naive or idealistic but it is what I believed.

As I pen this post, I am trying not to hear the droning engine and rattling bucket of a digger tearing through the piece of land I believed to be part of my garden, in order to accommodate the new septic tank for my landlord’s recently acquired property next door. There was no consultation about this, not with me anyhow – patriarchy is alive and well in rural Ireland.

The initial threat was to my polytunnel – there was talk that they might have to dismantle it to lay drainage pipes. Whilst there was an assurance that it would be re-erected, I know that the plastic is reaching the end of its life and would not survive this proposal – I had hoped for at least one more season before I had to replace it.

Time passed and nothing further was mentioned until yesterday. It transpired that the new septic tank, (which will not benefit my property) needed to be placed further up the garden. The good news was that they were hoping to avoid the tunnel, but in the event of it having to come down, the plastic would be replaced at no expense to me; the proposed route would go alongside it.

Work started this morning, and to my distress the digger is churning up the ground right where I had chosen to bury my beloved cat; companion for twenty years, Tiptoes (Tippy) who passed away in 2009 and the skitty kitty, LooLou, sister to Mr Mews, who died on the road in 2012. From where I'm sitting, I can’t quite see whether the grave has been violated or not, but I've just watched them lower the tank into the ground in a position that would certainly wreck a tranquil resting place if it over flowed.

To add insult to injury, I have been told that the new tenant wants the bit of garden that presently accommodates the polytunnel and my vegetable garden – so I am twice the loser – the loss of garden and tunnel and the desecration of my fur babies’ grave.

Maybe I'm too sentimental and making too much of it. Perhaps, because I am a decent, sympathetic, and empathetic person, I expect everyone else to be the same. I just feel very shabbily treated after being a good tenant for all this time.

Some things never change. Beware the landlord; even the good ones can turn when the opportunity to make more money comes along.

I am not an avid reader of the Daily Mirror, I have to admit but I discovered this on Facebook earlier on and thought that it tied in well with the theme of this post.

Great Tory Housing Shame: Third of Ex Council Houses Now Owned By Rich Landlords

Insomnia

Start of the Lunar Eclipse

© Diana Morrison

28/09/15

I get very tired of not sleeping. Oh sure, I can fall asleep... eventually, but staying there or returning to it having woken at stupid o'clock, usually after just an hour, is generally a real problem, 

but I'm beginning to realise that I'm not alone. Facebook posts from ridiculous times of the morning inform me that many of my friends are right there with me - and yes, I do know that using my mobile phone in the middle of a bout of insomnia is not helping me at all - but thanks for mentioning it!

Trawling through my Facebook news feed yesterday, I came across an interesting gem that one of my fellow insomniacs posted entitled "Trouble sleeping? Here's How I Learned to Fall Asleep in Under 1 Minute Every Night." Well, of course I was going to check it out. 

Oh, it all comes down to the "4-7-8" breathing trick - er the what, now? Apparently, it is a method devised by a Wellness Practitioner, (...OK...), Dr Andrew Weil, Harvard-educated student of meditation and breathing techniques to counteract stress. According to the article, "you breath in through your nose for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and exhale through your mouth for eight seconds." The method allegedly "slows down your heart rate," and "also releases chemicals in our brains that soothe you."

4-7-8 Breathing Trick 

Well, that's quite a claim. So, without changing any of my bedtime routine - I still played my three games of Yahtzee on my phone (Yes. I know!) - I decided to give it a go, and guess what? I don't think I fell asleep in under a minute and I felt a little strange and light-headed, but having just rushed down the stairs to referee a cat spat, and back up again, I could feel my accelerated heart rate slowing and the next thing I knew it was 03:30, exactly three hours after I had turned out the light. Mr Mews was jumping on my head asking to be let out - (Mr Mews is a cat and not my significant other - in case you were wondering.) Three hours - I couldn't believe my luck. The real test then, was whether the trick would work now that I was wide awake in Wee Small Hour Land; the place where my head tends to turn terrorist on me and batter me with an unrelenting parade of problems, both real and imagined until sleep is no longer an option and the services of a good psychotherapist would be most welcome - hence the early morning Facebook sojourn. I tried the trick again - I think it was only four or five breaths this time - and was woken by the alarm at 06:30; another three hours sleep, give or take ten minutes.

I wish I could say that today I was blessed with boundless energy, but I wasn't. I did, however feel more alert and possibly a little less stressed than usual. I was able to temporarily disconnect the automatic pilot, with a view to decommissioning it altogether should this neat little trick, once properly practised and fine-tuned, help me to repay my sleep debt and ensure that I am gifted with my full quota of repose in the future.

I hope that this could work for you too - whether for the obtaining a good night's sleep or for control in a stressful situation. Do remember though, to get a proper diagnosis of the problem if you are worried about your sleep patterns, especially if they have altered radically over a short period of time. Some common causes of insomnia can be found by following the link below.

Insomnia

I wish you all a very happy, healthy and sleep-filled new year x

Announcing ... a new venture!

Water on rocks
Sandy Cove, Castlehaven
West Cork
© Diana Morrison 18/11/15

Well it's been a long time... again but I'm pleased to announce that I will be starting a new blog in the new year, possibly earlier if time permits. It will focus more on my photography, (which I'm told is quite good, but you'll be able to judge for yourselves,) and the beautiful location that I call home. The blog will be called A Window on the Wild Atlantic Way. I will post here when it goes live. 

I will endeavour to continue  my disjointed rambles here and who knows, the odd random chapters from my novel might still make an appearance! 

The Sea, The Sea

Sandy Cove
Picture by Diana Morrison
04/09/14

I am so lucky to live so close to the sea. Even now, it holds a childish magic for me possibly due to its association with holidays and happy times, those shiny distant days of endless sunshine and laughter, which were probably nothing of the sort but for wistful nostalgia!

I was born in Leicester, which if you didn't know, is in the East Midlands of England and is about as far away as you can get from the sea. The closest beach to us was Skegness, 85 miles east of us although my family preferred Mablethorpe for a day trip to the seaside, a distance of 98 miles from our home. We didn't do that very often.

Our annual holidays were always taken on magical Dartmoor, 222 miles away, a journey which took 5 hours 39 minutes, because my mother would not let my father use the motorway - we're talking the 1970s here, so that time may be inaccurate! From our B&B outside of Widecombe-in-the-Moor, we had a choice of fabulous beaches close by; beautiful Dawlish and Teignmouth, Beer, Seaton and Beesands  and the fabulous Torbay beaches  of Torquay, Paignton and Brixham and as I said, the sun always shone. I would spend hours on my own just walking and playing on the beach, pretending that I was some mystical Sea Person come to fight with the evil City and Sand People, wishing that I could remain forever and crying when the day and indeed the holiday drew to a close.

Time passed and circumstances changed, the altered family left Leicester in 1984 and settled in Gunnislake, bang on the river Tamar, the border between Devon and Cornwall. Suddenly, the closest beach was only  forty minutes away. For a while it felt like being permanently on holiday, although I had ostensibly grown out of imagining that I was that "Sea Person.” Reality soon kicked in though, work had to be found and an adult life had to be forged, the ups and downs of which were enhanced or made bearable by proximity to the sea and knowing that I could escape whenever I needed peace.

Jonathan’s love of the sea eclipses mine. With a different upbringing and a different perspective, he prefers to be on it rather than beside or in it. I was introduced to sailing shortly after we met. Dromengro (which means “Road Man” or traveller in Romany) was the name of his father’s boat. She was fast and robust and big enough for a nervous sailor to feel safe in and I fell in love. Unfortunately, my first trip aboard Dromengro, from Polruan to Mylor, was to be my last. We were sailing her to a yacht brokerage as she was for sale.

I still enjoy sailing, but Ganga Devi (Jonathan’s 22ft yacht, with an incredible history), is a different ride to Dromengro and we have conflicting ideas of what a good sail is. Keep in sight of land, don’t heel over too far and I'm happy!

On board Ganga Devi
Picture by Diana Morrison
03/08/14

We moved to Ireland in 2001 and our propinquity to the sea was initially down to less than five minutes. We have moved house twice since then and whilst there is a lovely quay at the bottom of a very steep hill in our village, the closest beach where the waves can creep in and gently tickle the shore or crash in wildly on a fresh or strong gale of wind, is Sandy Cove, which is less than ten minutes away.

I was there yesterday evening, in the sea fog and drizzle, escaping from reality. It was deserted and I stayed for an hour, taking photographs. I found the peace and solace I needed to deal with a miserable situation at home – and I confess that just for a little while, I pretended to be that Sea Person, silently shouting back at the world.

Diana Morrison - Images

Picture by Diana Morrison
06/05/14

 I have recently taken an unprecedented leap of self-confidence and set up a Facebook page to showcase my photography, which along with my writing, gives me a pleasing creative outlet that lets me indulge my introversion to the full!

The page, although still in its infancy has reached 94 "likes", OK, mostly from my Facebook friends, but I've had some nice comments and feedback so far, which is encouraging. If you want to check it out, like it and share it with your friends, here is the link:

      https://www.facebook.com/pages/Diana-Morrison-Images/1527395317489906

On top of that, I have also set up an Instagram account, as a lot of the pictures I take with my mobile phone will not appear on my images page. If you want to follow me, I'll be very happy to see you there - here is the link:

     http://instagram.com/chovahanis

Finally - look out for another blog post later - I'm going to be really brave and publish a random chapter from "Find the River" here. Eeeek!

OK - self promotion done and dusted for today, phew! I'm off to seek the company of my friends, The Pens!

Not lost!

Coffee Break
21/03/14
Photo by Diana Morrison

Well, it's been a long time coming but finally I'm back. This time, I really do mean to write something here every day! Yeah, yeah best laid plans and all that!

I've been writing, writing and writing for the past six months or maybe more. I think I've just about given up on the the short stories; I can't be succinct to save my life. Instead, I have been concentrating on my epic "Find the River" or possibly "Finding the River." It has been giving me hours of pleasure and distracting me from unpleasant things like housework! I am having to juggle it with the garden though!

Anyway, as I am no longer entering competitions, I am not having to worry about whether I'm allowed to have my entries on my blog. So I have updated my pages with my entire short story collection, such as it is!

Enjoy!

Displaced

Bodmin Moor, Cornwall

Picture by Diana Morrison 22-08-12

Everyone needs to know where they belong and I'm struggling with that now.

 I moved to Ireland from Cornwall eleven and half years ago. When we moved, the Celtic Tiger was roaring and the grass was definitely very green - even more so with the rose-tinted glasses that were firmly fixed to my face. My son was just shy of his third birthday, so he had not made any firm attachments to the UK. It was the perfect time to make the move to a land that seemed to be brimming with opportunity for both ourselves and him. Times were good in the early days. There seemed to be no shortage of work for Jonathan and he established himself as a first rate carpenter/joiner/cabinet maker very quickly. The education system seemed vastly superior to that in the UK and Sylvan thrived in his early years of school, mastering the Irish language with incredible ease. Sure, he had a bit of a turbulent time through bullying, but that was rectified with a change of school and bullying is not unique to Ireland. Time passed and we were content.

Castlehaven, West Cork

Picture by Diana Morrison 16-09-12

It seemed too good to last, and it was.

 Global recession struck and Ireland was hit very hard. The work that was always plentiful was more hard to come by, as ordinary people could no longer afford to replace their windows or commission pieces of fine furniture. Thankfully, the rich are still rich (and possibly getting richer) and there are still a few people (mainly British) in the area that are able to keep some work coming in for Jonathan but prices in the supermarket and utility bills soared and it is hard just to stay afloat. 

The biddable three year old is now a sulky teenager with an attitude somewhere between drama queen and rock star, and a passionate dislike of mornings and school!

I have been quietly contemplating a move back to Cornwall for a couple of years now. It's not really deserting the sinking ship, it's more a case of needing somewhere to belong and feel comfortable. This thought has been compounded more recently by the birth of my grandaughter and the longing to be closer to her mother, my step-daughter Bethany. It is now a dull ache that won't go away.

Unfortunately, Jonathan and Sylvan are not with me on this one. Sylvan has a great social life and has made a lot of friends that he would not give up easily. Jonathan says that he needs to be by the sea and that he thinks that he would miss Ireland too much, adding that I probably would too. He might be right and herein lies the feeling of displacement.

 I know that the Cornwall I left will not be the Cornwall I would return to. Our visits have always confirmed that. People I knew and loved have grown and moved on and the economy is not much better than it is here. Ireland is very beautiful and I love  it very much, but at the moment, it is stagnant and almost without hope. Most of her people have lost their  passion and fire and idly sit  back and let all the cuts and changes happen without much of a fight. Ireland has been known to have a second referendum on important issues because they didn't answer correctly in the first one! 

The dilemma will continue for me. All I know is this: The main reason for staying right now is for Sylvan to finish his education but if I have many more mornings like this one, I'll be on that ferry in a flash!