It's A Sheep's Life ... Baa

I don’t what it is about Christmas, but I seem to veer towards writing ghost stories at this time of year. Perhaps it’s the long dark nights, the remembrance of those that are no longer with us to celebrate, or could it be ‘The Dickens Effect’ of old tales of personal reflection. Whether it’s all of the above or none of them at all, my latest story grew out of a childhood experience. When I confided in my mum that I could always feel something cold waft past me as I walked across the bedroom landing, she admitted that she too had felt the same and that it was probably my dead grandad! She then gave me some advice that has always stayed with me: I was not to be afraid, but to say hello whenever I felt his presence. As barking as this sounds, it worked for me, and I never ran across the landing in fear ever again. Now when folk ask me if I believe in ghosts, I just reply that I don’t, but they seem to like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short piece of flash fiction, The Insomnia

A while back, my poem, Our Book Brethren, was published by the Chartered Institute of Library and Information Professionals (CILIP) Scotland in support of their #LibrariesAreEssential campaign. Then, at the start of summer and in the turmoil of my dad dying, CILIP asked if I would write a blog on poetry writing in support of National Poetry Day and Libraries Week. I was flattered and then flummoxed. What would I write? Could I do their blog justice? And ... could I even have the mindset to write at this time? With some breathing space and encouragement from my inner self, and Kirsten MacQuarrie from CILIP, I wrote. And I think my dad, who was a regular library user, would have wanted me to. You can read my blog post, and my poem, on the CILIP blog .

Ten years ago, I took my eight year old daughter and her best friend to see a talk by Jacqueline Wilson. There, Jacqueline revealed she liked olives and that every time she had a book published, she would buy herself a ring. Interesting facts eh? At the end of the talk, we dashed into the queue for Jacqueline to sign our books. I did the dutiful thing and took photos of the girls while she chatted to them. At this point, I realised my eight year old daughter was of similar height to Jacqueline. As we walked back to the car with the girls rosy cheeked and clutching their signed books, we talked about how nice Jacqueline was in person. I joked that due to her small stature, I could’ve slipped Jacqueline into my handbag and stashed her under my daughter’s bed; if we fed her sandwiches all day, perhaps she would read us a bedtime story – Jacqueline Wilson on tap for your biggest fans. Ten years later and a prompt from my writing group, ignited this memory and led me to the scribblings of a

Life can be all about the big wins, such as buying a house, getting married and having a baby, but what about the small wins? Here’s some to mull over … When someone hands you their parking ticket with two hours spare on it. When the green man light appears just as you reach a crossing. There’s one last seat on the bus, just for you. Your cat eats all the food you’ve put in its bowl. After 10 years of marriage, your partner finally replaces the toilet roll after the old one has run out. You discover a tin of peaches at the back of the cupboard. The large unsightly spot on your face starts to heal. The forget-me-knots you planted last year have survived the winter. The sheep in the field next door acknowledge your existence when you say hello. You get a refund for the faulty product that fell over two months ago. So, don’t ignore the small wins. They’re there every day, if you just look close enough. Count them up, treasure them, and remind yourself of them on a daily basis for they’ll

My cat’s daily routine: Breakfast by 0830 (if not, goes to neighbour’s house and cadges and bowl of food from them). Sleep (on my bed or under the bed). Lunchtime snack of a corner off my cheese and ham toastie. Sleep (on my daughter’s bed). Afternoon wee at 1600. Perusal of his kingdom and plots to take over the world. Dinner by 1830 (if not, stares at us while we’re having our dinner). Killing time (mice). Watches TV with me and then down for a snooze at 2300 in his own bed (that he ignored for two months because it wasn’t our bed). Sleep until 0400. Killing time. Meows at my daughter’s window to be let in at 0500. Treads all over daughter’s face. Leaves for killing time via her window (birds this time) at 0505. Repeat from the start.   My daily routine: Get up. Feed cat. Feed cat. Feed cat. No killing. Sleep.                                                          (Photo  © Paula Gilfillan. All Rights Reserved.)