Learner driver: PLEASE pass!

I`m a nosy parker at the best of times. But being two floors up, I have access to a busy view of town.... my eyes often out on stalks; my mind racing about the scenes playing out below.

Most of the drama surrounds a nearby driving test centre. I see learners parking, looking under the bonnet with their instructor for final checks, and going off to meet their maker. Well...examiner.

Sometimes, I see them returning--and if I do, I have to wait until I know whether they've passed or failed. It can take a while. There's stuff to sign. So all I have to go on, is body language. Wringing of hands...or relaxing of shoulders?

It happened just now. A lad came back with the examiner, and I could see quite an animated conversation going on, before the official handed him some paperwork, got out, and walked back to base. The lad sat there, motionless. Five minutes later, he got out of the car and someone, his Dad, probably, approached him from the other side of the street. They hugged. Still wasn't sure. Then the lad peeled the L plates off the car..they both got in...lad at the wheel...and drove off; smiling.


It's two years since youngest daughter Alice passed her test, just five months after her 17th birthday.I remember the mix of pride and relief. No more frozen tweets from dark winter car parks outside rehearsals, or parking tactfully round the corner from late night parties. Sure, you feel anxious for a while. But only months after that, I found myself in the passenger seat with 'baby driver' (by then working as an au pair...) as she negotiated icy hairpin bends through the mountains to take me to lunch and a spa treatment at a Swiss ski resort. And later drove us both, in her own car, to Normandy; motorways, car ferry--no worries.

I`m sure my parents never relaxed.They probably thought they'd be driving me home from parties into their dotage...as my first and second driving tests came and went. Then the third. (Nobody could think of anything reassuring to say to me by this stage. They all looked a bit embarrassed. I think they'd all given up). Then the fourth. (It's OK, I passed fourth time.) I hugged the examiner, then burst into tears. I still had panda, mascara smeared eyes when I got home--and no mobile to call mum in those days--so she took one look at me and put the kettle on ; convinced I'd failed, and was heading for driving test number five.

Yeh, the M25 is still a bitch, and punctures usually only happen in horizontal rain, but there are lots of little things that can make driving pleasurable. First exits on massive roundabouts, for example. Always a joy.

Driving gives you real freedom to go anywhere, any time. Like Aberdovey on a sunny Sunday. Or on a wet Wednesday, really.You can head out on late night chocolate mercy dashes. And sing whatever you choose, at the top of your voice, with nobody complaining. So--well done to anyone in the street below, passing their test today. But if you're the one with the slumped shoulders and the wrong kind of paperwork from the examiner, don't worry. It'll be your turn to peel the plates off soon.

About a bench...

I was rushing through my favourite bit of London the other day--the stunning `square mile`. Here, magnificent historic, architectural gems like St Paul`s Cathedral rub broad, stone shoulders with gleaming new kids on the block--full of bankers, lawyers, movers, shakers. And at lunchtime, some escape their sparkling towers,time-travelling two blocks and a couple of centuries to squares like the little hideaway off St Dunstan`s Hill.

You can see them heading for the benches with their sandwiches, lingering over lattes...longing for a few moments` peace and respite from office pressures, for some thinking time alone. There are lunchtime lovers, too; touching, whispering; earnest and certain that their city bench, for just a few moments, makes them invisible. It`s their space; their little `table for two` in the cosiest spot any maitre d`could muster.

If it`s you on the bench, you can just watch the world go by. I still try and stop in Trafalgar Square en route to Charing Cross; watching tourists getting ticked off for trying to tame the lions, or leaning too close to the still-icy fountain water on scorching summer days. I remember standing, as a four year old, covered with pigeons; their tiny claws digging into my head; beaks pecking at the bought seed in my hand-- I didn`t really enjoy it, but mum had paid for the stuff from the bloke on the corner-- it`s what you did on a day out. In New York, we sat munching hot dogs on a bench in Central Park, feeling as much a part of the Big Apple as Carrie; then joined the throngs in Times Square, watching the snaking queues at the ticket booths; each tourist already part of their own Broadway show.

In most cities around the world, a bench can be the only place you have to sleep--one step up from the street; and every person rushing past with somewhere to go is a cruel reminder that you`ve hit rock bottom. In Shropshire, Jim Hawkins uses the simplest of devices...sitting on a bench in a different location each week..to collect and record stories from anyone who cares to stop and share theirs. It`s uncomplicated, brilliant radio.

So that`s it really. You can`t beat watching the world go by from a well placed bench and wondering about all the secrets it keeps. And it doesn`t cost a dime.

Shrewsbury: wandering, and wondering. Can you help?

Spotted these sights during a wonderful five mile stroll from Frankwell, through the Shrewsbury Quarry Park and along the riverside walk towards Underdale yesterday. They say every picture tells a story. I wonder if you can shed any light on some of the questions I had in my mind as I took these photographs? (see below!). Thanks for stopping by!

Top row, left: I`d heard about these beautiful mosaics by pupils at the now closed Wakeman School. They`re now part of the Wakeman Trail. Made me wonder what the young artists who produced these are doing now. Let me know if you`re one of them!

Top row: I was nearly back at my car in Frankwell when I spotted a marrow and a painting on the pavement, as you do, outside the eclectic shop window of  Shrewsbury Words. I didn`t buy it as I still had a half mile or so to notch up. But, Sir...had you parted with your marrow by the morrow?

Top row: terraced houses by the Severn in the Quarry. What an enviable view you have. Do you get a free mooring when you move in here? Fabulous spot.

Top row, far right: a lovely plaque on a bench in the Dingle. It says: `The Dingle was her heaven`. I love that. There are many more plaques and plants of remembrance in and around the Quarry. One to PC Richard Gray, shot on duty in Shrewsbury in 2007. It stopped me in my tracks, recalling the horror of that day, and what a major story it was in our newsroom.

Third row: Shoemakers`Arbour plaque in the Dingle. So who knows about Shrewsbury`s connections with the Shoemakers` Guild? Please tell me more!

Also, that bench on the bottom row, along the riverside walk. Who was Ian? What a lovely gesture to remember him this way. Also on the bottom row--the graffiti `Don`t Give Up` along the same riverside path. Who wrote this--and what provoked it? I`m not a fan of graffiti, but this was a great message to choose!

Know anything? Like the pics? Drop me a quick email? I`d love to hear from you !: janemcintyre1@btinternet.com
Or Tweet me a message, or RT the link, on Twitter-- I`m  @janemcintyre12

Hope you like the other pics, too. The jogger was way ahead of me under the bridge with all the scaffolding under it; and she was going well. And the girl with the megaphone was belting out instructions to rowers alongside. Thanks to the two police officers who let me take their picture on the path too (That`s one great beat you have there, officers. How many miles do you reckon you clock up each day, by the way?) And thanks to Stop Coffee Shop for the lovely cappuccino I had before I headed home.

Postcard to the seaside

Dear Aberdovey,

I`m sending you this from Shrewsbury.

Much as I love you, I did, during my drizzly drive to see you yesterday, consider turning back. Or hopping out at the market in Machynlleth and not bothering with the beach.

But I persevered, knowing that I had waterproofs, walking boots and wellies in the car. Braced for `bracing`; I`d take you as I found you.

Just a few minutes and one meander more, I got that first, breathtaking glimpse of the estuary....and the sun was glinting on the water. A few more miles and I was driving slowly through your main street; crowds to the left of me; ice creams to the right. I was late on parade.

As someone used to enjoying your empty expanse of sand in icy midwinter; in gales, and best of all, in term time, I wondered whether I`d be walking, or weaving through windbreaks. The first stretch was filling up with families setting up base camp, clambering out of clothes, grabbing sneaky sausage rolls meant `for later`.

I kicked off my shoes and headed towards the water, gazing out at distant dinghies with Dairylea sails and cocktail stick masts. Past `Oi! Emma!`, and `Come on, Caspaahh!` and `Awww CHLO-WEeeeee....!` screaming at the sea as it touched their toes. On and on, to where the sand was smooth--just little sticky gulls`marks , a few tiny toddler prints, and deep, paw-shaped dents; dogs desperate to dash after sticks in the water ; shaking salty droplets over owners on the shore.

I looked back at the now tiny terrace of houses along the sea front; a higgledy cake-stand of sweet, fondant fancies,vying for selection. Way behind them, over the hills, huge, still uncertain clouds in Mr Whippy shaped swirls kept watch. I turned my back on them and walked towards the blue, the August sun hot and steady now, but cooled by a breeze brisk enough to keep kites aloft and the tiny sails proudly puffed.

Wiggling myself into a soft, sandy dip by the dunes I could watch families from a distance; playing, squabbling; screams and laughter muted by the whooshing whitenoise of sea and wind; each family a neat frame of film through my shades, all stars in a state of the art silent movie. I lay back; drifting, dozing.........until the rumble, then roar of a fighter jet pierced through my slumber and forced me to open my sun-blind eyes...metal scything through the blue-silk sky like a haberdasher`s blade.....its deafening dominance tempered by its tilt--incongruously coy.

It vanished; replaced by the soft whoosh of waves and wind again,willing me to be lulled back into my seaside snooze.

But that was my 4.30 alarm call. I`m wide awake enough to know that my ticket`s expired. I scramble to my feet and stumble back up the beach, fumbling in my pockets for what I wish were the keys to a seafront home of my own, not a baking hot car. Driving, I muse over how much fun it must be for locals to reclaim their sand, their sea and their silence .....once Caspahhh and Chlo-WEEee have headed home for their tea.

So that`s it. The end of my postcard from landlocked Shrewsbury to Aberdovey. Just to say thanks for a great day out. Loads of love; wish I was there, etc. And if it`s ok with you, I probably will be again, quite soon. Save me a fondant fancy, eh?

Tweeting. And meeting...?

Alpaca walks into a pub...

OK..sorry...you`ve heard that one already?

So...try this one.

Morris Dancer walks into a coffee shop. ( No bells, no ribbons, no music). Sits alongside a sommelier (no wine, no glass, no corkscrew). Who`s opposite a former civil servant (no clipboard, no suit, no red tape ), directly opposite a businessman who`s also an engineer and a musician (no guitar, no oily overalls, no briefcase). He`s next to a young man with a secret. And just across the table from a former journalist (hello) who`s hopeless at keeping them.

Alright, so maybe as a joke, this has lost a little pace. It`s just a rough sketch, of a great hour, somewhere in Shrewsbury this morning. Six people from very different backgrounds, all of whom met on Twitter and decided to go for a brew.

Agenda? None. But top talking points were local arts (Kevin Tanner`s Wellington based and a great supporter of local events ). Also, the fast approaching day of music,The Big Busk, which hits Shrewsbury on April 5. Karen Paterson ( Samaritan, sommelier, and one fab lady) is one of the key organisers of that, and it was brilliant to hear how well the plans are going. Graydon, ex military, now Morris dancer is performing there with his team, too, just as they did last year. Also discussed: mental health issues--on everyone`s mind, for lots of different reasons, and from David, what it`s like running a theatre company, while having to dash off round the world on business trips

And that secret--in the hands of the youngest of the assembled six; a new recruit to Twitter? Well; it`s that Shrewsbury`s going to have a brand new performance venue. In a former Temperance Hall! And the guy they call @Johnnystars is helping to get it up and running. It`s a fascinating venture.

One hour; six people, all with a tale to tell ;none of whom would have met without Twitter. One of a series of Shropshire `tweet-ups` which are giving people the chance to see the face behind the avatar. Messages are great, and funny, and supportive, sometimes, but occasionally, it`s brilliant to get out from behind that little glass screen and meet the guys you tweet *in real life*. Today was a prime example.

Oh--and the Alpaca? He was a no show. He DM`d me, though. Hangover ;)

Lanyard Ahoy !

It was around 8.15 am today and I was on my four mile morning trek. I`d like to think I could run it..(maybe next week)...but this morning was warm and bright, and I had all the time in the world....so I walked it.

My route takes me just over a mile through a busy, residential feeder road into town (the wrong way), then out into the country for a couple more miles, through a village with a pub and two schools, then out past fields again; up and down a hill on a narrow pathway with scratchy overgrown gorsebushes....and I`m home. Rain, shine or snow....it`s bloody lovely.

And because I`m walking, not running most of the time, I get to say hello to other walkers, runners and cyclists on my route, and peep inside cars in the traffic queues. You see the builders on their way to their day`s work, two or three to a front bench seat; sometimes, steelcapped boots on the dashboard...another idly flicking through the morning paper while the traffic stalls a while.

You clock the solo drivers in shiny, Sunday-washed cars; crisply ironed shirtsleeves resting on windows opened wide enough for you to catch snatches of their illegal mobile chats; and women with smooth, just-straightened hair and neat office gear; sometimes smiling, sometimes snapping at back-seat, school-run squabblers.

Nearly all of them...in their work clothes. And lanyards. You know, the ribbony things round their necks to hold their company ID badges. It`s part of their 9-5 uniform. Their corporate identity. Badges with a little chip which automatic doors and security staff will recognise when the car`s parked and the working day begins.

When you love your job, an ID badge can make you feel so proud; part of the team. I remember that feeling. And I guess when you`re searching for work, you might long to feel you belong somewhere...to be able to slip one of those corporate ribbons round your neck; get some hours clocked up; some cash in the bank.

But today, a year after making the choice to take the money and run, (or sometimes walk, because I can) it was sunny out there. Everyone seemed post-Murray smiley, and smiley`s how I like to be. Looking back, lanyards can start feeling heavy sometimes, and if they do....it`s time to move on before they become millstones round your neck.

Like team briefings; impudently early alarm clocks, terribly important courses; `difficult conversations` behind closed doors, workplace primadonnas... and that aching...that longing for it to be Friday....lanyards....for me....are well and truly in the past.

That realisation made me flash the broadest smile at a bearded bloke (no visible lanyard...) cycling into town today. God knows what he thought.

I`ll see if he smiles back at me tomorrow :)

Happy Monday.

Loyalty: at what price?

How loyal are you to a business--local, national or global--that`s been good to you?

And if you run a company--how much do you reward your customers for sticking with you?

I needed a Sunday morning hair appointment yesterday. And because I`d left it late, the hairdresser`s I`ve supported and raved about for twenty years, couldn`t do it. So I rang around and landed a slot with one on the other side of town. And as I waited outside  for them to open, I realised I was standing in full view of my regular hair stylist`s flat. And do you know--I felt so guilty, I ducked into a shop doorway. Yes, really.

As I left the salon, they asked if I`d like to book again, and presented me with a loyalty card .They were great, but they`re not Brown`s, and that`s where I`ll be returning; because we know each other, and it feels like such a treat to be there.

I realised I have loyalty cards for four independent coffee shops in Shrewsbury, and the one on the A49 near Church Stretton. I`ve got some unused points with American Airlines, and I think I had a Tesco card once. I tell the cashiers at Boot`s that I`ll take my receipts home for my daughters` cards, then I lose them. Oh and I`ve just found one for Waterstone`s.

So. Am I missing out? Does it `pay` to be loyal? And who uses what?

Here`s what a quick straw poll on Twitter yielded this morning:

Sarah and Nita make the most of Boots points--In Nita`s case, `enough for Chanel`.Sarah, also gets 25 per cent off every fifth treatment at her beauty therapist/spa--which she views as a `nice little perk`. Sarah`s the kind of customer Dave Courteen tries to attract at Imagine Spa-they`re now about to launch an app to reward loyalty points via phones.

Dave Wright says he has frequent flyer and hotel chain loyalty cards--`some good, others less so`. But he still uses them for upgrades and weekends away.

Phil says he values,and uses regularly, cards for Tesco and Odeon , but has decided to dump the `faded, creased `ones he`s collected from coffee shops.`And,` he says, `have you done the maths on a Costa card to calculate how much you spend to get a free coffee? I did. It was ludicrous.`

It`s not deterring Shona or Helen, though--both mentioned their Costa cards--though Helen admitted that while they make you feel good, `they don`t equate to much in real terms.`

And then there`s reverse psychology--sort of. Dave Rhodes is in Leeds. He`s seen independent coffee shops there and in London offering a `disloyalty` card--you collect a stamp from each location for a free brew--and ignore the chains.

Love or hate Tesco, my friend Jo swears by their points scheme, and has boasted about the airmiles she`s managed to accrue. Great--but I don`t want to be tied to that, or any other supermarket, really.

And as far as independent coffee shops in Shrewsbury go--we`re completely spoilt for choice. But I`ll always return--free coffee or not-- if I`ve felt welcomed and valued as a customer, if the coffee`s good (and there`s a decent variety of cakes..!)...and if I feel just as comfortable on my own, or meeting friends. And whatever kind of business it is--if it`s new, and it`s trying really hard in a crowded market, I`ll be back, and I`ll spread the word.

PS: Oh..by the way..the other reason I was thinking about `loyalty` was that the number of page views on my blog went past 20,000 today...that`s since I started just over a year ago. I`m really chuffed...so if you`re one of the readers who`s been loyal...or even dropped in more than once....thankyou....Please feel free to leave a comment, or just say hello. I`d love to know where in the world you are, and how you got here! In the meantime....let me stamp your card :)

My now *award-winning* Aberdovey blog!

Aberdovey: Cheese on toast and a taste of summer

To be honest, no one was keen on going to the beach. It was freezing, for a start. And between us, we had homework, a hangover, and housework to contend with.

We decided in the end that we could all die, waiting for the weather to change. Sea air would be good for us. And so, twenty minutes later, car crammed with wellies, scarves, shades, gloves and suncream--you never know--we were on our way to Aberdovey--our closest slice of the seaside.

It was sunny and bright when we got there. Chilly. But chilled. This is a classy coastal resort; limbering up for later.

On one side of the car park, there`s the elegant stretch of tall, terraced houses; pastel painted in their Sunday best, linked like a chain of paper dolls. Some offer B and B; others, hot cups of tea, fish and chips, gifts, and postcards.

Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, they shield from the elements, the jumble of smaller, former fishermen`s cottages behind them. These are prettier in their way, but overshadowed today by the bright sparkle of seafront windows winking back at us; three or four storeys high, all boasting a sea view.

Today, some are still hibernating, snuggling inside for a week or so more. We explored. There was a sale on at Fat Face, and a warm welcome across the road at the brilliant Simba Jones gift and housewares shop.
Round the corner and back on the sea front we settled at a scrubbed wooden table at Y Bwtri Blasus and ordered Welsh cheddar on toast with bacon and onion, and hot coffee...and milkshakes, plus a bag of rocky road to keep us going on our brisk walk along the beach.

The wind whipped around us, but we bowed our heads against it and warmed up as we walked...laughing, talking, gazing out to sea. We took photographs, paddled, screamed with laughter at Alice`s boot-leak, then stood, and looked back at the pastel terraces along the sea front. Mum and two daughters; reminiscing about Balamory.

There`ll be days, not too far away, when Aberdovey`s sunny. Scorching. And noisy. Squealing children; bat on ball; dads roaring;, scoring runs. Happy, happy dogs, bounding along the beach; splashing in the sea, shaking salty droplets over everyone. But today, Aberdovey`s biding its time; waiting for the weather, knowing it has treats to share.

We shook the sand from our wellies, licked the salty air on our lips and smiled. The wind might have been as fierce as a face slap. But today...we`d tasted summer.

Grand Prize

Michaela Fowler with her nostalgic and honest account of Blackpool:

Blackpool: Oh I do like to be…here

Michaela wins flights and a hotel for up to 2 people for a European destination of her choice!

1st Runner-up

Jane McIntyre with her descriptive tale of a pre-summer trip to Aberdovey:

Aberdovey: Cheese on toast and a taste of summer

Jane wins a £200 LateRooms.com Voucher.

2nd Runner-up

Annie Taylor with her sunny, vivid reveal of hometown Alcalá la Real:

A Spot in Time – Alcalá la Real

Annie wins a £100 LateRooms.com Voucher.

Readers’ Choice

(Voted for by LateRooms.com Blog readers)

Liam McKenna with his somewhat sarcastic yet funny and well written ‘ode’ to Cheshunt:

A brief insight into the historic town of Cheshunt

Liam wins a Samsung Galaxy Camera and a £100 LateRooms.com Voucher.

Cake: it`s a family affair

It`s not bad going--having your own business when you`re only five months old.

OK, well, bobbing along in a little bouncy chair while mum and dad run the business around you.

The baby entrepreneur whose name fronts a brand new cake company in Shropshire is Betty Joyce. I met her quite by chance while dashing to the supermarket on the Gain`s Park housing estate just outside Shrewsbury.

Opposite the supermarket, there was a `Now Open` sign on the window of a shop which had sat empty for  months. I sauntered over, and peered through at the delights inside; pleased that cakes were again being sold at this former bakery. "You can go inside, you know, " said a small voice beside me. "Yes, you are allowed," said another, reassuringly. "And if you go inside, you can buy one of dad`s cakes."

The opportunistic sales reps-- seven year old Chandler, and Owen, two years younger, were standing right beside me in their school uniforms; willing me to open the door. How could I refuse?

Inside, they explained that it was their dad over on the far table, busy constructing a camper van cake for someone`s birthday. "That`s what he does," said Chandler, "and he wants to make lots of money."

They looked so welcoming, and eager, and full of hope--the boys, little bobbing Betty, cake maker Darren and his partner Kerry Thorley, that I abandoned them for five minutes, and legged it across the square to buy a shorthand pad and pen to make some notes about their new venture.

Because that`s what so many people are being urged to do, now, isn`t it? Start up alone. Find backing. Explore grants that are available. But even with a shed load of business advice, it`s still a huge venture to take on premises, and establish yourself in the marketplace.

For this family though, it was something they had to try. Their home based cake-making business was growing nicely--and taking up all their available space. They`d heard about this shop from a customer, had a look, out of curiosity, and decided to go for it.

But Darren, who learnt to cook in a Michelin starred chain of pubs and restaurants after leaving military life, said it wasn`t all plain sailing.

"We approached the banks and were told `no`--we didn`t have enough money in place. Even with some help from Kerry`s dad, they still said no initially--sometimes it seems it`s easier if you`re working business to business, rather than starting up on your own."

But they persevered. And fitted their new shop out by themselves. And when I met them--on day three--they were happily taking on suggestions from new customers about what kind of products will prove the most popular, and not afraid to admit it`s quite a steep learning curve.

"We make the bread every day for sandwiches," said Darren. " And one lady asked for a bag of rolls--we realised we didn`t know what to charge her!".

But the price list is sorted now, and the daily counter sales of delicious cakes, sandwiches and coffee will be Kerry`s responsibility, while Darren works through a growing order book for the wide range of celebration cakes he`s now being asked to bake; grateful for Kerry`s creative eye and design ideas.

"We`ve done everything from a Wallace and Gromit cake, to the camper van design I`m working on now...to hen party cakes and divorce cakes, " he said..."they`re actually getting quite popular!"

I left with a carrier bag containing the cakes I`d bought: coffee and walnut, and a chocolate one for luck. And got a thumbs up from Chandler and Owen.

I hope their little sister`s got them on commission.

Find out more about Darren and Kerry`s business here : www.bettyjoycecakedesign.co.uk
Or call in to their shop on Gain`s Park in Shrewsbury.

And they`re on Twitter too-- @BettyJoyceCakes

Thanks for reading--please retweet?

Shrewsbury...is where the heart is...

Combined ukelele bands at The Big Busk--everyone smiled!

So The Big Busk in Shrewsbury is over. An event which filled a whole town one sunny Saturday with music and happiness--from contemporary guitar duos to opera and dancing flashmobs. With any luck, it could become an annual event. What better way to remember Ben Bebbington, who would have been 44 on Saturday. Ben, a musician, poet and artist was killed last year, and his loving family wanted to find a fitting way to remember him.

Martin from Shrewsbury Ark

This was a stunning, uplifting, positive way to pay tribute to Ben, and to raise money and thank everyone connected to the Shrewsbury Ark. The centre, near the town`s railway station, proved to be a special place for Ben, and continues to be a safe, caring refuge for homeless and vulnerable people in the town. It`s great that so many more people are aware of its work now, and that its coffers will benefit from the collections around town on Saturday.

Big Busk`s support crew

But what`s also important is that support for the Ark and other groups like it, carries on. And with it, a deeper awareness and understanding of this message: any one of us can fall on `hard times`.

People like John. He has nothing whatsoever to do with the Ark. But I got in touch with him after seeing him appealing on a local website for `pretty much everything` you`d need to set up home.

It turns out John had a good job, but was made redundant. He told me: ` I had to settle for whatever I could get to keep the wolves from the door.`

For John, this meant taking a job paying the minimum wage. And here`s how life can really kick you in the teeth when you`re down. As well as redundancy, John`s marriage was breaking down, and he was left more than £10,000 in debt. That`s since been paid off, but it`s left him with a poor credit rating.

John was able to stay with friends and family for a while--but these were all stopgap measures. The time came for him to try and branch out on his own. And on a low wage, that`s not easy, as he explained to me:

"The problem is that to find a flat you are talking £400 plus per month rent for most properties, plus a deposit of £500 plus, a credit and reference check of £200 and then have to have a guarantor. Add onto this the costs of furnishings and suddenly it is easy to see the difficulties that can be encountered."

And that`s why John, once a family man with a good job and comfortable home,  found himself on a website asking around for donations of furniture. He`s getting there, and has found a property to rent for the time being. It needs a lot of work, and is further than John would like to be from his job, but it`s a place for him to call home.

For many of the people who use it, The Shrewsbury Ark is the closest they will have to a home, or a base. They can find friendship, food, warmth, advice, and a place to shelter.

If you have a home, it`s such a haven, whatever shape or size it is, however much it cost. I had this book as a small child. It`s called `A Little House of Your Own`, by Beatrice Schenk de Regniers. I kept it, because it always filled me with wonder. It had pictures of all the little places a child could call home if they needed to play house, or just escape on their own. I tried all of them. Scrambling into huge cardboard boxes and cutting out windows. Pegging out huge sheets on the washing line and weighting down the edges with stones to make a hideaway tent for me and my toys. Your own space.Your own base.

In adulthood I`ve always cherished my own home...that moment you unlock your front door--slamming it , bloody hard, sometimes, if you`ve had a bad day; shutting out the world if you need to.When I had bad times at work I`d rush home for respite during my break...even for 20 minutes. At that time, it was like an oasis in the desert.  I`m so lucky that I could do that, and it`s still my haven. I`m a Londoner and people often joke that it can take years to feel like a `local` once you move to Shropshire.

But this Saturday, thanks to the Big Busk, and its love and hope, and the hard work of Ben`s family and friends, Shrewsbury really felt like home. Where the heart is.

COMMENTS:

Karen Higgins ‏@karenellaB16m

@janemcintyre12 @shrewsburyark @jimallthetime @TheBusk @Thimmus lovely Jane, beautifully written.

Tim Compton ‏@Thimmus27m

@janemcintyre12 @jimallthetime @karenellab @thebusk many thanks Jane, very well written.

Susan ‏@suziemarine1m

@janemcintyre12 @shrewsburyark @jimallthetime @karenellab @thimmus Well said Jane! Here's hoping the effects of @TheBusk are long lasting!

Scott Stephenson and David Burrows retweeted you

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Shrewsbury: where the heart is... http://lovemymondays.blogspot.com/2013/04/shrewsbury-where-heart-is.html?spref=tw …

Cathy Brown favorited your Tweet

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Shrewsbury: where the heart is...@shrewsburyark @jimallthetime @karenellab @thebusk @thimmus http://lovemymondays.blogspot.com/2013/04/shrewsbury-where-heart-is.html?spref=tw …

Susan and 3 others retweeted you

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Shrewsbury: where the heart is...@shrewsburyark @jimallthetime @karenellab @thebusk @thimmus http://lovemymondays.blogspot.com/2013/04/shrewsbury-where-heart-is.html?spref=tw …

   

Somewhere safe? Step inside....

I was in one of Shropshire`s many amazing bookshops this weekend. The cosy kind ; where there are three or four floors to browse, each linked by a steep, twisting, staircase; each level hiding room after womb-like room; each room lined with floor to ceiling shelves; each shelf packed tightly with treat after treat. And you tiptoe across the polished wooden floor, don`t you, because it`s quiet in there, and calm, like granny`s parlour, and you find yourself saying `oops, sorry!` when you step on a creaky board.

Sometimes, it`s rare to hear another voice. But this time,I could hear one, in a room on the floor below. Strong and clear. I thought it was the radio at first, or two customers chatting. But it was one man, alone, reading aloud, savouring every sentence.

As I crept back downstairs, I paused ,and caught a glimpse of him, standing in the middle of the floor, the chosen book in his hand; his back to the door. I carried on, not wanting to invade his privacy.

The shopkeeper said he`s often there. Can lose himself for hours, reading aloud, alone.She leaves him to it.

And I thought how hard it would be to do that in some shops, without being judged; gawped at, sniggered at, maybe.

But here, in this place, he felt safe and secure to read and relish the words; two floors and a world away from Saturday shoppers.

It got me thinking about how important is to have a place that makes you feel safe and secure, and how lucky you are if you have that. It might mean a roof over your head. Your own home. Or a refuge from home, if home`s not a happy place.

I can think of three people right now whose home lives are changing. Their feelings of `security` are probably all out of kilter.One`s going through the pain of a broken relationship; and has left the family home.One has a home, and had work, but is restless.She`s left her job, has bought a plane ticket, and jets off next week to live abroad for a while to look for a new challenge. And one appeared to many, to `have it all`--a city pad worth millions and a high flying, high profile job. The work has dried up, the apartment`s been sold, and he`s renting property again, scouring job ads, turning the clock back thirty years.

For loads of people I guess feeling safe doesn`t involve a place at all.You can feel `safe` just being with people who make you feel wanted, and loved, and valued. And for the bloke in the bookshop--by finding people who just allow you to be yourself.

Running at Christmas? Are you MAD?

(Did you find this on Twitter? Pls RT for me? Go on...I`m always RT`ing your stuff ;)  )




And so this is Christmas. It`s ok to eat and drink more. Add a few pounds. Skip the morning run.

That was my thinking, as I lay all cosy in bed this morning. Until I sorted myself out. I know--there`s nothing like a self righteous ex smoker to bore the pants off you, banging on about the benefits.Or a `fitness freak` trying to force you into a 5K. (A whaaat?)

I`ve never been a regular smoker (apart from the school- uniformed, More Menthol phase in the forest* ) so I can`t tell you how good it is to stop. But I have felt like a lardarse, and I don`t want that feeling ever again.

`All` you have to do, they say, is to eat less, and move more. If I`m in the right zone...I can train my brain to want less food. Way less. `Moving more` can be a challenge though, especially in the winter.

You need to want to do it. The duvet dreaming was fabulous. But it gave me time to realise I hadn`t done any useful exercise for days. These were my....

....ten good reasons not to run today:

1) It`s effing cold and windy out there.
2) You know you can`t run with the wind against you.
3) You`re a bloody crap runner.
4) You might die of a heart attack and plop into the swollen Severn.
5) No one will actually know whether you go running or not anyway.
6) It`s two days before Christmas. There`s stuff to do.
7) You can just eat fruit today.
8) You might twist your ankle and not be able to dance at the party, or even just pose in heels. 
9) Just swim more. You like swimming.
10) It`s so cosy here.

I fessed up on Twitter. And there was beautiful Annie (@mossofbath)...saying she`d just got back in from her run. ( A proper one.She`s well fit. Really.)

That was enough. I got dressed, tooled up with trainers, ipod belt, pink running jacket, shades and gloves..and hit the road. Randomly, ELO`s Hold on Tight blasted through my (furry, gorgeous) headphone speakers by way of a starting pistol, and I was off.

False start. Too fast. Here`s the thing, you see. I`m actually the world`s worst runner.Yes I DO get out on my #morningmile as often as I can. But then I stop and start, miss a couple of days, get out of puff, get distracted, give up, walk a bit, take a picture or two, chat to the neighbours, and realise I`m not really building up my mileometer at all.

So, I`ve decided that has to change. I need to be able to get out there and run for five miles, more, eventually, without stopping, and while sustaining a steady breathing pace. But it`s not going to happen without a bit more effort and self belief. So I stopped on the bridge over the flooded River Severn, took a picture for the hell of it, and carried on running. And told myself this stuff. So it`s to remind me, really. But if it helps you too, or even makes you scoff with derision, that`s OK, because I did it anyway.

Note to self: Ten damn good reasons why you need to run today:

1) It`s cold out, so you won`t get hot and sweaty.
2) You`ll feel fantastic when you get home.
3) Someone might have washed up while you`re out.
4) You can listen to loud music that no one else in the house will like (see above); sing it, loudly even, and nobody will complain.
5) You promised yourself when you were going for radiotherapy at lunchtime every day for three weeks, and saw a lady running along the Welshpool Road, that when it was all over, you`d do that too, to celebrate being well. She`s still running. C`mon. You promised .
6) Instead of finding excuses, think of the thousands who`d love to be `able` enough to wear trainers and use their legs.You`re bloody lucky. Get the hell out there.
7) Yes it`s only two days till Christmas, but you`re actually ready for it. Jamie (@jamierothwell on Twitter) says he`s *going postal* in Asda. You don`t have to.
8) The dress is size 12.  
9) You`re not going to die young like mum.You`re going to stick around, remember?
10) Yeh, it`s tough running against the wind. Hard and tough. But then you turn round , and the wind carries you home. You`ll feel it in the small of your back, giving you a gentle push, like a running mate.
11) `Shuffle` might land on `Rock Me Gently` by Andy Kim. You like that one.
12) Exercise boosts mental agility. You could learn to count.

OK...over to you. I`m serious. Running tips welcome!

(Oh and PS: That thing about smoking Menthol More in the woods, during double tennis? Scroll down and read `Teach Your Children Well....` Go on, please. I risked a bloody detention for that. Every bloody week, actually.)

Secret Shrewsbury: shop here and buy one.

And now...for a commercial break.

For two reasons: firstly because this is my blog and I can have one if I want to. And because sometimes, the little guys get forgotten.

So while you`re taking in Shrewsbury`s fabulous medieval past, and its connections with Dickens and Darwin, have a peek at its independent shops and businesses, too. There are lots of them scattered around the town; small bright links in the retail chain.

Just for starters: well, pretty much any of the stalls in Shrewsbury`s Indoor Market; flowers, fruit and veg, clothes and carpets, Chinese spices and champagne.

But first for a mention in Monday`s top four:

Julia Wenlock`s chocolates (@TootSweetsShrew).  I`m not kidding; her salted caramels are to die for. And big slabs of chocolate with honeycomb underneath or nuts on top. I mean...come on....

Secondly: coffee.There are so many really good, friendly places to stop in Shrewsbury now- you`re really spoilt for choice. But before you order your latte, the chicken and mustard salad at Alfie and Billy`s ( @alfieandbillys  ) on Wyle Cop is hard to beat. And they`re so friendly! Plus you can watch the world go by while you`re eating, and sneak a look over the road at the window display in Blushies. Then go there...

There`s a good selection of vintage and interiors shops--but some are hidden away. Just like Eddies. On the edge of  the shops in Longden Coleham; it`s great for a browse . I nearly didn`t stop the other day, but popped in and ended up with two sets of salad servers (one with mother of pearl handles, one set in wood and tortoiseshell; (£5.50 a pair! ) a gorgeous silk scarf, a vintage lace bag for a fiver and a couple of napkins to match a tablecloth I bought there a few months ago. A lot of beautiful things, for not very much money.

And I was just jumping back in the car to go home...and remembered the hanging baskets I bought last year from the plant shop just opposite Longden Coleham school. There are some out the front, or you can ask to go through to the back of the shop, where there`s a little yard full of bedding plants and baskets. I`d never seen this bit before, and was happy to buy from here, rather than one of the massive garden centres that take you half an hour to get round and queue.

So that`s it. No, I don`t spend all my time shopping, and I certainly haven`t got money to burn. But if there`s a smaller independent business worth shouting about, in Shrewsbury or any other part of Shropshire, allow me to shout; and maybe add your favourite, too?

Have a good day!