Introducing... The Cherry Tree Gang!

Exciting news, everyone!

For the past few months, I've been working on a brand new series of children's stories, called Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang.  The series follows a week in the lives of four new characters: Jack and his younger brother Henry, plus their friends Milly and Flo.

From Monday to Sunday, we'll follow the four friends as they turn every day into an adventure.  From turning detectives in order to solve a mystery, to meeting a famous popstar, life is never dull when The Cherry Tree Gang are around!

I'm thrilled to say that Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang is now almost complete and ready to be released for Amazon Kindle.  There are just a few little bows to tie up neatly, before I unleash it on the world!  If you're already itching to get your hands on a copy, keep checking back, because this is where you'll hear first - the very second the book is ready for download, I'll be posting another special update right here, so keep those eyes peeled...

As you know, writing is more than just a hobby for me.  It's an absolute passion and I can't wait to share the fruits of this most recent labour with all of you.

Don't worry, I'll still be writing my weekly free bedtime stories for the time being and I'll be keeping this blog updated with my regular rants and reviews, too, but I can't wait for you all to meet Jack, Henry, Milly and Flo and I hope you and your little ones will love them just as much as I do!

Thanks to everyone who reads this blog for their continuing support.  I would never have found the confidence to put this book together and go down the self-publishing route if it wasn't for you lovely lot!

So, if you're a fan of my weekly bedtime stories, keep your ear to the ground.  The Cherry Tree Gang will be here very soon!!

xx

Why IS Respect So Difficult?!

Seriously, though... Why is being respectful so hard for some people?

We're all different and that's fine.  In fact, it's more than fine; it's bloody brilliant!  Who wants to live in a world of identikit people, who all look and talk the same way?  To me, that sounds like something from a horror film, not some kind of perfect idyll.

And yet we find ourselves in a society in which different views are treated as an excuse for cruelty and ignorance.

For example, I co-run a campaign against Fifty Shades, because I believe it contributes to an already prevalent believe in stereotypical abuse myths (if you love an abuser the right way, he'll change; if he was abused as a child, he has a get-out clause for his behaviour and so on).  I also believe the author of said stories has treated those who see abuse in her books appallingly, by insulting, minimising and silencing them.  Now, I get that Fifty Shades is a ludicrously popular franchise (and I mean ludicrously; have you read the damn thing?  I've read better written till receipts).  I realise that if you speak out against something popular, you're going to infuriate the fans of that popular thing.  But why can't people "respectfully disagree," anymore?

Last night, a fan of Fifty Shades wrote on our campaign page: "You're all lunatics!"  She went on to victim-blame ("if you're in an abusive relationship, just leave!!"), which makes me think pretty badly of her, but it was that opening comment ("you're all lunatics") that really pissed me off.  Why?  Because of the utter lack of respect it showed.

It might shock you to know that I have talked at length with fans of Fifty Shades about why they like it, why they didn't recognise any abuse in it and why they have a problem with me saying there is abuse in it.  I am more than happy to exchange views with someone who is open to listening and who doesn't resort to insults purely because I believe something different to them.

A stranger doesn't agree with me!  I MUST INSULT THEM!

Of course, often, the boot is on the other foot.  I've seen people savagely rip into TV shows I like.  I've seen people slag off bands I'm a huge fan of.  And yes, I've gotten angry about it.  Yes, I've thought "that nob doesn't know what he's talking about."  But were I to actually speak to that person about their different view, I wouldn't start by saying "YOU'RE A NOB!"  Doing that would make them massively unlikely to actually bother reading anything I went on to say and even if they did read it, they'd be thinking the exact same thing about me, because I'd opened with an insult.  It's all well and good to be infuriated by someone with a view that's massively opposed to your own, but if you just toss around insults and close yourself off to the idea of actually listening to that person's reasons for their opinion, you're not protecting your own views; you're acting like a dick.

Nobody's asking you to switch opinions and suddenly hate something you once loved, or vice versa.  But responding to what you think is a "wrong" opinion with a casual insult, or a hostile attitude (particularly if the person with the "wrong" opinion hasn't actually spoken to you about it and you're literally just initiating an argument for the sake of it) doesn't make you any better than the person you think is so wrong in the first place.

It might sound like a trivial thing for me to get annoyed about.  I mean, there are much bigger things going on in our world than people accosting others whose opinions differ from their own, right?  Of course there are.

But from tiny acorns, mighty oaks grow.  Think about where the whole "you are wrong and I must scream insults at you" thing leads. 

It leads to a culture in which angry responses to differences are simply accepted as the norm.  We already live in a world in which differences can cause people to be marginalised and hurt - not only emotionally, but physically, too.  We already live in a world in which certain countries tolerate homophobia and racism.  If we're going to change the big issues, we need to start with the small ones.  If we can rightly see that "fuck you, you're gay" is wrong, why do we accept "fuck you, you're wrong and you're a prick" just because someone has a different view on a trivial subject?  If we don't stamp out that kind of response to someone merely disliking something we like, we're not displaying the kind of tolerance that all decent people want for the wider world.

And no, I'm not saying that we're going to eradicate homophobia and racism by merely showing a modicum of respect to someone who dislikes our favourite TV show.  Of course we aren't.  But if more of us make an effort - and I include myself in that, obviously - to meet different views with polite disagreement, rather than insults and closed-minds, then we're putting something better out into the world.  We're showing that we won't resort to nastiness or abuse and we're giving the other person the chance to give their side of things.

That might not change the world, but it's got to be a good starting point, right?

Bedtime Story (30/9/2015)

We all know children love playing with their toys.  But we also know they're not always quite so keen on putting them back, afterwards!  So here's a bedtime story, all about one little boy who didn't want to tidy up...

Jacob's Room

It was raining.  It had rained all day.

Jacob was bored - he wanted to play.

He couldn't go out in such wet, cold gloom.

So he was stuck indoors, playing up in his room.

Jacob's mum said: "You have so many toys,

There's enough up here for a thousand boys!

Play with them all - play with the whole bunch.

Just promise you'll tidy it all up by lunch."

Well, Jacob had a wonderful time.

Playing inside, he discovered, was fine!

His mum said: "Just tidy up as you go."

But he didn't and soon, a pile began to grow...

There were colouring pens and sheets of paper,

A sock puppet shaped like an alligator,

A garage and cars and a remote-control truck

And a boat with a sailor and a squeaky toy duck.

Jacob didn't want to tidy when he had better things to do,

So all day long, the pile grew and grew...

There was a pair of roller skates found under his bed

And a bright blue helmet to protect his head.

A policeman's outfit, so he could catch crooks

And take them to a jail made from a huge wall of books.

Jacob had such fun, the hours simply flew,

But all the while, the pile grew and grew...

There was a battered old kite and a broken guitar,

A punctured ball that wouldn't bounce very far,

A box of marbles emptied all over the floor

And a toothsome, fearsome dinosaur!

Jacob looked at the toys: "Should I tidy a few?"

But he decided against it, so the pile grew and grew...

There were teddy bears and rocket ships,

An album of photos from family day trips,

A big green box, full of badges and stickers

And a robot with a laser that really flickers.

Jacob looked at the mess on the floor

And suddenly wondered: "Where's my bedroom door?!"

The pile had grown to such a height,

That Jacob was trapped and he cried out in fright.

"I'm stuck in my room!  Mum, help, it's not fair!"

But his voice was muffled by the toys everywhere.

He waded through train track, toy soldiers and puzzles.

"Oh how will I ever get out of this muddle?!"

Jacob realised what the answer might be

And with a groan and grumble, he started to tidy.

Away went the books and the bears and the balls,

Away went the soldiers - away went it all.

When the last toy was tidied, through his bedroom door

Came Jacob's mum and she gazed at the floor.

"It's so clean in here, have you played at all?"

Jacob nodded and leaned against his bedroom wall.

"Oh mum," he told her.  "Of course I've played.

But when I'm done with each toy, I put it away!"

His mum grinned: "Then come for some lunch and a drink."

Jacob looked in the mirror and gave his reflection a wink...

Jacob didn't regret playing with everything - oh no!

But now he'd learnt never to let a pile grow.

The rain stopped and soon, it was a much brighter day.

So Jacob dashed out in the garden to play.

No more rain, no more cold and no more gloom.

And best of all?  No more tidying his room!

Choctober (please help!)

Okay, everyone, brace yourselves.  For the month of October, I might be:

• Stressed
• Hormonal
• Hungry

Why?  Because, along with a group of other McBusted fans, I've decided to take part in "Choctober."  Yes, despite my utter devotion to all things chocolate-y, in October, not a single mouthful will pass my lips.  No chocolate bars.  No hot chocolate.  No brownies, choccie biscuits or chocolate ice cream.  Nothing.

The reason behind this frankly mad decision is simple: we want to try to raise as much money as possible for a wonderful appeal called Eyes Alight.

Eyes Alight was set up by Izzy Judd (wife of McBusted/McFly drummer Harry) and her family, after her brother Rupert suffered a brain injury that changed his life, back in 1997.  Rupert was involved in a serious car accident and needed long-term brain injury rehabilitation.  Watching her brother go through this rehabilitation, Izzy soon realised that certain things could make the process much easier and she set up the Eyes Alight appeal (a reference to the way patients' eyes often light up at the mention of doing something they had enjoyed prior to their injuries) to raise money for men and women who use the Brain Injury Rehabilitation Trust's services and community housing (as Izzy's brother Rupert does).  The money raised by the appeal goes towards making life that bit more enjoyable for those undergoing rehabilitation.  It can pay for special day-trips, fund items to help people pursue the interests they had prior to their injuries (by purchasing musical instruments or sports equipment etc) and by providing laptops etc to make communication easier.  The appeal hopes to continue providing group musical therapy, improved communication and special days out, and even to open up green gyms that men and women undergoing rehabilitation can use.  I'm sure you'll agree, it's a pretty brilliant appeal to be supporting and well worth giving up my beloved choccie for.

Not that it's going to be easy!  I'm a self-confessed chocoholic and I can't imagine how I'll manage a whole month without cracking.  But it's got to be worth a try for such an important cause.  And it's just going to mean that on November 1st, I'm liable to eat an entire chocolate cake to myself...

So, here comes the begging bit (come on, everyone, you knew it was coming, right?!).  We've set ourselves the pretty ambitious task of raising £1000 for Eyes Alight.  I know, it's a lot, but we're not messing around - if you're going to go for it, you may as well really go for it.  We've set up a Just Giving page, which makes it super easy for people to donate, should they want to.  And you know, we really hope people do!  Obviously, we know money's tight for most of us with Christmas around the corner, so we really do appreciate any donation, however small you might think it is.  The link to the donation page is here.

To keep everyone informed with our progress, we've also set up a Twitter account for our Choctober mission.  We'll be posting regular updates as to how much we've raised, as well as fascinating chocolate facts, recipe ideas and general chit-chat from the girls taking part in the challenge.  Even if you can't donate personally, it would mean a great deal if you could give the account a follow and RT the odd tweet, just to spread the word of what we're up to.

Well, I guess all that remains is to say thank you to everyone who has offered donations or support so far!  I'm going to need that support in bucket loads, I swear!  In the meantime, there's a Black Forest Gateau in the fridge with my name on it...  May as well eat this stuff whilst I can!

Bullied On The Bus..

I recently read this article from Standard Issue and it really hit a nerve.  Actually, it didn't so much hit a nerve as it pulled on said nerve, twisted it around a bit and left it exposed for some time afterwards.

For many people, it's almost impossible to imagine that a child of just eleven years old could be driven to suicide by bullies on a school bus.  But for me, it's a stark reminder of what was and what could have been.  For me, it wasn't shoe laces.  It was my school tie.  I was twelve, not eleven.  And to my eternal relief, I'm still here to tell the story.  I thought that ending things was the only way out and my heart shatters anew every time I hear of another child who thought the same thing.

The article mentions that 67.4% of drivers have witnessed bullying on the bus, whilst 78% said they had never been advised on how to deal with the problem, should it arise.  To my mind, that's a massive part of the problem.  With bullying so rife, surely the only adult in the situation - the bus driver - should have received some kind of training on what to do?  As a child being picked on, you look to that adult for help and when it doesn't come, you feel more isolated than ever.  I can vividly recall staring pitifully in the driver's direction - sometimes catching her eye when she glanced in her rear-view mirror - desperately praying that she'd stop the bus and do something  Anything.  But she never did.

Let's get one thing straight: bullying is horrific, no matter where it takes place.  From jeering idiots in the classroom, to cowardly trolls on the Internet, I have no time for any kind of bully, in any place, whatsoever.  But bullying on a school bus is so terribly common and so seemingly inescapable, that the mere memory of my own experience still fills me with fear and sadness.  What I wouldn't give to borrow the Doctor's TARDIS and just sit beside twelve year old me on that journey, to and from school.  What I wouldn't give just to silently slip a protective arm around her trembling shoulders. 

When you're bullied in a classroom, if the teacher hears, they'll usually say something.  If you're being bullied online, you can at least switch off your computer, or put your phone down and try to escape it for a while.  But on a bus, there is no escape.  And believe me, I sat on many a journey, wondering what would happen if I pressed the emergency button beside the doors and just jumped out.  Sometimes I was scared I'd be killed.  Sometimes, I was scared I wouldn't be.

In reality, there's nowhere to go.  You're trapped inside a tin can, miles away from home.  You can put earphones in and try to shut out the words being screamed at you, but it doesn't make you any less aware that it's happening.  You can stare, rigidly out of the window, but it doesn't stop someone spitting at you, or throwing food at you.  You're essentially a sitting duck, at the mercy of those who've decided to attack you, be it verbally or physically.  All you can do is sit there and count the stops until you're home.

I was picked on at school.  I was laughed at in class.  Of course I was; I was short, shy and had ridiculously curly hair and a nose the whole school could have taken shelter under on rainy days.  But it was on the school bus that it was always worst.  There, away from the watchful eye of the teachers, it went unchecked.  "You're so disgusting that nobody will ever love you; why don't you do the world a favour and kill yourself?"  If someone said that loudly enough in a classroom, something might have been done to stop it.  But every day on the school bus, it was seemingly fair game.  I was fair game.  And it was inevitable that one day, I would go home and try to do the very thing that I was being viciously told to.  

More than twenty years on, I'm still here and I'm grateful for that every single day.  But I won't get on a bus, unless I absolutely have to and I'm still not entirely convinced that I'll ever be able to look in a mirror and see someone pretty (or even someone average), as opposed to the "ugly freak" I was reminded of being, day in, day out.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can scar forever.

We need to demand that changes are made.  One child even attempting suicide as a result of bullying on the school bus is one too many.  Just one succeeding is a tragedy that shames us as a society.  We need to arm school bus drivers with knowledge of how to deal with bullying.  We must insist that, if drivers themselves don't feel able or equipped to deal with bullying on the bus, that a trained adult travels with them to do so.  

It's time to take back control and make the daily journey to and from school a safe place for children and not a time of dread.  I don't want to think of another child sitting there, frozen in terror, trying to blink away the tears, whilst bullies yell insults, or whisper threats into that child's ears.  I don't want to think of another driver, seemingly ignoring what's happening to some poor kid, just a few feet behind them.

It's time for bullying on the bus to stop.

Bedtime Story (23/9/2015)

I've been trying to write stories with something of a "message" lately, which is all well and good, but sometimes, you just want a bit of silliness...

Muddled Up Farm

Gather round, boys and girls! 

 We're going to Muddled Up Farm!

We're bound to see some funny sights,

So take a camera and stay calm...

We might see a cow laying an egg,

Or a chicken being milked.

We could see a pig driving a tractor,

Or a donkey spinning silk.

The farmer gets up early

And his first job of the day

Is to feed all the lions

With a fresh bundle of hay.

Then he visits the pig pen

And gives them milkshakes to drink.

Afterwards, he lets the ducks

Have a swim in the kitchen sink.

He shaves the giraffes and uses the wool

To knit a lovely sweater.

And later on, he dyes it pink,

So it looks even better!

Over in the paddock,

The horses are playing cricket.

Until a kangaroo falls out of a tree

And crashes into the wicket!

The farmer grows blue cabbages

And multicoloured corn.

When it's time to bring it in,

He blows a bright green horn.

Then all the sheep come rushing,

Armed with scythes and shears.

They cut down all the corn

And carry it home in their ears.

In another field, the farmhand works,

Sowing his new crop.

He's growing fresh marshmallows,

With chocolate sauce on top.

Another worker is picking fruit

Straight out of the tree.

Toffee apples and banana splits,

Enough for you and me!

They grow like that, fully formed,

Right there on the branches.

Another tree grows disco balls,

And around it, a bull dances!

Meanwhile, at the farmhouse,

The goats are baking pies.

Whilst high above the open fields,

the sheepdog happily flies.

He rides in a golden helicopter

And keeps watch on the farm.

If he sees anything unusual,

He barks a loud alarm.

But everything is unusual,

Here at Muddled Up Farm!

There's even a purple elephant

Blowing bubbles in the barn.

So have one last look around, friends,

Because we really ought to go.

Let's get a lift on the tractor

And let the pigs drive us back home.

THE END

Songbird

Pictured: Me.

What feels like a million years ago, my first real boyfriend took me to the cinema to see Bridget Jones' Diary (he told me we were going to see a far more blokey film and I nearly had an over sentimental weep when he confessed that he was actually indulging my extreme girliness, by taking me to what was essentially, a "chick flick").  In the opening scenes, we see Bridget, a little tipsy, sitting alone on her sofa, wearing her pyjamas, singing/miming along to All By Myself in a dramatic fashion.  Sitting beside me, my ex's shoulders began to jiggle up and down.  Then a big giggle burst out of his lips.  Before long, he was laughing out loud, to the point where I thought "maybe he wanted to see this film more than I did..."  But then he turned to me - still chuckling - and said: "That is so you."

He was right.  Sadly, he was also hugely prophetic, seeing as all these years later, I am currently single and have been known to wear novelty PJs, drink wine and warble along to power ballads...  But he was referring to the tendency to totally (and dramatically) lose myself in singing and he was utterly spot on.

Ever since I was little, music has been a passion.  And from listening to music, came my love of singing along to it. 

My mum has a really nice voice.  When I was a little girl, she'd play old vinyl albums and sing along to them and I absolutely loved to listen to her.  Even now, when we sing together in the car, I find myself thinking what a sweet tone she has.  

As I became more familiar with the songs mum played, I started singing along.  The Beatles, The Carpenters and several other bands who were technically "before my time" became my staples and I'd practise singing their songs in my room.  When I was only around eight or nine, I sang a duet with my mum at a karaoke night in London, whilst visiting my grandparents.  We sang For All We Know by The Carpenters.  It was the first time I'd really sung in public and I was buzzing, afterwards.  I had been so nervous as I went up to take the mic, but as soon as the music ended, I wanted to do it all over again.

As I got older and more into musicals, I started experimenting with different styles of singing.  I was too scared to have singing lessons (I thought I'd be told I was rubbish), so I taught myself how to sing from the diaphragm, when to use a "head voice" and when to use a "chest voice" and I taught myself harmonies.  I even sang scales to myself, in an effort to increase my range.  I toyed with the idea of doing music or drama at GCSE/A-level and going off to study musical theatre at university.  I had big plans to join a choir, or an Am Dram group.

Sadly, once I started secondary school and was bullied to the point of severe depression, my confidence crashed through the floor.  I didn't believe in myself enough to even contemplate taking my love of singing any further.  I eventually joined a couple of choirs, but I never tried out for a solo.

But whilst my rather lofty dreams of being on stage might have been shattered, my love for singing never dimmed.  It simply became less about practising for an audition I'd never be brave enough to attend and more about liberating myself from my self-imposed shackles.

When you lose your confidence, you stop yourself doing a lot of things you want to do.  But when you sing - and I mean really belt, not caring who's listening - it's one of the most freeing things in the world.  All of that pent-up emotion comes spilling out.  All of your troubles disappear in amongst harmonies and choruses.  You're not that quiet, shy person who doesn't dare say boo to a goose.  You're a Diva.

By the time I reached my late teens, my sister had taught herself to play guitar and had become really good at it.  She had (and has!) a great singing voice and we'd "jam" together for hours, recording covers and writing songs of our own.  For a while, we were in a band with a friend who played drums (although we never played a "gig" - we were too busy recording demos and writing our own stuff!).  I still have a cassette tape of a recording session we did one lunchtime in the music studios at school and I absolutely treasure it.

Nowadays, singing is just something I do for me.  I'll have a glass or two of wine and fire up karaoke videos on YouTube.  I can easily lose a couple of hours that way, trying everything from show tunes to rock ballads and anything in between.  And yes, I am that girl you pull up alongside at traffic lights, only to find I'm belting along to whatever I'm listening to in the car, with no regard for who might hear.  Because I don't care - singing makes me so happy, so liberated, that I don't stop to worry about what I sound like.  Not too often, anyway.

I don't have the best voice in the world.  I make the odd flat sound and there are definitely high notes that I can no longer hit (years of using inhalers for my asthma has dried my throat out and left me a lot more raw than I ever used to be, sadly).  But when I lose myself in a song, I'm having fun and I'm feeling free.  That's what it's all about, as far as I'm concerned.  

I might actually be Bridget Jones, these days, but when I sing, I'm a Diva and the whole world is my stage.