Running with butterflies and bluebells…

This morning we abandoned the car at Jerbourg Point and fled through the lanes to Fermain like we’d been caught shoplifting sex aids, figuratively speaking. It was a glorious burn. We turned into the cliff paths at Bluebell Woods and the way that the sunlight shimmers through the trees, was magically spectacular. Running through woods alongside battalions of proud bluebells gave me the fuzzy feelies. We pushed on through the gigantic cliff path steps and padded along the soft mud packed trails. Our sweat at the end of the run sparkled. The sun is shining quite hard today, with little wind and that’s rather lovely to bathe in whilst trying not to fall over the cliff path edge.

I took these photos last year, when the bluebells were out on parade. I think they might be brighter this year!

These are on sale yummers!

Last night we went here for dinner and it was lovely. We were in the top part of the restaurant with the windows open. I hate that stuffy feel that restaurants have sometime. The cool sea breeze drawing in made it easy to stay talking at the table until midnight(ish).

The Bardo Retreat, by Rose Lois Presley

 

click here to buy

Self harm is like a labyrinth.

‘The Bardo Retreat’ is a map of how I made it out; I survived.

‘Bar means in between. Do means an island or a mark. The concept of bardo is based upon the period between sanity and insanity, between death and birth. The past situation has just occurred and the future situation has not yet manifested itself so there is a gap between the two: This is basically the bardo experience.’ (The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

“If I don’t write to empty my mind,
I go mad.”
(Lord Byron)

“The end is our starting line” (Meredith Grey)

The Bardo Retreat is the distance between a rock and a lighthouse.

If I hadn’t read so many memoirs about self-harm, madness, depression and eating disorders I would not be here healthy, happy, whole,  today. The meaty arms of literature picked me up, tucked the stray strands of hair out of my tear drenched eyes and held me close. So, I made my contribution and published this on Kindle.

The Great Wall Marathon

My friend is running the Great Wall of China marathon in May. She is training along the cliff paths of Guernsey and her grit, resilience, determination, strength, dedication and steely focus are incredible. She’s a mummy of two gorgeous girls who are extraordinarily amazing and she fits in cliff path runs, hill sprints and training of epic portents. I will be rooting for her all the way, from Guernsey. She’s my favourite running buddy, she never quits and pushes harder all the way from start to finish. Truly inspirational. If you ever find yourself running along the cliff paths in Guernsey, feeling like you want to quit or give in, make sure you have Jodie by your side. I’m sure that one day soon this sweet piece will be taking on clients to train who, like her, want to run the world!

“I’m convinced that a lot of people run ultramarathons for the same reason they take mood-altering drugs. I don’t mean to minimize the gifts of friendship, achievement, and closeness to nature that I’ve received in my running carer. But the longer and farther I ran, the more I realized that what I was often chasing was a state of mind – a place where worries that seemed monumental melted away, where the beauty and timelessness of the universe, of the present moment, came into sharp focus.” (Scott Jurek, Eat and Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness)

My Aunt Kay

Patricia Cornwell came into my life when I managed a store in Guernsey and Jersey, in the Channel Islands. It was a franchise for a local company, an easy well-known brand. It was a seasonal brand, so Christmas, Easter, Mothers Day and Valentines Day were ferociously busy: at all other times we were quiet. I spent most of my time in the Guernsey store, reading. I always had a book underneath the counter. I read a lot of books before I was (quite rightly!) made redundant. That’s when Patricia Cornwell came into my life. That’s when I met my Aunt Kay. The title of the first novel sets the tone for the entire series, ‘PostMortem’ (1990). Cornwell deals in death, against a backdrop of murder most foul and life as coroner. Life as a coroner is hard and dangerous, it’s exciting. I often question why I devour grisly literature with glee but, not for too long. We all like and have a taste for, a bit of strange.

After ‘Dust’ (2013) I stopped calling my Aunt Kay and abandoned Patricia Cornwell. ‘Depraved Heart’ (2015) changed all that. I found ‘Dust’ hard to hold but I wolfed ‘Depraved Heart,’ last weekend, like I had been literarily starved. I had missed my Aunt Kay dearly.

As a general rule I hate endings. I hate finishing a good book. I hated it when the Ken Follet trilogy about a Cathedral in the fictional town of Kingsbridge ended. I felt abandoned and let down after reading the last G.R.R Martin ‘Game of Thrones’ novel. I feel suckerpunched when good things come to an end. Knowing that my Aunt Kay, Dr. Scarpetta, will be back is a good feeling. I look forward to the next installment and spending time with FBI Profiler Benton Wesley, Pete Marino and favourite cousin, Lucy Farinelli.