From London to Lewes – Remember, Remember…

Posted on November 6, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

ellie cake

For the last 18 years the 5th November has been a special celebration for us. No, not because of bonfire night, but because it is the day that I produced my second daughter (who aptly shot out like a rocket, but perhaps that’s too much detail).
Last night was no exception and along with 30,000 other revellers (and that was half of the usual number who attend) we were braving the cold, autumn air to watch the spectacle that Lewes is renown for. For those of you not fortunate to live near to this exquisite town, it is the biggest celebrated  5th November event in the world – not to be missed.

lewes 1

30,000 of us watching

 

  For such a huge amount of people packed into a small town, there is usually very little hassle. Yes, you get jostled. Yes, there are drunken revellers vying for a good vantage spot to watch the bands, magnificent costumes and large effigies that are pulled up and down the streets and yes, one year a woman told me off for pushing (it wasn’t my fault but the people behind me, m’ lud). But the party atmosphere is enticing. Even afterwards when the crowd disperses to watch the five, large bonfire displays that occur at different sites around the town, the ooohs and ahhhs are still enthusiastically heard as the magnificent fireworks light the sky. (I thought the elderly man standing in the field next to me was about to wet his pants with excitement as he threw his head skywards and exclaimed at each firework as it lit up the sky – then his childlike enthusiasm was explained when he mentioned  his half empty glass of cider.)
    Last night we were out there again. The young French exchange student with us enjoyed the antics of the lairy city gent hell bent on shouting at the parade. I’m just grateful his English wasn’t up to translating all the abuse hurled.

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        I would urge anyone to witness this spectacle. Don’t be put of by scaremongers who tell you it is dangerous, too crowded or wild. A week day is best as the town can swell to 60,000 if the 5th falls on a Saturday. You will see families with young babies enjoying the revelry and I have taken various children over the years, always counting them out and counting them in again with none lost, injured or scarred to date. ( I would recommend taking some ear plugs though as often firecrackers are let off right in front of you. Although leaping a foot in surprise does give you an added vantage point.)

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        I will always be grateful for the revellers in Lewes for attending the birthday girl’s celebrations and making them go with a bang. Last night while she  wanted the restaurant to sing  her ‘Happy Birthday’ as usual, understandably the lure of her mates, legal alcohol and roaming around the town caused greater excitement than bonding with her family. Needless to say I was in my bed before her but I could still hear the rest of Lewes from 6 miles away, sharing her special day, safe in the knowledge that the cleaning fairies would do a  marvellous clearing up job ready for the town to wake this morning.

Teresa x

If you want to know more about the what goes on in Lewes on the 5th November, here’s some links:-
Lewes Bonfire Celebrations

Fabulous photos from the BBC:-

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From London to Lewes – Pesky Pests

Posted on November 4, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, (Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing called From London to Lewes about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

Now we had to tackle the renovation of the house. It’s not lack of inspiration that made us hesitate but, as with all modern day life, the list of things to do ran ahead of the amount of time and money available to do it.   Although constructed in the traditional Sussex style, the house was built in the seventies; all too painfully obvious when you ventured inside and saw the avocado bathroom suite

Be gone with you!

Be gone with you!

and original Tricity cooker (which had a hissy fit by blowing all the electrics when asked to grill).

Temperamental cooker alert.

Temperamental cooker alert.

On the positive side, the lounge appeared as though it has more windows than the glasshouses at Kew; light flooded in so gloriously, that even on the dullest day any blues were chased away before they could materialise. All the rooms were of generous proportions, making the house feel spacious and with most of the bedrooms overlooking the garden, each of the three children chose their room without the infighting that had occurred when inspecting other properties.

Kitley Lodge Lounge

Looking out towards the garden

Being a townie all my life, I’m in awe of the far reaching views from my bedroom window of the South Downs, the rabbits risking their lives to ‘silflay’ in the field behind our garden and the hedgehog taking its time, tantalisingly sauntering across the wet grass.

          Where to start is always difficult. Is it better to extend the kitchen with an oak framed conservatory to give us the family dinning area we desire or concentrate on getting the bathrooms up and running? With two teenage girls, that question probably answers itself. Meanwhile, surely we must secure the garden to stop the dog escaping as he luxuriates in the new found pleasure of rabbit chasing? At least the wood burner sputtered into life, even if it turned us all into passive smokers until I discovered the vent to the chimney. With increasingly wild winters and the wind whipping off the South Downs straight at us, perhaps focusing on battening down the hatches, checking the guttering and drainpipes might be the right approach?

Kids in the garden on viewing day

Kids in the garden on viewing day

          But before we could make too many plans we were invaded – not by builders, rubble and dust which I was hoping for, but mice and flies. Now, I know that the country and animals go together like bread and butter, I just didn’t expect to have to accommodate them at my house. When yet another mouse came to stay for B & B, I wasn’t fazed, at least it wasn’t like one of my friends, who had a residential rat playing tag in her guttering. And we perfected our entrapment technique down to a fine art. Give us three hours to spare; two willing adults armed with plastic mixing bowls shaped like Madonna’s Gautier bra; three children waving fishing nets; two uninterested cats and one useless dog and we can emerge red-faced, after catching our Bramley Hedge friends, at the same time as rearranging the furniture.

      But this mouse was different. Not content to feast on cereal and biscuits from the shelves, he decided to take up residence, and have his own personal en-suite, in the door of the dishwasher. Whenever we were loading the machine, he would suddenly drop down as the door swung closed, hear us shriek and escape back to his hidey hole out of reach behind the kitchen cupboards. No amount of prodding, poking or abuse could encourage him to leave the five star accommodation he had at his disposal.

      If that wasn’t frustrating enough, one sunny day I ventured out into the garden to be bombarded by an army of flies: on the grass, patio furniture, nearby hedge in fact any surface they could find, including us. Like in Hitchcock’s The Birds, for a week our lives were transformed as we watched the flies conquer the outside of our house.

        So I telephoned the Environmental Department for advice. Sadly, that was not what I got. Instead I was disappointed with the dismissive tone administered by a man who obviously didn’t think my enquiry worth his time. After being used as a public bench by all the flies, and their relatives yet again as I tried to take advantage of the weather, I decided I needed help and I needed it fast.  So I contacted a local pest agency.  Without further ado, traps were set up to catch the lodger in the dishwasher and some flies were caught and identified as Autumn or Face Fly, which apparently, just like us, like our south-facing garden in which to sunbathe. We had to wait until they left of their own volition and hope that the females would be attracted next time to someone else’s dung pile far, far away to lay their eggs!

           Our furry friend was easier to deal with – fed up with the wash cycle entertainment one evening, and feeling a little unsteady on his feet from dodging the traps, he decided to venture into the lounge to watch TV. The mixing bowls were ready!

Teresa x

Ps No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog ( well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, M’lud).

 LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess. My latest book is now available from Amazon as a paperback or ebook.

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LOVE, SUZI X – Location -35,000ft. Inspiration – cabin crew life. Novel out Now! Here’s an extract – Seduction techniques.

Posted on October 21, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

HGK. Hotel room. A few hours later

Dear Eve                                                                    

The steam from the hot water filled the bathroom as I poured the complimentary bubble bath under the tap from the small container that had been left lined up with a matching shampoo and shower cap on the side of the bath. My earlier encounter with Ed had left me exhausted and I only wanted to sink into the hot water before crashing into bed for an early night with a good book. I decided to order room service and make a night of it! Jeez… did I know how to live or what?

As I sunk down into the bubbles I started to relax and feel better. To hell with men. To hell with them all. I didn’t need the likes of Ed nor JJ to enjoy this life. Here I was, travelling the world. A woman of independence and means. I was never going to be like Debbie, only interested in seeing the world from a 14 inch screen. (We had inherited the television from the last tenants. Beggars weren’t choosers in our case, it was a free telly). I was due a new roster. Who knew where it would take me?

I washed my hair, instantly regretting being too lazy to get my own shampoo out of my wash bag as I tried to get a decent lather from the hotel freebie. I wrapped myself up in towels; my hair in a turban. I may have added a few pounds onto my original 126 since starting flying but bloody hell, the towel for my body only just went round enough to tuck in.

I looked at myself in the full length mirror that hung in the corridor by the door. Not only was the towel small length ways, it only just covered my bottom. What a stingy housekeeping service, hotels were usually much more generous than that. I moved up nearer to the glass for a closer inspection. Not my most attractive. My face was like a red shiny apple from the heat of the bathroom. Looking like this I could keep the Kowloon District powered with warmth.

A knock at the main door made me jump. Remembering my adventures in Sydney I looked through the spy hole and, seeing no one outside, cautiously turned the handle. There, sitting in a metal cooler bucket all on it’s own outside my door was a bottle of champagne.

I poked my head outside and looked up and down the corridor. No one. Bending at the knees so as not to do an unintentional moony I picked up the note that sat resting against the dark green glass.

‘Sorry,’ was all it read.

Not sure what to do and whether there had been a mistake I picked up the bucket and turned to go back into my room.

‘So you forgive me?’ A voice said from behind me. The surprise made me jump. At the same time I screamed and let go of the bucket. Quickly grabbing the towel that had come loose from around my body (I wasn’t going to do a streak as well) I turned and pulled it tightly across my chest. The glass of the bottle hitting the inside of the metal as the two crashed to the floor, spilling ice across the carpet.

‘Ed! You bastard!’ I exclaimed as I desperately tried to recover myself and retain my dignity.

‘Didn’t mean to give you a fright, Suzi, but glad to see you dressed up for me.’

‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ I questioned still standing in the doorway clutching the towel around my naked body desperately hoping nothing was on show that shouldn’t be.

‘I came to apologise and see if you fancied a drink.’ 

What could I do? I was standing half naked in the corridor of a hotel, barely covered by skimpy bath towels, my hair swished up in a turban, with a bright red face. A bottle of champagne was at my feet and Ed was looking at me with his gorgeous puppy dog eyes.

I hesitated. It felt like one of those scenes in a movie when you just knew the heroine really shouldn’t do what she is about to do, but something makes her throw caution to the wind and she jumps in with both feet. If I was listening to my head, Eve, I would have slammed the door in his face (after I’ve picked up the champagne bottle, of course) and screamed at him never to come near me again. Good move? Not sure? Listening to my heart was soooo much more exciting.

‘You left these behind as well,’ Ed continued, reaching down to pick up the watercolours I’d bought from the market from where he had placed them leaning against the wall beside the door.

Head… Heart… Oh, to hell with it. I forced away the resolutions I’d made earlier in the bath. Flight Deck were trouble but why couldn’t I have a bit of fun first? I could protect my heart from getting damaged. I knew where I stood. Ed was with Candy and he would return to her once those wheels touched the tarmac at Heathrow. Meanwhile I could have a bit of fun at Candy’s expense. I’m not a vindictive person, truly, but Candy wasn’t there. Ed was asking to spend some time with me. So be it. Decision made.

I stood back from the door and gestured for him to enter. ‘You realise of course that it’ll take more than a bottle of champagne to get round me,’ I said as I followed him in and shut the door. Ed put the champagne bucket on the wooden cabinet next to the TV and picked up the bottle.

‘Well,’ he said taking the wrapper off the top and starting to peel the metal cage from the cork. ‘How about we start with this and then I take you out for dinner. You didn’t have anything planned did you?’ He reached into his pocket and brought out two champagne flutes.

‘Where did you get them from?’ I asked in amazement. Then the penny dropped. ‘Don’t tell me you borrowed them from First Class.’

‘Nooooo. That would be stealing. I always carry a couple of glasses in my luggage. Don’t you?’ He smiled at me.

‘But that means you must have planned this? Or at least hoped you might get lucky.’ The scheming bastard. He had this in mind all the time. It must be his usual seduction technique.

‘Suzi. You are so sceptical. Why can’t I just happen to have champagne glasses with me without any deception in mind? Stop analysing everything.’

‘But unless you’re here to seduce me, thus adding me to your list of conquests, why are you here?’

Ed finished pouring the champagne into the glasses, stepped towards me and looked me straight in the eye. ‘I’m here because I really like you and I don’t want our friendship to end on a bad note which it would have done.’

I took the flute from his outstretched hand and gulped a large mouthful. Big mistake. The bubbles from the cold liquid hit the back of my throat and went down the wrong way. I started to choke. In an effort to breathe, the strain of my coughing caused the towel to come off my head leaving my hair tossed around my face in a tangled mass. Ed quickly came to my assistance. He rescued the glass from my hand but in his effort to save me from spilling it everywhere, caught the side of the towel wrapped around my body causing it to slip to the floor. I stood naked, hair like a whirling dervish in front of him, coughing for all I was worth.

‘Hmmm… not the usual reaction I get giving a woman champagne,’ he laughed as I regained my breath. ‘Well, not so quickly anyway. But infinitely preferable.’

I rushed into the bathroom, past caring that I’d left nothing to his imagination.

‘Shut up!’ I shouted in between breaths as I leant on the side of the bath. After a short while of  breathing deeply I’d recovered enough to brush my hair and regain my composure. The bathroom door slowly opened a crack. ‘Thought you might want this,’ Ed said as he passed me through a large, white, fluffy robe. I put it on and tied the cords tightly around my waist. As I walked back into the room, Ed was refilling the flutes.

‘Why don’t we start again, Suzi?’

‘But what…’

‘No buts. I want us to be friends. That’s all. Let’s forget our argument earlier…’ I opened my mouth to protest again. Obviously fed up with trying to rationalise with me Ed took one step closer. Putting his arm around my back and pulling me so close I could smell the champagne on his breath, he held me tightly. Before I could say anything he pressed against me until my head tilted back. He brought his lips down to meet mine. I felt his tongue probing into my mouth. Mmmm… long time since this had happened to me. I’d forgotten how pleasant it was. Sword fighting with tongues we used to call it as kids. Ed was particularly good at it. After what I thought was a keen-but-not-quite-a-pushover amount of time, I pushed him away slightly.

‘Not bad,’ I said stepping back and appraising him. ‘What’s that? Stage 1?’

‘Suz… you’re impossible.’ Ed took his champagne and sat down in the chair beside the bed. ‘I’m going to ignore that remark and move on. What do you fancy to eat? Chinese? I know a good restaurant just up the road from here. Let’s finish this while you get dressed and we can go and see what they’ve got.’

So, once a First Officer always a First Officer. Thinks he can take control in my hotel room as well as on the plane, does he? Well we’re not on that big bird now. I sipped my drink and sat on the bed leaning against the headboard. I wasn’t going to do what I was told quite so easily. If he wanted seduction I’d show him who was in charge. I let the robe fall open slightly at the top showing just a hint of my right breast.  Probably needless as he’d just seen what I had to offer but I’d watched a movie recently where the woman arranged herself on the bed like that and it worked for her.

‘I was going to stay in before you turned up,’ I said. ‘I am starving though. Does that restaurant do take-away? Seems a shame to gulp this down.’ I held up my glass. Overdone a bit maybe? What a harlot I was. I really needed to practise being more subtle. ‘What about you go and pick us up something to eat and bring it back here.’ Not the best seduction technique but if there was going to be a conquest, it would be on my terms. And anyway I needed to get him out of the way for ten minutes whilst I got myself prepared. Although he’d just seen me naked it wouldn’t do for him to look too closely.

Ed looked at me. ‘Sometimes I just don’t get you Suzi. You remind me of my sister.’ Oh great. Now he thinks of me as a sibling. ‘She’s a bit barmy as well.’ Even better, a mad sibling. ‘I now know what her boyfriend puts up with,’ he continued. ‘But that sounds good. What do you like?’

‘Surprise me.’ I requested. ‘Anything chicken,’ I added quickly as he finished his glass and headed for the door. I suddenly had visions of Ed bringing back snakes in batter or something equally yucky just to see my reaction.

‘Oh, you’d better take this,’ I said handing him the key for the door.  Ed leant over and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘I meant what I said, Suz. I do want us to be friends. You’re different from the others.’ He walked to the door. ‘Bonkers, but different. Won’t be long.’

As soon as the door slammed I raced off the bed. I reckoned I had about twenty minutes. Gulping down the rest of the glass I refilled it and headed into the bathroom. I ran my hands along my shin. Shit. That would never do. If Ed was going to caress me with his tongue from toe to head it would be in tatters by the time he left my knee. I grabbed the razor from my wash bag and climbed back into the shower. I hadn’t defuzzed for a couple of days. Well, I reckoned there wasn’t much point in doing the whole works if there was no need, only the bits that could be seen.

I swished back the shower curtain and studied myself in the mirror. Okay, the burning bush would have to go. You never know, he might make it as far as there if I didn’t blow it beforehand. I hosed myself down and started to squeeze the hair conditioner into my hand. Starting with the black spider hairs on my big left toe (well he’s got to start somewhere) I slathered the creamy liquid all over my legs and up over my body until I got to my underarms. In all the movies I’d ever seen, the couple always lay post coital with their hands behind their heads, a bit self satisfied I’d always thought, but best to be prepared for all positions. With the precision of a surgeon I ran the razor over my skin until everywhere was soft and smooth. Impressed that even under pressure I hadn’t nicked myself I patted myself dry and reached for a large tub of coconut body butter. Fingers crossed Ed wasn’t allergic to coconut, as it was that or baby lotion.

I looked in the mirror again. Nice job. Now I just needed to do something with my hair and face. It didn’t take long to select my nicest underwear. Not quite the right ones for a hot night of passion but the best set I could find at short notice. At least they matched and were lacy. At last. I was ready for anything that came my way. My heart pounded as I looked at the clock and realised that twenty minutes had gone by. I switched on the TV and, dressed in a short blue skirt and patterned top that I had plucked from the top of my suitcase, I lay on the bed to await Ed’s return.

Damn. My stomach rumbled in protest at being neglected for so long. I leapt off the patterned covers and picked up the remains of the champagne. Tipping the rest into my glass I propped myself up on the pillows and sipping the liquid down, excitedly awaited my night of passion.

Love Suzi x

Suzi Final cover jpg smaller

Love Suzi x available from Amazon now.

 

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From London to Lewes -Shortages

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

 As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, ( Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing called From London to Lewes about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

Shortages

          It wasn’t until my daughter shouted from the bathroom that her shower was cold that I realised we’d run out of oil. As far as I was concerned, Other Half, Nick was the oil monitor, but he thought it was me so, of course, between us we’d forgotten to check the gauge on the tank as it slipped lower and lower towards disaster.

The beast behind the garage.

The beast behind the garage.

          Whilst we were living in London this wouldn’t have happened as we were gas guzzlers. Being on the mains for our gas supply meant that we never had to give it a second thought, until the bill came in of course. The whole business of having to feed with oil the huge, silent beast that lurks behind the garage is foreign to us. And with this recent cold weather, I hadn’t realised just how quickly it would slurp it up. So we made a frantic call to the oil suppliers. ‘Sorry’, came the reply. ‘We’re really busy at the moment; we can put you on the list for delivery on Monday.’

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Garden under snow

          ‘Monday!’ I shrieked when I heard. ‘It’s Wednesday, I’ll never make it that long without heating.’

          ‘Don’t panic,’ my ever optimistic husband announced. ‘I remember our neighbour doing the same thing and saying he’d got some barrels to tide him over. I’ll ask him where he got them from.’

          Two hours later, I’ve borrowed barrels from our ever helpful neighbours, and Nick, after dashing off to the garage has overwhelmed us all with his new, eau de oil perfume after pouring the oil into the tank.

          ‘He did say he had to suck the oil through the pipe to get it started though,’ Nick grinned at me.

          ‘No one in their right mind would ever do that,’ I replied as we tried to fire up the boiler unsuccessfully.

          Twenty four hours and five layers of clothes later, I was a desperate woman. ‘Find me the hose pipe to suck before I freeze to death,’ I demanded.

          Luckily for me, Nick put his engineer’s thinking cap on and came up with a contraption that would have earned him a Blue Peter badge. When I walked into the utility room he was bent over an old vacuum cleaner, its hose pipe attached to the boiler by a piece of clear, plastic bottle that had been bent and duck-taped into place to form a connection. The liquid gold was gently trickling along the pipe and up to where it should be. Tentatively he pushed the red button to fire up the boiler. I’ve never been so glad to hear the hum of a machine in all my life.

           We have learnt our lesson, believe me. I will be checking the gauge on the oil tank regularly from now on, but just in case you do the same as us and run out, we have the most marvelous, hand made, oil sucking machine to be found this side of the Downs we could lend you.

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My favourite walk along the Cuckmere river.

Teresa x

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess. My latest book is now available from Amazon as a paperback or ebook.

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From London to Lewes – Down to Basics…

Posted on September 13, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

            As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi,  ( Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing called From London to Lewes about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes 1

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

Down to basics…

          I’ve found learning all about our new house a bit like being in a new relationship – a knot in my stomach at the thrill of the unknown, mixed with slight apprehension that it won’t work out. For the first few weeks we all felt like we were on holiday, ‘but,’ as my daughter put it, ‘without the folder that tells you all about the house and what’s in the local area.’

Holidaying in Cornwall

Holidaying in Cornwall

          We got used to eating with just a few teaspoons and forks because we couldn’t find the rest of the cutlery that was still hidden somewhere at the bottom of a box and that every time I turned the grill on, the electrics would have a tantrum and trip the switch on the whole house. ‘It’s an adventure and exciting things always happen on adventures,’ my children reassured me. I tried to keep calm and pretend that it didn’t matter; telling myself that in every new relationship there’s bound to be a few hiccups to start with.

On the Isle of Wight

           Before we moved, life had been on automatic. I knew that on Sunday night I’d better take the dustbin out, because otherwise it wouldn’t be the dawn chorus drifting into my dreams but, ‘caution, vehicle reversing’ as the refuse truck rumbled along the road. I have been known to scramble into the road in my PJ’s, cursing, as I watched the back of the truck going off around the corner. So rather than bother my new neighbours before I’d had a chance to meet them properly, I surreptitiously started to watch the movements of the next door dustbin.

Rabbit alert!

Rabbit alert!

The days seemed to dawdle along; we learnt that wild rabbits liked our garden best as it had the untidiest, but tastiest vegetable patch and walking the dog was a good excuse to explore the area as I tried not to worry about the endless packing cases that always seemed to multiply whenever I looked at them. Then, still in our sunny mood, we had some townie friends to stay for the weekend. I know it was a lowdown attempt to seduce them to the wonders of country living but I hurried off to our local, farm shop and stocked up on steak, sausages, bacon and free range eggs. Fortunately for them, after a hearty weekend of feasting, the catastrophe did not occur until we were rushing about with the Monday routine. The drains had blocked. Not a savoury subject I know and I assure you I won’t go into too much detail.

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Who could have thought they would be so much trouble?

           Insanely my first thought was to try and flush the toilet. Silly move – as soon as I’d pressed the handle I took a step backwards and thought of rushing for my wellies and mop as the murky water rose ever higher in the pan. Anxiously, on tip toes, I braced myself for the aftermath, when without so much as a whimper, something gave way and the level sank at a snail’s pace to somewhere resembling imminent disaster over.

          Alarm bells rang in my head as I tried to reason the quickest and driest way to rectify this conundrum. We’ve only recently moved to the area. Not knowing our neighbours I didn’t think the quirky take on introducing myself and asking for help with the drains would particularly catch on; even if carrying a sugar bowl. The local yellow pages seem to have died a death with the advent of the internet. But after searching through a few websites I was not reassured by the ‘no call out fee’ offered by some, just seeing the pounds signs spinning before my eyes. I decided that the DIY option on how to locate and clear a blockage was a good place to start. 

          When I say I – you know I don’t mean me, exactly. Whilst I stayed at a safe distance looking out of the upstairs window, my newly appointed drainage expert, aka OH, Nick, attractively dressed in protective boots, gloves and ripped old clothes, although without the peg I offered for his nose, removed the manhole covers. After poking makeshift rods along the brown piping in an attempt to restore the flow, he finally managed to hose the last of the offending articles along their way and out of our lives. Whilst I, from my vantage point, rigorously defended the drains against the verbal abuse they were receiving.

It's not what you know but who you know!

Be gone blockages – off into the sunset!

          It’s not all bad; at least now we have a map of the seven manhole covers that hopscotch across the garden, joining up with one another on the other side of the house, then collecting the neighbour’s deposits and continuing off into the sunset. And to be fair to our friends, they may have just been the straw that broke the camel’s back, with so many bends in shallow drains – it’s surprising it hadn’t happened earlier. But it seemed this was part of the adventure that even the children failed to find exciting.

Teresa x

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess. My latest book is now available from Amazon as a paperback or ebook.

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LOVE, SUZI X – Location -35,000ft. Inspiration – cabin crew life. Novel out Now! Another snippet – Don’t worry about me.

Posted on September 10, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

12th July, 33,000ft-LHR – Nairobi (NBO)

Dear Eve                                                          

‘Hit it! Hit it… quick. Get your shoe off and hit it!’ No it isn’t some sort of masochistic game cabin crew play at room parties – just cockroach killing. They sometimes show their heads crawling over the surfaces in the galley on the aeroplane. Someone told me they come in on the trolleys when we stop down-route. I don’t care where they get on the plane; I just want to make sure I boot ’em off.

After my encounter with Ed when he kissed me, I drove him back to his car and we said goodbye. I felt sure he would call but after a few days at home – nothing. Ah well, some you win and … I’ll just have to put it down to experience. And what a lovely experience. Not only is he fit but makes me laugh like a hyena. Probably not my most attractive feature, head back, mouth wide open and almost snorting with mirth but men like to think they’re funny, don’t they?

Back at the house things had been progressing for the girls.  Remember I told you that Debbie’s parents were divorcing and stopping her allowance? Well, this caused her such trauma that after pleading with them and getting no reaction she was at home crying her eyes out at her dilemma when Matt dropped round to bring back some of my things I’d left at his place. He found Debbie awash with grief and stayed to ‘comfort her.’ Now, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve seen Debbie’s dramatics. She can really do a major performance when she wants. According to Sarah-Jane, Matt was sucked in like fluff up a cleaner and stayed for the evening. This then led to him calling round the next morning to ‘make sure Debbie was alright’ and before Sam and SJ realised, the two of them were an item. I didn’t get Sam’s worried text before I arrived home so it was a bit of a shock to see them ensconced together on the sofa but I’m really happy for them. Really! I think they are ideally suited. I’m so glad Matt was able to get over our relationship so easily. I’d hate to think of him distressed for more than an hour or two before he moved on. They have each now found their soul mate and can do absolutely nothing with their lives and watch endless TV together. I just hope Debbie has enough crisp wrappers and pizza boxes to cover them both.

I stayed out of their way as much as possible whilst I was home, caught up with my folks and friends and am now on my way to Nairobi. Don’t worry about me. I’ve just named the two latest cockroaches I’ve battered to death with my shoe after the happy couple. I feel soooo much better.

Love Suzi x

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From London to Lewes – Shoots appear.

Posted on September 1, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, ( Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing called, From London to Lewes, about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

         Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes 1

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

About the same time as the momentous mealtime, Nick returned from a project in Lewes one day, enthusiastic about its charms.  I accompanied him on his next visit, and was immediately enraptured as I wandered down the High Street. Lewes’s unique character in its jumble of attractive architecture and individual shops convinced me that it had all that we were looking for in a town. 

Dansk: Udsigt over Lewes fra Lewes Castle

Dansk: Udsigt over Lewes fra Lewes Castle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

          Once the decision to move had been made I attacked the problem of finding a home with vigour. Changing lifestyles ultimately meant that I could also change jobs. A large semi Victorian House already set up for Bed and Breakfast popped onto the screen. I’m sociable. I’m organised. I’m willing to work hard. What if we pushed the boat right out and saddled ourselves with a massive mortgage but ran a business at the same time that should help us pay it off?  It was one way of getting the kind of property that dreams are made of and, living in a beautiful, if touristy Sussex village. I chose my moment to run the idea past Nick.

        ‘You can still do what you’re doing but I could give up teaching and run the B & B,’ I argued. ‘Anytime I have left over I could concentrate on my writing. Anyway if I get stretched, the children can help.’ It sounded black and white to me but not one to make a decision in haste; I not only bought a book about it but I spoke to a friend with her own B & B about what was really like.

   ‘On the good side,’ she offered not too enthusiastically. ‘We would never have such a beautiful home in such a wonderful part of the country if we didn’t let out the rooms. But it is such a restriction on your life and do you really want strangers tramping through your home?’ Her parting words of, ‘I can’t make the decision for you but I would think carefully about how you want your life to be,’ should have set the alarm bells ringing, but I became momentarily deaf.

       I’m convinced that our house chose us. With only four months left before Jo had to start her courses at college (a testimony to my faith that I would move to Lewes that we enrolled her in the first place) my dreams of moving from London’s suburbs to a life in the country were beginning to fade. Our dream of running a B & B had sadly failed abysmally. The Gods had obviously seen my cooking skills and decided to save the masses from my attempts at full English breakfast, regardless of my championing local produce. After finding the perfect B & B property we made an offer and were at the discussing fixtures and fittings stage when the vendor pulled out. Not to be discouraged in my attempt to spend my days changing beds and folding my towels into threes so I could tell if they had been used, I then pursued two more properties with B & B possibilities, compromising on location and budget with a capital C and B.

          With gazumping fast becoming part of my new vocabulary, I started to take the hint and re-visited our original brief. We wanted to live in Lewes, in a house with character that needed renovating and, fundamental for me, a view. I continued to search. With the danger of becoming an internet stalker, I clicked on pictures of other people’s sitting rooms and kitchens, main bedrooms and guest bedrooms, oohing and ahing as I tried to find the perfect pad.

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         Time went by. Zero results. I allowed myself to relax the boundaries of our initial requirements. Okay so it didn’t have to be in Lewes exactly. A village outside would do. So character wasn’t that important. I could always add my own. So I wanted a view. Now that was a tricky one. I was happy to compromise on a lot of things but sometimes a girl can be pushed too far. A view was staying.

       But I had not reckoned on fate. Not that I believe in it, of course! One night while holding a glass of red nectar in one hand and a tissue to wipe the tears of frustration in the other, the perfect house popped onto the screen and into the equation. We arranged a visit. It was late on a Friday afternoon. The estate agents shut at 5.30pm. We made an offer just as they were winding up and waited… the whole weekend… for them to contact the vendor and get back to us.

             Monday morning found me walking the dog with a girlfriend. My phone rang. My heart leapt.

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            ‘If you increase your offer to the full asking price, my client says they will accept,’ the voice on the other end stated. There have been a few times in my life when I have spent hundreds of pounds. Cars, holidays, you know, the big things. Then it’s usually in consultation with Nick, followed by a close check as to whether the bank balance will have a heart attack or not.  I’m the kind of girl who has palpitations when out shopping if I’ve exceeded the budget by just a fiver.

             ‘Yes!’ I shouted to the agent. ‘Offer them what they want.’
My girlfriend walking beside me smiled as I clicked the phone shut and did a whoop of joy. ‘My, you’re very free with your £1,000’s,’ she remarked.

             Seven weeks later, paperwork completed, we moved. The removal men dropped a packet of turmeric, (yes I did say turmeric) all over the hall carpet just as the new owners arrived. I found myself sitting in the car outside our old home for three hours while we waited for our two cats to appear. I  watched as the new family unloaded the contents of their removal van into what had been my home for the last twelve years.

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Bye,bye…


On the upside, when we finally arrived at our new place, our new neighbours had taken in a delivery of flowers for us and then came and introduced themselves with another bunch of their own. That evening, exhausted but triumphant after making up the beds and finding our toothbrushes we walked across the road to the local pub where it was a pleasant sensation to venture inside and find a table readily available, rather than elbowing our way through a crowd. As the sun set, I stood at the end of the drive and looked at the lights twinkling from the children’s bedrooms, a feeling of excitement and apprehension overwhelmed me; was this really a new beginning or was it all going to be just a huge mistake?

Teresa x

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess, available from Amazon.

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From London to Lewes – Sowing Seeds

Posted on August 29, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, ( Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes 1

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

Sowing Seeds

Relocation looks so easy on the television. The idea of moving started as a chance remark, one that almost passed unnoticed. But when my eldest  muttered, ‘I … Sixth form …elsewhere,’ I took it as a green light that I could seriously consider a long harboured desire to escape the congestion of South London and move one husband, three children, two cats, one dog and a lifetimes worth of clutter to the unknown wilds of rural Sussex.

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The five of us

          As soon as the statement was out of her mouth it was swallowed up among the tangle of conversations at the table; arguments between the younger two about who’s turn it was to wash up, accusations that it just wasn’t fair that my youngest, Harry was allowed, yet again, to worm his way out of chores because he seemed to have another bout of wiping-up constipation. Rather than go into battle head-on, my husband, Nick and I decided the safest course of action was to direct operations from the table, finishing the last of the Merlot.

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Harry

 

It was only me that registered the profundity of the earlier statement from Jo. I tucked the notion of moving away whilst following through my threats of; no time on the computer, (the ultimate threat for Harry) unless all chores were finished, homework completed, shower taken and just as a final flourish, ‘without arguing.’ I decided to confront Jo later as to the sincerity of her remark. Although we were keen to escape suburbia, Nick and I had resigned ourselves to staying put for eternity in our cosy semi whilst the three offspring completed their education. I was  busy masquerading as a responsible adult juggling  part- time teaching ,(slowly losing my enthusiasm); freelance writing, (loving every minute but not making enough money to love more than a minute) and occasionally wearing my secretarial outfit ( strictly in the office only) whilst running our Project Management company.

          I had often dreamed of the rural idyll, especially during those moments when staring into space at the computer waiting for the brain blockage to become free flowing again. But I was fearful that uprooting the three children would lay us open to future accusations. The offspring, to my knowledge, hadn’t come across Larkin, but I was wary that it could be used in future years that the reason they ‘didn’t achieve or weren’t able to’ do all those things that as a child you blame your parents for, would come winging back to me in verse form. Having stayed in the same area for most of my life my knowledge of local amenities had grown alongside my shoe size, making me realise that the enormity of relocation was paramount to climbing Everest and leaving Sherpa Tensing at base camp. Where on earth did we start to consider moving to and how insane was I to even consider it?

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          But, I’ve always had a thing about the South Downs. When I was a child my siblings and I would eagerly count down the days until we could pack the car and make the journey to Bracklesham Bay for our two week, bucket and spade holiday. The morning would arrive and pandemonium would entail as my parents struggled to pack their unruly brood of six into the hired minibus. Although well past the age of enjoying being squashed between my sister and a large suitcase, whenever I drive down the A23, I experience the rush of childhood excitement when the Downs come into view.DSCF0001 - Copy

          I had mixed feelings towards our current residential area in South London. When we moved in, thirteen years ago, it was a green and pleasant land. Neighbours spoke to you and the local parade of shops had a greengrocer, butchers and post office. Now, we had a corner shop that sold all, regardless of your age or degree of sobriety; a pub that held late night slanging matches, mud bath level, no ticket required and a special collection of run down billboards where the schoolchildren could check their spellings from the graffiti on display.

          I was uneasy that the congestion of London was beginning to spread its fingers out ever further, grasping all that came into its path; the handcuff of the M25 seemed struggling to contain its hunger. It took so long to cross a road, find a parking space or chat to a neighbour that I feared I would be wrinkled and grey before I took the first step. I no longer wanted to see the man across the road choosing his daily wardrobe whilst I was still in my bed, however attractive his underpants were. Claustrophobia was cementing itself in my bones and I felt as though the council’s planning department had a vendetta against my condition.

          But like any right minded woman, I want it all. I love that within half an hour of slamming my front door I can be in the heart of the London, sniffing a fix of taxi fumes, watching the eccentric buskers in Convent Garden or pretending to be posh in Fortnum’s. Maybe it was time to realise that I should come clean and rid myself of London’s drug; I could always visit occasionally to get my fix. Besides being able to have a choice of shops to pick up specialty breads and choose your Friday night takeaway, still getting it home piping hot, were not priorities on which to base one’s life.

          With a spark of hope that we could break free and make new roots outside London, I decided it was time to test the waters and step out of my comfort zone. We had one year in which we could safely pluck Jo from her school to a Sixth Form College elsewhere; find my middle child, Ellie, her secondary school (no private school life for her without me going back to full time teaching) and settle Harry into a primary, before he understood that he should have complained but didn’t realise he could.

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Complete madness!

Later with the natives securely settled in their beds – well, the two youngest, Jo, being 17, was well past the age when I could tell her what to do, although I did dream sometimes that she was still five and under my control – I sneaked my way past Nick, ensconced on the sofa, to my secret weapon and asked the search engine to do its magic. Perhaps if I had an idea of what was out there to move to, I would be able to make up my mind where to go?

Teresa x

 

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Radio Interview – would love you to join us…

Posted on August 16, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

       

Suzi front cover 9-7-13

 

I am being interviewed on the Charlie Plunkett  radio show on  Coastway

Saturday 17th August evening @ 19.00.

I’m talking about writing,  books, why I chose the three songs being played and reading excerpts from LOVE, SUZI x.

It can’t be archived so you must listen at 19.00 or you will miss it.

57 mins of fun!  57 not 58!

Would love you to join us…

Teresa x

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From London to Lewes – Bruno

Posted on August 9, 2013 by Teresahamiltonwriter

As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, ( Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

Kitley Lodge Pencil From London to Lewes 1  After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

Bruno 

          I was standing at the edge of my neighbour’s field. The gate had just clicked shut behind me. I am late for school pick up and this is a short cut. Two sheep were munching in the nearside corner under a tree, as I strode out diagonally across the long grass. One of the sheep lifted its head and stared at me. Hadn’t anyone told it it was rude to stare especially with a mouthful of food? I’ve done my confrontation experience on the streets of London and know never to make eye contact.  I ignored it and carried on another two paces. It didn’t have a knife; I’d nothing to worry about. The lanolin drenched jumper took a step in my direction. My heart rate quickened. Sheep don’t attack. Their legs are too short and they have a weight problem they try and hide under their coat. Sheep are docile creatures that run away when you say boo. I’ve watched episodes of One Man and his Dog.

          It quickened its pace in my direction. Oh…my…god. Sheep aren’t supposed to run fast. They waddle from side to side in a sort of defunct, disco dance way. I stopped in my tracks. The far side gate beckoned me. Come this way to safety, it said. It is too far I answered. The speed in which this beast was moving makes me think that even without my bejewelled flip flops I’m not likely to make it. I turned and retraced my steps. Rather more hurriedly than before. The beast continued to chase me, getting faster as momentum took over. He lowered his head. He could smell the fear permeating from my pores.  This must be the edited version from the relocation programmes. This was what I moved lock, stock and barrel to my rural idyll for. Never once have I seen it mentioned that moving to the country might mean I have to run for my life from a creature, albeit a little dumpier than me, but nevertheless, vertically challenged. I had only one escape – if only I could reach the gate before my foe. I leapt the last metre and caught my ribs on the jutting latch as I prised it open and flung myself through the opening to safety, legs akimbo, screeching profanities. If only the beast had impaled himself on the metal gate, I would feel a sense of justification.

          I am a woman who has tamed thirty, obnoxious, eleven year olds and still walked out of the classroom door with hairstyle intact at the end of the day. I am a woman who has leapt out of the path of black cabs as they make a U turn on Piccadilly. I am a woman who would stand tall and take it whilst a motorcyclist put two fingers up because I nearly stepped off the pavement without checking first to see if he was there. I am now the woman who is refusing to be beaten by a larger version of Wallace and Gromit’s Shaun. It should know its place; on a plate smothered in mint sauce alongside roast potatoes. My innate townie side took over. I was a woman who was leaning over the gate shouting ‘shoo, shoo’ whilst waving a stick to no affect, hoping no one could see her.

          Shaun’s cousin stood his ground, head down ready to teach me another lesson. He was the rebel of the playground, the bully of the field, the bruise on my ribs. He was also, I heard later, called Bruno and destined for the slaughter house.  We will meet again, but this time I will have the upper hand (or leg, or shoulder or shank.) 

Teresa x

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