Cornwall, October 2019, day 5

Saturday 26th - Boscastle and the All Hallows Gathering

My friend had suggested this particular week for me to go down to visit her because at the end of it was a pagan-y, witchy event held nearby, and we're both into that sort of thing. It was the sixth annual All Hallow's Dark Gathering in Boscastle, home of the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic. I didn't really know what to expect, as the event's website didn't have much detail about the schedule, but was intrigued and looking forward to it. I didn't notice the archive of blog posts about all the previous events - those would have given me a much better idea, haha.

The morning was a lazy one - I stayed in bed and read my book while my friend and her parents watched the Rugby World Cup Semi-Final in the lounge; I did end up slightly regretting that, as it turned out to be a rather impressive and historic match, but oh well. In the afternoon we all drove up to Boscastle, just a few miles away, and met up with my friend's aunt and her family who were on holiday as well.

There had been storytelling sessions in the museum earlier in the day, but we arrived too late for that. The Morris dancing started at 3pm outside the museum so we walked down there to watch it amongst a good crowd of witches, pagans, folky folks and curious members of the general public. It was windy and cold! But thankfully, surprisingly - magically - the rain which had been falling all day stopped just 40 minutes beforehand and held off for the rest of the event. There were three Morris groups: Wreckers Border Morris, based locally in North Cornwall, Beltane Border Morris, based in Dartmoor, and raven-masked duo Huginn & Muninn, from London. The latter, named after Norse god Odin's two raven companions and inspired by Scandinavian myths and legends, were unique, funny, and a little bizarre, at one point replacing their raven masks with enormous black opaque balloons. There was an MC who explained the context before each dance, but the wind and the rushing river were too loud for me to hear him from where I stood. It was good to see some teenage members among the dancers, too.

Morris dancers outside the Museum of Witchcraft & Magic

I enjoyed all the dancing, but my favourite Morris side was definitely Beltane, I loved them immediately. Inspired by the myths, legends and wilds of Dartmoor, they're darker and have more intensity than most Morris I've seen (which isn't loads, I grant you); there are no bells or handkerchiefs or white outfits, it's sticks and drums and roaring voices and black tattered clothes and blackened faces, their fiery energy delving into something ancient, deep, and mysterious. I'd join them in a heartbeat if I could.

Some Morris sides, like Beltane, practice "blacking", blackening their faces, which causes controversy because many people assume it has something to do with race. It doesn't. In addition to being an ages-old disguise which brings a sense of anonymity, mystery, the supernatural, and the dark side, it's actually a way of remembering the oppression of working classes. In the past, poor land labourers used to perform dances or mummers plays to raise money for food or other necessities, and would blacken their faces so they wouldn't be recognised and punished or victimised for begging. More horrifically, following the activities of a couple of large, organised groups of poachers who blackened their faces to try and avoid identification, in 1723 the British government passed the "Black Act", introducing the death penalty for 50 criminal acts (bringing the total number of capital offences up to around 200, the highest number for any country, ever). From then on, people could be executed just for blacking their face or wearing a mask, among countless other small things like fishing in a private pond or damaging a hedge, and the legal rights of defendants were almost non-existent. While we in the UK thankfully no longer have the death penalty, dire poverty still exists, as do laws largely protecting the interests of comfortable property owners, and the poor are often victimised and powerless. So Morris dancers painting their faces black is a way of remembering, bearing witness, and standing in solidarity.

I felt bad for Cwmni Gwerin Pontypwl, the little group of traditional Welsh dancers who performed when the Morris dancing took a break at 4, as most of the audience dispersed. I'm sorry to say it just wasn't interesting enough to hold my attention in the chilly wind and I went with my friend and her family up the street to get something to eat, to tide us over till dinner. The chip shop had a little marker plaque on to indicate how high the 2004 floodwaters had reached; it was above everyone's heads. The Morris dancing resumed for a while before finishing around 5pm, and we went up to sit in the pub and warm up. Before the lantern procession at 6pm, we crossed the little river and walked down the length of the narrow harbour, past the two 16th-century harbour walls, to the inlet, and stood there for a while looking out at the glimpse of sunset on the horizon between the cliffs. A seal popped its head up a few times.

Boscastle's harbour inlet

Boscastle harbour

The procession would make its way down from the main car park at the top of the village to the museum, so we waited by the museum, where at 6pm there appeared Penkevyll the Lands End 'Oss and her Teazers. The 'Oss was a sort of hobby horse, a decorated and caped horse's skull carried on a stick or pole by someone hidden beneath the black, yellow-ribbonned cape, and the Teazers led her in a dance (https://youtu.be/hTt2h8vdA2s). I loved the drums, tribal and trance-like. Another 'Oss wandered around through the crowd dressed in a bright blue cape decorated with seashells and led by a Rider walking in front holding a rein. It was interesting. The dance and drumming continued as a sort of summons until the procession arrived, bringing Penkevyll's "bone sisters" the Mari Lwyds, from Wales, to join her. One was cloaked in white with red ribbons, but the other was the creepiest of the three - standing like seven feet tall, cloaked in black, the skull painted black and decorated with white swirls and dots, little red lights in the eye sockets, a fake pigeon also with red eyes perching on top of the skull, and dark blue fairy lights wrapped around the top of it like some sort of crown.

Penkevyll the 'Oss and her Teazers

The Pwnco Ceremony followed. Penkevyll and her Teazers went into the museum, and the Mari Lwyds stopped at the door to beseech entry. I was too far away to hear or see the goings-on, but the Welsh dancers accompanying the Mari Lwyds spoke traditional ritual verses in Welsh, which were responded to in Cornish. Eventually they were successful and joined Penkevyll in the museum to bless it for the coming year.

Outside in the twilight, lit only by a few flaming torches around the circle, next up was storytelling duo Stone Soup. They were good, energetic, but unfortunately the wind meant that I couldn't hear most of it so couldn't follow the story. It was something about a soldier who meets a stranger who convinces him to work for him for seven years, looking after his cooking pots but not being allowed to look inside them. All I can really remember is the repeated refrains of "Chop, chop, chop! Feed, feed, feed! Bubble, bubble, bubble! Sweep, sweep, sweep!"

The overcast sky meant that it was almost full dark by this point. When the story finished and the event's MC started to say something about a dark apparition sometimes seen in deepest Dorset, "an eerie, unholy rhythm involving drums, fiddle, and voice commenced" (quote from the event's blog - it's a cool description and I couldn't have put it any more interestingly). Glowing red smoke started billowing on the hillside above the performance area, from which rose up a huge head, human-featured but horned and otherworldly. The Darkest Ooser slowly made its way down the hill to the gathered crowd, led by a thick chain in the hand of a creepy attendant who was shrouded in black and carrying a skull-topped staff. After moving around the edge of the audience, its huge red eyes staring, the Ooser stepped back to watch the rest of the proceedings.

A beautiful prayer-like song was sung. Due to the strong wind and the un-amplified voice, I couldn't really hear it, but I've since discovered it was The Traveller's Prayer written by folk musician John Renbourne (https://youtu.be/BRxK6tl4-1M). Then one of the Beltane men stepped forward. Holding a staff at arms length, pointed towards the crowd, he moved slowly in a clockwise circle, piercing the night with an eerie, slow, two-note whistle - whistling being a largely forgotten way of calling the spirits. When he completed the circle, he stood facing the crowd and, in a strong voice which carried to those of us stood at the back, began to speak:

"Spirits of this place - spirits of land, of sky, spirits of sea, of cliff face and tree - spirits of this place, be our witness. Hear our hearts. Hear their quiet murmurs. On this day, at this time of the year, we stand on a cliff edge, on a precipice, looking into the dark..."

We were reminded that it is not just our ancestors who ask us to remember; so too do "the wise women, the witches, the cunning men, the keepers of the old ways" and the wild old gods of the land. We are called to acknowledge and remember not only our human ancestors but also our fellow creatures, "our wild cousins, our cousins who fly, our cousins who crawl, who are dying in their droves... those species who have breathed their last breath... and those who will not make it through this winter...". We were invited to make a simple ceremony of remembrance - whispering the name of a lost loved one, followed by the words "Ancestor, I honour you."

The speaker finished his moving address with a final few rousing cries of "Ancestors, we honour you!" and threw back his head in a ululation. The spell of silence was broken for a moment as many joined in with a cry or cheer, and then another spell was woven as the drumming and chanting began: "In my blood, in my bones, I hear your voice, I hear your call. Ancestors dance with me, ancestors chant with me, I hear your voice, I hear your call..."

That drumming and singing, pulsating and hypnotic, could have carried on for a long time, but after maybe five minutes someone managed to bring it to a close and the MC announced Beltane back into the circle for their Fire Dance. Each year they have a special guest stand in the middle of the circle during the dance; this time it was two young men who run an occult shop in New Orleans and had travelled all the way over here just for the Dark Gathering! Very cool. As was the dance.

Beltane rounded up the evening with a final dance called "Haccombe to Death" - in which they actually held aloft flaming torches, which was awesome - and then lined up to sing "Leave Her, Johnny", a sea shanty sung by crews prior to leaving a ship at the end of a voyage.

And that was it. Everyone dispersed, going indoors to get warm and eat. Somehow it felt so much later than 7pm. But the event had been wonderful, enjoyable, moving, meaningful, authentic and real, and I loved it!

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At 9pm, after a very welcome dinner of beef stew, we walked back down one last time to the Museum of Witchcraft & Magic. While there were signs of life spilling out from the pubs and hotels in the main area of the village, the dark and deserted harbour-front was a little disconcerting, the only noise being the rushing waters of the river. But the museum was open till 10pm especially for the Gathering. It was really interesting, albeit - due to the age of the building, the late hour and darkness outside, the low lighting inside, and some of the exhibits/information - a little creepy. I haven't been in there before, so I'm glad I had a chance.

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Weeeeell, I wasn't expecting to write so much about this, haha. Also, in case you were wondering, my memory is not this good. I've only been able to recall and write so much about the evening from reading the event organiser's blog post and looking at the photos and videos on there. If you'd like to see what some of it was like, someone put together a great video of the second half: https://youtu.be/4h7m-Ded1_g. It's long, but here are the start times for specific clips in the video if you want to look at any in particular:

• Procession: starts at the beginning
• Penkevyll, her Teazers, and the Mari Lwyds: starts at 05:00
• Pwnco Ceremony: starts at 06:20
• Stone Soup storytelling: starts at 08:15
• The Darkest Ooser: starts at 12:35 (skip to 14:55 to get a good close-up)
• Traveller's Prayer: starts at 15:40
• Calling the ancestors: starts at 17:15
• Ancestors chant: starts at 24:40
• Fire Dance: starts at 28:50
• Haccombe: starts at 33:20
• Leave Her Johnny: starts at 35:55

Alternatively, scroll through the two blog posts on the event website to see some good photos:
https://allhallowsgathering.com/2019/11/10/dark-gathering-2019-part-one/
https://allhallowsgathering.com/2019/11/18/dark-gathering-2019-part-two/

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The Dark Gathering was a brilliant way to end my trip down to Kernow. On the Sunday morning I was on a train again, homeward bound.

Cornwall, October 2019 - day 4

Friday 25th - Healey's Cyder Farm and Truro

It was my friend's day off, and we'd decided to spend the day at Healey's Cornish Cyder Farm, a small family-run cider producer near Truro. If you've had or heard of Rattler cider (I hadn't), it's made there. They have guided tours, cider tastings, tractor rides of the orchards, apple-pressing to make juice, a restaurant and a tea room, of course a shop, and as it was half-term week they also had a pumpkin patch. There can't be many more quintessentially autumnal things than going somewhere like that.

The visitor centre smelled of apples, and had stacks of multi-packed ciders and juices along the sides for sale. We were disappointed to be told that the pumpkin patch wasn't their own, the pumpkins had been brought in from elsewhere, and that it was really aimed at little kids, but it's good they were honest with us instead of letting us spend money on that particular tour which wouldn't have been worth it. Still, we booked ourselves onto the regular full guided tour, which was £20 for just under two hours, and lingered for 15 minutes in a little seating area, reading the boards about the farm's history, before the tour started at 12.

First stop was the Press House, one of the old buildings in the cobbled courtyard, to see the apple press, a fairly modern machine small and compact enough that you can stand at the finishing end and see whole apples going in at the start only a few metres away. The apples are rinsed as they're fed into it, then shredded, crushed and pulped to extract all the juice, which is then taken off via pipes to one of the numerous large silos outside. What remains, the dry apple pulp, is used for animal feed and farm fertiliser, so nothing is wasted. Here's a short video they made a few years ago showing the process, if you're interested: https://youtu.be/IUH1NELFalY. During harvest season, the press runs for up to 16 hours each day, and it takes around two days to fill one of the 50,000-litre silos, in which the juice is fermented.

The apple press

Next was the Jam Kitchen, where just a couple of people at a time make all of Healey's preserves by hand, getting around 80 jars from a single batch. They had a jar of every item in the range on the counter in front of the kitchen, for sampling, but we didn't get to sample them at that point as there were too many people in the group and it would have taken ages, so the tour guide suggested we come back later if we wanted to try any.

The museum, in the old barn, was interesting, with a number of big old traditional presses dating from the 15th to the 19th centuries, and the tour guide explaining the history and progression of cider-making. Some of it has you grimacing at the, well, grimness. With donkey-drawn presses, the apple pulp that was pushed out of the bowl by the moving wheel had to be scooped up off the ground and put back in - meaning all sorts of nasties were also put into the tray and mixed in with the pulp. In the mid-17th century, many makers started using lead, either as a sweetener in the finished cider, or to line the juice-collecting trays with lead so that the juice wouldn't soak into the wood; around the same time, a mysterious "colic" became very widespread, and it was over a hundred years before someone figured out that it was lead poisoning. But in general, alcoholic beverages were safer to drink than water, simply because the water used to make them had been boiled and so the germs killed. Many farmers used to pay their seasonal labourers at least partly with cider, and the best cider-makers got the best workers. The museum also had a little corner made up to be like a cooper's workshop, the craft of the cooper - the barrel-maker - being one of many traditional skills that are fading.

Old apple presses in the museum

After the museum was the distillery, where they make a small range of spirits. I can't remember any info about that, but it was interesting. Next was down into the chilly, dimly-lit, barrel-stacked cellar, where they had a little bar set up and gave each of us a really cute little mini glass tankard only about 5cm tall with a smiley face embossed on the bottom. All of the several samples were nice - ranging from a few types of modern cider, to brandy, to elderflower wine, to a new limited-edition pineapple cider - but I preferred the traditional scrumpy. I was sad that only the children were offered samples of the apple (and apple-and-rhubarb) juice, but I wasn't brave enough to ask for some. The guide pointed out some little black spots on some of the wooden beams and explained that it was caused by the evaporating fumes from the barrels, and eventually the beams would all be covered, would all be black.

The barrel cellar

We were taken back to the visitor centre, where the tour guide opened up the door in the big barrel-vat installation which makes up part of the front of the building. Inside was a staircase winding upwards around an actual modern vat, and at the top of that was a walkway, from which you can look down at the goings-on in the storage and distribution warehouse and then the production plant, where all the drinks are bottled and packaged. It was cool. There were information boards around, explaining the whole production process from orchard to bottle, and some other things as well which I can't remember. I should have taken pictures of more than just the first one, it would have been interesting to remember and write about. The tour guide let us wander round for a while, watching the happenings below and reading the boards, then called us back to a little counter in one of the corners, where she had set up two sets of those tiny little plastic sampling cups full of apple juice, from two different varieties of apples. She explained that juices often need to be mixed together so that the end product has a nice balanced taste, instead of being a tad too sour or dry or sweet. When we had tasted half of each cup of juice, she told us to pour the juice from one cup into the other so they were mixed together, and try that. While the individual juices on their own had been fine, the mixed one was definitely nicer, you could tell the difference.

The tour finished with a tractor-trailer ride through the orchards, which was nice. There was interesting commentary, but I can't remember any of it and there isn't much information on their website I can use to tell you about the orchards.

Fallen apples in one of the orchards

By this point it was nearly 2:30pm, and high time for lunch. We went to The Old Bottlery restaurant, a really nice, bright, dog-friendly space with a huge old barrel-vat for a bar and a wood-burning stove in the centre. The table next to the fire was of course already occupied so we sat at a table near the counter, away from the door. The place was maybe half-full, not quiet but not busy either, happily. My friend opted for a cream tea, which included two enormous homemade scones, while I found exactly the sort of thing I was hoping for in a cyder-roasted ham and homemade-appleslaw sandwich, the filling almost overflowing from between slices of proper thick-cut locally-made wholegrain bread. Plus, as part of the tour, we'd been given a voucher for a free drink in the restaurant and I used mine to get a bottle of their apple juice. All was yum! :) It'd be a great place to go for a Sunday roast, too.

Ham and appleslaw sandwich

Next and final stop was the shop. While the scrumpy had been nice, and they sold small flagons of it and the cute mini tankards, and they also sold nice fruit wines like strawberry, I knew I wouldn't drink all of anything I bought. So I headed instead for the preserves section, and immediately wished I'd gone back to the jam kitchen to sample some things before coming to the shop. They have a range of 25 different preserves and, although I was definitely going to buy some marmalade, there were several others which sounded good and I knew they'd all be great quality. In the end I went for plum jam, as I'll always remember how delicious the plum jam I helped make on the farm in Canada was. I was a bit disappointed the next day, when spooning some of the jam out onto some toast, to find that the plums were whole (minus stones) so actually it wouldn't spread very much or last very long, and it wasn't as delicious and flavoursome as my Canadian one. Oh well. The marmalade is perfect :)

Leaving Healey's, we headed towards Truro, Cornwall's county town, administrative and retail centre, and only city. The drive through the winding country lanes was an autumn extravaganza. There were trees everywhere, mostly beeches, and the colours were stunning. The earlier rain meant that everything was now glinting and glimmering in the liquid gold of the setting sun, beautifully contrasted against the darkened tarmac and tree trunks and richly-coloured leaves and the lingering slate-grey clouds :)

It started raining again when we got there. I hadn't been there before and knew nothing about it; it seems like a nice place and I'd like to visit it properly one day. I liked the old buildings, wishing (as I always do) that I could see them as they were in their original time, without the concrete and roads and cars and modern stuff. We happened across the cathedral - didn't even know the place had one - and ducked inside out of the rain, and wandered around for a while. I love places like that, peaceful and quiet and architecturally beautiful. There was a little exhibition on there, too, about climate change and eco-responsible lifestyles and what local groups are doing, which I liked.

Once my friend had bought what she needed to, it was late afternoon and the shops were starting to close, and it was still raining, so we couldn't stay and explore. Will have to go back another time!

Inside Truro Cathedral

Cornwall, October 2019 - days 1 to 3

Tuesday 22nd - Southampton to Bodmin

I went down to Cornwall to visit one of my friends, who now lives near Tintagel (of King Arthur legend) on the county's north coast. It took five hours to travel down on the train, with three changes at Westbury, Taunton, and Plymouth, and I spent pretty much the whole time gazing out of the window at the sunlit countryside. There weren't many other passengers so it was nice and quiet for the whole journey, and the trains themselves, Great Western Railway ones, were fairly new so were nice and clean and comfortable. I liked that they had little lights above the seats, lit red or green to show which were reserved or available, which you could see along the whole length of the carriage from the door, so you could see at a glance instead of wandering up and down looking at each individual seat. At GWR stations, they also announce over the tannoys which carriages are the reserved ones. I wish South Western Railway and Cross Country would do both those things, it makes it so much quicker and easier to find somewhere to sit.

...Well that was a boring first paragraph, I'm sure, hahaha!

The stretch between Dawlish and Teignmouth was particularly lovely; the track goes right along the seafront so you're just looking out at the sea, in this case flat calm sea and blue sky :) I arrived at Bodmin Parkway just before five-thirty and my friend's dad picked me up from the station, as she was still at work. The drive through the Cornish countryside to where they live near Camelford was lovely, the setting sun throwing an absolutely stunning and beautiful copper-gold light on everything. Sausage casserole and mash for dinner was very welcome, and my friend got home from work late evening.

Looking out the train window at the Cornish countryside

Wednesday 23rd - The Camel Trail and Padstow

My friend was working on the Wednesday and Thursday so I'd planned some things to do. The Wednesday was forecast to be the nicer day weather-wise, so I decided to do the Camel Trail that day - a 17-mile / 28km recreational path (walking, cycling, horse-riding) on the route of a former railway line between Wenfordbridge, Bodmin, Wadebridge, and Padstow. The name is from the Camel River (kammel is Cornish for "crooked") which it follows, though the Camel Valley between Bodmin and Wadebridge, and then the Camel Estuary between Wadebridge and Padstow. I was dropped off at a point on the trail near Bodmin and spent about an hour and a half walking happily to Wadebridge. It was dry and sunny and the perfect blend of warmth and autumnal coolness. The valley is wooded and of course the leaves were gorgeous colours, and I picked up a handful of fallen sweet chestnuts to take home and roast, using my boots to pry apart the prickly cases. Many of the former station platforms along the route are still there, but the only one still in use is Boscarne Junction, from which runs a small heritage line; there was a lovely old steam train just turning around when I passed it. It was half term week, so although it wasn't super busy and I spent most of my time without anyone else in sight, it was never too long before you'd see someone else briefly.

An old station in the lovely wooded Camel Valley section

The entire length of the path was paved and completely flat, so I decided to hire a bike in Wadebridge. I haven't cycled in years, because going up the slightest incline is really tough when you're not used to it and don't practice. But I enjoy it when it's flat or downhill. It was so lovely! The waters of the estuary reflected the blue of the sky, the fluffy clouds, and the gently rolling low hills and harvested fields stretching either side. And it only took about 40 minutes to reach Padstow, I got there about quarter to three. I left my bike at a special cycle-park area at the end of the trail, and wandered along the waterfront towards the harbour. There were some retail units in a converted warehouse and I had a look in the shoe shop, which was a mistake because I found a really nice (and actually comfortable) pair of navy blue heeled ankle boots which I didn't let myself buy because I don't know how often I'd wear them. Just along from the shoe shop was was Rick Stein's Fish & Chips, from which I got a late lunch of battered cod and chips. I wish I'd got the grilled mackerel instead, though, as you can get battered cod anywhere. There was a deli too but I didn't really have time to go in - plus, I would have been tempted by things in there, too, haha. I got the fish 'n' chips to take away and ate it while walking round the harbour and up through the park overlooking the estuary to the WWI memorial at St Saviours Point. I sat on a bench there to finish eating but it was in the shade and a bit chilly, so I was glad to get back out in the sunshine again.

The Camel Estuary from the Camel Trail

The Camel Estuary from St Saviour's Point in Padstow

I only had time to go a little bit further along the path before having to turn back, as I needed to get the bike back to Wadebridge no later than 5:30pm. I'll have to look up flat cycle routes and bike hire, both locally and on future trips, as I really enjoyed it. While I was disappointed to not be able to stay in Padstow a bit longer - I hadn't been able to look round the little cobbled streets of the town at all, or go further along the coast path - it turned out to be a good thing as the last bus from Wadebridge back was shortly after 5:30, which I hadn't realised. Maybe they go on a bit later during the summer. It was dark by the time the bus reached Camelford, and my friend lives a little way outside the village on a country lane, but thankfully the bus stops there too. Nobody was in but the little annex had been left unlocked for me so I watched telly in there, and flicked through some of my friend's witchy books, while waiting for my hosts to return from their dog walk. We had cheese on toast for dinner, and again my friend got back late evening.

Thursday 24th - Bude

My friend didn't start work till 12, so in the morning she took me and the dogs to Trebarwith Strand, a small beach nestled between steep cliffs at the end of a narrow valley. The tide was in and I'm not confident walking over slippery rocks so I mostly just stood in one spot watching the awesome Atlantic waves, and the few brave people trying to surf, while the dogs got some exercise. We didn't stay too long before heading back to the house to get ready to go back out, she to work and me up to the seaside resort town of Bude. When a bus comes only every two hours and is late, you begin to question whether you might have missed it, even if you were at the bus stop several minutes before it was due. But thankfully it did arrive, and I enjoyed an hour's trip looking out at the windblown and largely treeless coastal countryside. We got stuck for 10 or so minutes coming out of Boscastle, though, the bus coming face-to-face with several cars going the other way on a single-track road with no passing place within easy reach.

The canal at Bude

I went first to Bude's Tourist Information Centre to have a quick look at what I might be able to do with my few hours there, and bought myself a little box of shortbread, then went across the road to get some lunch. The town has a canal going down to the sea, and there were some retail and eatery units in the old wharf buildings; one of the places I'd seen recommended online, The Olive Tree, was one of them, so I went there. It was sunny and warm enough that I sat outside, and ordered their Superfood Buddha Bowl of quinoa, smoky roasted cauliflower, carrot, edamame beans, pickled cabbage, Chinese leaf, toasted almonds, and a lemon and tahini dressing, with some smoked mackerel. Yum! :)

Superfood Buddha Bowl at The Olive Tree in Bude

Bude Canal and Summerleaze Beach

After lunch I followed the canal down to the end, where it met the sea. The beach was on the opposite shore, and I would have needed to go back up to the road by the TIC and back down the other side to reach it. There were quite a few people on it, a few dozen maybe, half of them surfing. The tide was in and it had clouded over more by this point so the water looked dark and cold and uninviting, and the wind was chilly. I put my scarf and beanie on, crossed the canal's sea lock and walked out a little way onto the breakwater, but its gently-sloping sides meant that the breaking surf was easily stretching up to reach the path and, well, I didn't want to get my shoes wet, haha. Being only a few metres away from and on a level with the pounding waves - as opposed to on a clifftop overlooking it from a distance - was a little unnerving, a reminder of how small we humans are in the face of the raw energy and power of the ocean. And this was probably a pretty calm day compared to what it can be like. I'd love to see it in a storm. I do have an admiration (and a little envy) of those who have salt in their veins - the lifeboat crews, fishermen, sailors, surfers: their deep understanding of, connection to, and ability to work with the forces of nature that are the sea and the wind, the tides and the weather.

I went back and turned to go up onto the cliff path, and reached the little tower a few minutes later. Clearly Victorian and made of local sandstone, it was octagonal and had the directions/compass points carved into the top of each side. I've tried to find out what it was, but it seems nobody's completely sure; it's referred to as both Compass Point and the Storm Tower, and some people think it was just an ornamental folly, while others think it was a coastguard watchtower. I'm inclined to go with the former. You could also see lots of big satellite dishes on the clifftops a few miles north. Turns out that's a government satellite ground station and eavesdropping centre, haha...

On the breakwater

I didn't get particularly far in my clifftop walk, maybe only a few hundred metres; I kept stopping and gazing out at the views - the shifting light over land and sea, the steel-blue and slate-grey waters of the Atlantic, the waves rolling in with a roar, the shadowy silhouettes of the cliffs stretching away to the southwest, the sunlit ones to the north, the double rainbow that appeared over the town. I have no interest in people-watching, but nature-watching I can happily do for a long while.

Looking southwest from the clifftop

A rainbow over the view to the north

I could have gone a bit further and possibly reached a point where I could see over Widemouth Bay, the large beach a few miles south of the town, but I wasn't sure how long it would take me to get back to the bus stop, so I turned around a little sooner than I wished. The tide had receded when I got back down to the sea-lock, and the little footbridge that connected it to the beach was no longer underwater. I wandered back up the canal and continued along it past the TIC for a few minutes, before the path branched off in different directions and I turned back to make my way to the bus stop.

I had the song Cousin Jack by Show of Hands in my head on the journey back. It's a beautiful but sad tribute to the Cornish miners who emigrated because there was no more work in their own land, their ways of life and language were disappearing. In many ways, especially away from the tourist hubs, Cornwall is still a very deprived region. Give it a listen: https://youtu.be/wgyRWKLkxvE

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Days four, five, and six to follow later this week :)

Some favourite books

A little while ago there was a "challenge" doing the rounds on Facebook, in which, each day for seven days, someone posts a picture of the front cover of a book that's meaningful or influential for them (no words or explanation, just the picture), tags a friend in each post and then the friend has to do it. I wasn't nominated, thankfully, but I do love reading and I thought it would be a nice idea for a shortish blog post. But I can only think of a few books that I could maybe consider influential to me personally, so I'm just going to list some of my favourites (those "influential" ones among them), and I will put a little explanation. And I'm not sticking to just seven, that's far too difficult, haha. So here you go, in no particular order!

Non-fiction:

• Seasons of the Sacred Earth: Following the Old Ways on an Enchanted Homestead, Cliff Seruntine. The author lives with his wife and daughters on a secluded homestead in Nova Scotia, and the book is a series of beautiful accounts of daily life through the seasons. They make a point to live gently on the land and honour the spirits of nature, and have a deep understanding of, connection with, and respect for the natural world. I love it, it's wonderful, and I want their life.
• The New Good Life, John Robbins. An examination of the prevailing money-centred and consumerist culture, and an alternative better life. Written by the son of an American millionaire, who refused his father's fortune and went off to build a tiny wooden cabin and grow his own food, and live a simple life based around values of connection to nature and people.
• Utopia for Realists, Rutger Bregman. A proposal for reconstructing modern society to promote a more productive and equitable life for everybody, with practical ideas and examples of where they are or have been already trialed in places across the world. The core ideas are introducing Universal Basic Income, a 15-hour work week, and open borders.
• Feral, George Monbiot. About rewilding, and how letting nature take its course in some of our landscapes (rather than heavily manage it as we do now) - and, crucially, reintroducing predators we have lost - would be beneficial to the land, wildlife, and humans. Written by an environmentalist and journalist I admire greatly.
• Goddesses in Everywoman, Jean Shinoda Bolen. A classic book on female psychology, which uses seven Greek goddesses as archetypes to explain patterns of behaviour and personality traits in women. Basically every woman has one she identifies most strongly with, and it helps you understand yourself and others more. For me it was Hestia, and it was a sort of 'eureka' moment where it was the first time I felt it was okay to be a quiet, introverted, homely person and that there are others out there like me. There's also a Gods in Everyman.

Fiction:

• The Famous Five series, Enid Blyton. I haven't read these for many years, but I absolutely loved them when I was younger; basically it's a group of kids running round the countryside having adventures.
• Circle of Three series, Isobel Bird. A series of 13 books aimed at teens, about three American high school girls from different social cliques who go through a year and a day study in Wicca, or modern witchcraft. I came across them when I was 12, and they gave me a word to encompass everything I'd loved since childhood, and started my fascination with and love of paganism.
• The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame. I didn't read this till I was 19, which is a shame; it's a classic for good reason. It's just lovely, full of idyllic pastoral English scenes and animal-characters having adventures.
• Anne of Green Gables (and sequels Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, and Anne of Windy Poplars), Lucy Maud Montgomery. Another set of stories I wish I'd known when I was younger; I didn't read these till I was 21. Lovely, idyllic, country/village-life stories of a very imaginative and spirited girl in rural Canada. The 1980s TV-films starring Megan Follows, and the recent Netflix series "Anne with an E", are great adaptations.
• The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley. A fantasy novel, kind of epic; a feminist and pagan retelling of the Arthurian legends, from the point of view of the women.
• Persuasion, Jane Austen. This has grown on me each time I've read it and is now my favourite Austen novel. I don't really have the words to explain why. It's her most moving work. The protagonist Anne Elliot is the eldest of Austen's heroines at 27, the age I am at the moment, and the novel has a more mature feel to it than the others. Many of the literary techniques used were unusual or new for the time, and tell the story in a more internal way, through thoughts and feelings and subtle wordless interactions, rather than through action, and the ending is one of the most romantic in English literature.
• The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. Just utterly delightful and charming and funny and lovely, written as letters between the characters.

Of course there are so many books I've read that I've loved or found fascinating and haven't included. Maybe I'll think of some other post to write about some of them one day. But for now, I hope this has sparked some interest, and some of you will go out and give one or two of these books a read yourself :)

Currently reading: The Night Angel Trilogy, Brent Weeks

"Then, Autumn, work thy witchery!"

October 31st. Halloween. All Hallow's Eve. For me, it's Samhain - one of four Gaelic seasonal festivals adopted by many neo-pagans, traditionally marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of the darkest part of the year. The word is Gaelic and is pronounced in a few slightly different ways depending on the region, but I say it "sow-en" (sow as in female pig, not sow as in seeds).

With autumn well underway, people had to take stock of what they had to last them through the winter. Animals were brought in from pasture, and any they felt wouldn't make it to the spring, or any they wouldn't be able to feed, were killed and the meat salted. All crops except perhaps some hardy winter vegetables would have been harvested and eaten or preserved by this time. So for many it may have been the last chance to eat many fresh foods, particularly meat, until the spring. In the Celtic calendar, where each day began at sunset, Samhain was the end of the old year and the start of the new - just as life starts in darkness, so did their days, and their years. It's also considered to be a liminal time when the veil between worlds is thinnest, a time when spirits can roam, a time for remembering and honouring the ones who came before us. The time when the Goddess dons her robes as Crone and the Horned God begins the Wild Hunt.

I've never really been into the general, more commercialised, Halloween. I like some aspects, more to do with the emphasised autumn-ness, and bats, black cats, ravens, and an air of mystery and magic. But I don't like horror or creepy things, don't think I ever went to a party, and only remember going trick-or-treating once, and went home after about ten minutes - not my thing. (If you look at the Wikipedia page for trick-or-treating, it gives an interesting variety of possible origins to and history of the custom.) As a more seasonal, nature-based, folk-tradition festival, I love Samhain. Having said that, I don't really do anything to celebrate. I've been to events a few times, I love to do that when I get a chance. The one held each year at Butser Ancient Farm is good, very much my kind of thing - after dark at a reconstructed Iron Age farm in the middle of the countryside, sitting on log benches around the hearth fire in the beautiful main roundhouse, listening to folk music and storytelling, loving the smell of woodsmoke, munching on a burger or hot dog outside afterwards. And last week I visited a friend in Cornwall and we went to the annual All Hallow's Dark Gathering in Boscastle, home of the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic - there was storytelling, Morris dancing, a lantern parade, Mari Lwyds and Osses and a Pwnco Ceremony (look them up), a really cool fire dance (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-eBpZVQrEQ), and a 9pm wander round the dimly-lit and atmospheric but interesting museum (with a warning to not look into any of the mirrors...).

Anyway... as I said, I love events like that when I can get to them, but generally all I do is light a couple of candles and watch one of my favourite films - Practical Magic. It's become a tradition for me, and I only ever watch it once a year, on October 31st or as close to that date as possible. For years I've wanted to do something more, to expand on that tradition and make Samhain a bit more of a little seasonal celebration, but have never got around to planning anything. Next year, I'd love to cook some nice autumnal comfort food for dinner, like a vegetable stew with dumplings, or soup with fresh crusty bread, and bake a pumpkin pie. It'd be nice to get out some photos of relatives who have died, and spend a bit of time remembering them in some way. I also like the idea of finding stories of other people from the past, and sharing them, so that they're remembered again for a little while. Maybe I'll collect some natural fallen items to bring inside for a few days as decorations - pine cones, acorns, apples, leaves or foliage. I should also watch more than one seasonal film, more than just Practical Magic, there are many I haven't seen in years. And read some Halloween-y poems (the title of this post is from Incantation by George Parsons Lathrop). Ooh, and maybe I'll make myself a Samhain playlist on Spotify - the Ghostbusters theme song, Loreena McKennitt's "All Soul's Night", Show of Hands' "Hallow's Eve", Damh the Bard's "Samhain Eve", and awesome Omnia's "Wytches' Brew", "The Raven", and "Wylde Hunt".

Side note. Halloween has become a huge commercial holiday, and, like all of them, is extremely, awfully, wasteful - roughly seven million costumes end up in landfill each year, as do around 18,000 tonnes of carved but uneaten pumpkins. It's part of a wider, systemic waste problem, but that's just not okay, is it? In doing a quick search for having a more eco-friendly Halloween, I've just come across the charity Hubbub, which works to get mainstream consumers interested in sustainability issues. Here are some of their ideas to make the time of oranges and purples and blacks, a little greener:

• Costumes and decorations - Rewear/reuse or upcycle old ones, swap with others, buy second-hand, see if you can rent one, or make your own: https://www.hubbub.org.uk/diy-halloween-costume
• Pumpkins - Remind yourself and teach any children in your life that these are vegetables. Use the flesh inside to cook or bake something, and roast the seeds for a snack or use them for birdfeed; for recipes visit https://www.hubbub.org.uk/Pages/Category/recipes and select Halloween. After the carved pumpkin has been used and if you have a garden or allotment, put it in the compost, or chop it up and bury the pieces in the soil so it breaks down, or leave it on a shed roof or a table for the squirrels and birds to benefit from. DO NOT leave it on the ground or dump it in the woods - pumpkin can make hedgehogs very ill, at a time when they need to be storing nutrients and gaining weight for hibernation. If you don't have a garden or allotment and your council doesn't take food waste, maybe see if a friend or neighbour or a relative who does would be willing to take it.
• Not Hubbub, but some more zero-waste ideas, including a good one for a costume! https://www.pawsandpines.com/zero-waste-halloween/

In our modern world, it's very difficult to relate to the lives our ancestors would have led. We may notice that the days are colder, the leaves are changing colour and falling off the trees, and it's dark by the time we leave work (you know you're British when you and everyone around you comments on this every single year as if it's new and surprising) - but many of us spend most of our time indoors, surrounded by concrete and artificial lights, don't grow our own food, can have warm homes and hot water at the touch of a button, and can have pretty much any type of food at any time of year. There are some good and valuable things there, we have gained a lot - but we have also lost a lot. We no longer have the deep, ingrained knowledge and understanding and appreciation of, and connection to, the natural world, the land, the seasons, the ways of animals, that our ancestors had. We have forgotten much, and take a lot for granted.

Our ancestors' lives and activities would have varied with the rhythm of the seasons, whereas nowadays we do the same thing all year round at the same fast pace. We're not built for this, our bodies haven't had time to evolve with our technological advances. This is a time of year when the Earth's energies are pulled inwards, life hibernates, waiting for the return of spring, and it's a good time for us, too, to look inwards, at ourselves; look back at the year we've had, think about what we've learned and how we can use that knowledge in the future. It's a time for introspection, slowing down, pausing, resting, recovering. It's not too long to wait until the winter solstice, when the light starts to return.

Theatre review of A Midsummer Night's Dream

A couple of weeks ago I went to see a National Theatre Live screening of A Midsummer Night's Dream, one of my favourite Shakespeare plays (second only to Much Ado About Nothing). I absolutely loved it, and thought I'd try writing a bit of a review. This production was filmed live at the Bridge Theatre in London during its run over the summer, and was broadcast in cinemas across the country on Thursday 17th October. It starred Gwendoline Christie (who played Brienne of Tarth in Game of Thrones) as Titania / Hippolyta; Oliver Chris as Oberon / Theseus; David Moorst as Puck / Philostrate, and Hammed Animashaun as Nick Bottom.

If you aren't familiar with the plot of the play, maybe have a look on Wikipedia before reading the rest of this! =]

It was absolutely brilliant, and I don't mean that lightly. Admittedly, the only adaptations of the play I've seen are the 1999 film, the 2005 BBC modern-day TV version, and the 2016 BBC TV film - so I have very little (and no stage productions) to compare it to. There are probably many very good versions. But while Shakespeare's themes are timeless, things that 16th-century audiences may have found hilarious are, nowadays, largely no longer considered very funny, and at best only elicit a mild sense of amusement. This production, directed by Nicholas Hytner, was ingeniously re-imagined to both highlight the darkness in a comedy that is usually staged with lots of lightness and summer and magic, and return it to just that - a comedy that has the audience nearly crying with genuine cheek-hurting belly laughs.

It started with a sobering reminder of the patriarchal society in which the play is set. A psalm-chanting chorus group, the men and women separated, lead the way as Hippolyta - former queen of the Amazons, captured by Theseus and due to be his bride - is paraded in a glass cage through an Athens where the female dress code is puritanical: long, plain, shapeless dresses, and headscarves. Hippolyta stands tall and regal, icily answering stern Theseus' words about their upcoming wedding with the words he wants to hear but in a tone of voice that makes her scorn for him clear.

With the arrival of Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius, the subsequent conversation reminds the audience that in ancient Greece, the male heads of household literally had the power of life and death over the females in their families, able to have them executed for disobedience. The women's clothing and obvious oppression also brings to mind The Handmaid's Tale, and that story's scary resemblance to society in some places in the world today. Hippolyta watches the exchange silently, directing unseen glares towards the men and eyes full of pain and empathy towards the younger woman. She wordlessly presses her hand to the glass when a distressed Hermia comes near, wanting to help and comfort but as powerless as in her own situation.

The NT-Live presenter who spoke to cinema viewers before the play started gave away the twist beforehand, and while I didn't mind that too much I'm a little disappointed that I was deprived of that startling and very interesting surprise. The twist - what made this production different - was that Nick Hytner decided to switch the roles, and therefore the gender- and power-dynamics, of Oberon and Titania. In the traditional version, the fairy king and queen are estranged and arguing over an orphaned human child who Titania has taken as her ward and page-boy; Oberon is the jealous husband who wants to take the child for his own page-boy, and drugs his wife so that she becomes infatuated with the first creature she sees, giving him time to take the boy and the pleasure of seeing her make a fool of herself. In this version, Oberon is the child's guardian and Oliver Chris plays the fairy king as a good man who sincerely loves his ward (it's easy to interpret that he's his father) - he is the one who's drugged and falls for Bottom. Titania is the one who wants to take the boy, the one who calls the shots and whom Puck serves.

Puck - also known as Robin Goodfellow - has always been my favourite character in this play, probably because I've always had a love of fairies and faeries (there is a difference!), nature spirits, folklore, and magic, and in more recent years in psychology too. In this, he was played excellently by David Moorst as a young, camp, and creaturely delinquent - by far my favourite version of him out of the adaptations I've seen. The whole cast were brilliant, though, and I wish I knew how to talk about them more. Gwendoline Christie was great, I don't think she would have been right to portray a traditional gossamer-winged Titania but she really suited the role she did have.

Maybe it's because I've only ever seen film or TV adaptations, which are shorter than stage productions and have to cut things out, that this was the first time I really properly noticed the other characters, that they stood out for me - that they were brought to life. Bottom absolutely stole the show. The other Rude Mechanicals were great. Helena is less a jealous and mean girl who betrays her best friend, and more a heartbroken, devoted, and courageous young woman (this was the first time I realised that Demetrius had been in love with Helena before turning his attention to Hermia). It's true that every time you read or watch something again, you notice or learn something you didn't before.

While I'd not noticed the dark tones underlying the Titania-Bottom situation before (I'm not really able to 'read between the lines' and notice unsaid things unless they're pointed out to me), I never found it even mildly amusing, either. But the role reversal in this production had me laughing out loud, which is a rarity. Bottom's transformation into a donkey is simply the addition of some ears and a slightly bray-ish laugh, rather than the more complete and ridiculous full head, hooves, and tail. As one reviewer put it, Animashaun's brilliant portrayal of the weaver is one of "big-hearted comic nonsense". When Oberon suddenly becomes infatuated with him, he could very easily just be like "no thanks" and the second half of the play could have been a completely different story, but instead, after a minute of initial shock, Bottom happily accepts and returns the attention. Extravagance and hilarity ensues, and in a joyful, love-is-love, affirmative and inclusive way.

It would have been amazing to be a member of the standing audience in the theatre's pit. The play was performed in the round - the stage in the centre with the audience surrounding it - and the staging was dynamic and immersive. It wasn't traditional. Platforms and ivy-strewn beds rose up from the floor, props and scenery (like Oberon and Bottom's bathtub) were run by crew members through the audience, and fairies frolicked acrobatically from aerial silks. Audience members were drawn into a circle dance at one point. The soundtrack of a few modern songs helped create a party-like atmosphere at times, and a few lines that Shakespeare certainly didn't write ("Unlock your calendar, I beseech you.", "Not now babe, I'm tired."), and a little bit of improv, added to the laughter.

There's so much I could say about this. Or rather, there's a lot I haven't said, which other reviewers have said and I've gone "Oh yeah!" at, but I don't want to spend ages trying to put something into my own words and then finding somewhere to put it. Other people were able to pick up on things I didn't, and are able to use more descriptive and summarising words than I am, and if you're interested then just look online for reviews. They're all certainly shorter than this is, haha.

It's such a shame that they don't make all filmed theatre productions available for download after the run has ended. They could probably make a lot of money from it. I would happily pay for a DVD or digital download of this, and be able to watch it again and again and again for years to come! Maybe I should email them and ask. Even if I never see this version again, I probably won't be able to watch the play in quite the same way from now on.

Being diagnosed with autism

Note: This is a veeeery long post! Like, reading time at least 25 minutes, haha. Just so you're aware before you start :)

As some of you know, back in late August, at the end of a two-and-a-half hour long conversation which involved answering literally a hundred in-depth personal questions about me and my life, I was diagnosed with autism. I wanted to write a blog post about what that means for me, what goes on in my head, to help people understand. Obviously I've had it my whole life, but my family and I only started to think of it as a possibility a couple of years ago, and I was put on the waiting list for assessment back in January this year.

Why has it taken 27 years for this to be diagnosed? Because I'm not stereotypical; I don't exhibit the more severe and recognisable traits and behaviours that most people think of when they hear the word 'autism'. Many autistic people don't, particularly girls and women, but until recently many of the assessment tools used were based around these things, and people who didn't exhibit these behaviours were considered to not have autism. And because girls and women have literally evolved to be more social and adaptive than boys and men have, anyway, we develop coping strategies and mask our feelings and learn to do what we think is expected, so it's even more difficult to spot. The knowledge and understanding hasn't been very widespread. My mum and sister both have many years experience working with people on the autistic spectrum so were able to eventually recognise the signs in me, but it still wasn't until my mid-twenties, and many people aren't as fortunate, and go through their whole lives struggling, not understanding, often developing anxiety and depression (as I did), or being misdiagnosed and put on treatment for other things.

The assessment day was tiring - an in-depth, very personal and thorough questioning lasting nearly two and a half hours. ("Questioning" sounds like an interrogation, haha; it wasn't, the lady doing the assessment was lovely and it just felt like a very long chat.) But at the end she said she didn't even need to think about it or confer with her colleagues - I am a textbook case. She got a bit teary, and explained that she often does because she knows how much it means - to finally understand, to know that there's nothing 'wrong' with you, to know the reasons for things. My mum and sister came with me and they both started crying too. I was really relieved and pleased. While of course it doesn't change anything, it explains a lot.

I received the final report last week, and it gave my scores for each of the three assessments used to help determine a diagnosis. In one, where a score of 6 or above out of 10 may indicate autism, I scored 9. In another, where a score of 65 or more out of 240 is an indicator, I scored 139. In the third, the Cambridge Behaviour Scale Empathy Quotient, where the average score out of 80 for the general population is 47 for women and 42 for men, I scored just 15 (hahaha!). So it's pretty clear!

So what does it explain, why does it make sense? Autism is different for everyone, so here's what it means for me.

"Autism is essentially a condition which affects social interaction, as a consequence causing significant anxieties in people with a diagnosis, due to the social requirements of current society."

I have always struggled socially - making conversation, getting to know people, making friends, etc; I've always been on the periphery, on the outside looking in. At toddler groups and preschool, I didn't play with the other kids, I would just stay by myself to the side of the room and either watch the others playing, without joining in, or play by myself with whatever toy was closest. Apparently when I used to play with my sister, I'd just walk off if I wasn't interested in what she came up with. I was happy doing puzzles or reading books and would stay very focused on those. All through school I only ever had a few friends, mostly misfits somewhat, and my secondary school friends and I didn't really hang out together outside of school; instead I spent most of my time watching an awful amount of television at home, mostly a few certain shows I would watch avidly. I was rarely invited to birthday parties and when I was I didn't get excited about it (I only remember one where I did). I was bullied for my first few years of secondary school. College was a horrible time, I was incredibly lonely and anxious, having only one or two friends, and spending most of my time on my own and away from the campus if I could, deliberately avoiding the busy areas. I've never really been interested in doing things other people my age do, and I've always found it easier to get along with people much older than me than with my peers. I come from a close family but have only started to join in with family activities and gatherings in the last couple of years. I never mingle. Everyone (including myself) has always just put my social difficulties down to shyness and reserve, and my parents tried so hard, so many different things, to encourage me to mix with others and to help, but nothing worked.

I'm actually not shy, it's not a matter of just not having the confidence to talk, it's not knowing how. I say nothing because I literally have nothing to say. My mind is blank most of the time. When people have suggested things like "just ask questions!", they might as well be asking me to speak Russian, it's just not something I can do. 99% of the time I just don't get questions or opinions or comments come into my head. My thoughts are vague senses rather than words, and all jumbled up like a Jackson Pollack painting. Nothing is intuitive. It's always baffled me how everyone else can so easily have conversations, flowing from one person and one topic to another, someone jumping in with a comment here and there; I wonder how they do it and have always wished I could do it too. Even on the rare occasion I do feel I have something to say, my brain can't process it quickly enough - turn it from a vague sense to words to a sentence to speech - before the subject has moved on. I can often get by one-on-one if the other person is more talkative than me, but in group settings I just watch and listen, I can't join in. If I'm asked a question then I'll answer, but it's only recently that I've started to learn to elaborate and give more information, rather than simply answering the question with a one-word response. I don't know how to "think" in terms of consciously consider something in a process in order to reach a result. All I can do is wait for things to pop into my head. I can talk about myself easily enough but I don't know how to get other people to talk about themselves or other subjects. Even if I want to know more about something or someone, I can't identify what specific things I want to know, I can't think of questions. I don't like small talk but don't know how to move beyond it and connect with people. All this has meant I've often been too afraid to ask if someone I'm interested in being friends with would like to meet up.

I am extremely reserved. Even my mum, who knows me best, has a hard time telling what I'm feeling. I've been told by people in the past that I'm too reserved and too quiet. To them, these attributes are something that is a conscious choice, the presence of a desire to hold back what I'm thinking or feeling, which, with time and practice, could be pushed through and un-learned. Whereas actually, for me, it's simply the absence of an impulse to express or do something. In terms of feelings, it's also that I usually can't identify what I'm feeling let alone know how to express it or what I need, so I keep a lot bottled up. As well as not expressing emotions, it means I'm often very still and silent, which can make people uncomfortable. My sister loves to put music on all the time, and sing and move along to it when she can. When we're in her car she's singing away... and I sit there as still as a statue. I feel no impulse whatsoever to join in or even dance in my seat a little, even if I like the song. I wish I could. If I'm on my own or at a gig I sometimes do dance or at least move my body a bit, or tap my fingers or my foot, and sing along under my voice. But I don't listen to music of my own accord very often anyway, I'm very comfortable with silence. At concerts or rugby matches I don't feel like standing up with everyone else, or whistling or shouting or whatever. When I find something funny I generally just smile or have a quiet little chuckle, it's not often that I laugh out loud, that takes a lot. My reserve and lack of facial expression often means people think I'm bored or in a mood - when I worked in retail, customers often used to tell me to "cheer up" or "smile", which really annoyed me.

I struggle with abstract language and connotation and can't read between the lines. I need things to be clear and direct and simple. I can't think for myself, I'm not very imaginative, and can't "think outside the box". In school and college I always struggled with the sort of open-ended questions you'd get in an English exam, where you needed to either interpret something, give your own opinion, explain or describe. I hated them. What was the author thinking when they wrote this? Interpret what could have been meant by this. Describe the importance of this. How the hell should I know?! I also struggle with things like when you're given a question which is in reality three questions and you have to answer them all at once (like in job interviews, too) - I need them broken up and to answer them one at a time. I did well in my GCSEs because most of my subjects included coursework, which I could take my time over, use notes to help me form something, get feedback from an initial draft and improve upon. Multiple-choice tests are fine. But in college all but one of my subjects were completely based on written exams, and I failed most of them.

In terms of communication, I prefer written over spoken, so emails and texts over phone calls, and if I have to make a phone call I generally plan and practice what I'm going to say beforehand. However, a lot of meaning is lost without hearing someone's voice or seeing their body language, so conversations over text can be difficult and frustrating, and I've often been uncertain as to what somebody means. I often take things literally, and miss what someone is trying to say. I only understand commonly-used figurative phrases if I've heard them before, I can't work out new ones by myself, and I never use them. I never make jokes, and am often slow to understand ones other people have made.

I like structure and routine and a process to follow, etc., and change can really bother me. I like to plan things in advance, and to know or at least have an idea of what's going to happen. I don't do spontaneity and last-minute things, I like at least a few days notice. I have very good attention to detail, and enjoy tasks that let me use that strength. The flip-side to that is that I can sometimes focus too much on details and not be able to see or understand the bigger picture.

I don't really know when something might be considered rude, or polite, or too honest, or weird or odd. I can be very blunt and rude without realising that's how I come across, and I feel surprised, upset and frustrated when people get upset or annoyed about it. In my mind I'm just being open and honest, and since becoming aware of this have actually tried very hard for things to not come across as blunt and rude. I never know when it's better to just not say something. To me, honesty is the best policy, even if it's tough; if everyone was honest then a lot of misunderstandings and conflicts and upsets could be avoided. If it was the norm then people would just shrug things off and move on. But also, I often find it very difficult to put things into words and to know how to say something, so get a bit stressed out because I want to say something but don't know how.

Sympathy, empathy, and compassion are things that don't come naturally to me at all, it's very very difficult. I can't put myself in other people's shoes, can't tell what someone might be thinking or feeling unless it's outwardly very obvious or I'm told. (But I also just don't look at people closely enough to try and discern something.) For me to be able to understand, I have to see or hear or read very in-depth, detailed, personal accounts, or think really hard about it. So I'm not someone who gets emotional easily, for example when watching films. Things that other people have very strong reactions to, don't usually bother me.

...Let me give you an example, to really let you into my head. September 11th 2001. I've never forgotten finding out about those NYC terrorist attacks, but not for the same reason most of you haven't forgotten. I remember it because I felt nothing. I didn't care. I literally shrugged and said "Oh" as if it was a weather report. I was still only nine years old then, but the same has been the case since, whether they were global headline events caused by humans or by nature, or more personal-level news. I know in my head that whatever has happened is awful, but I don't feel anything. I know how I should feel, though, so for the last couple of decades I've just felt like a horrible person and have been wondering what on earth is wrong with me. I've avoided conversations about those things because I don't know how to pretend and don't want to admit that I don't care because people wouldn't understand. I didn't understand. I don't tend to have an emotional reaction to things unless they're happening to me. I'm beginning to see that very occasionally I feel things with people I'm very close to, but that's really quite new. But it's another matter entirely when it comes to animals and the environment/nature, I do get very upset and angry about harm to those.

Also (and this is something else I've felt horrible about for ages), while I'm glad to meet up with and spend time with my family and friends, I'm not usually bothered by somebody's absence or by spending a lot of time apart. I don't really know what it feels like to miss someone, which sucks.

I overthink about everything, and ruminate. I find it almost impossible to make decisions, which frustrates me probably more than it does other people (and I know it frustrates other people a lot). I agonise over the smallest things. Making a meal plan stresses me out because of that, as does shopping. I often spend ages trying to decide whether to buy something or not, and more often than not don't buy it. If I don't buy it then I tend to wish I had, and if I do buy it then it's not very long before I regret it. If I need to make a decision on the spot then I get flustered. Some people have tried to help me get better at making decisions by basically insisting on me doing so, saying things like "You're going to make all the decisions today, everything we do is completely up to you!" and that's frustrated the hell out of me. I understand their good intentions, it may indeed get easier with practice, but it just adds to the pressure I already feel. I'm willing to take my fair share of responsibility for decision-making, as long as other people accept that it will take me longer than it might take them. This overthinking and my difficulty with long questions and identifying things means job applications are often extremely stressful - just one can take many, many hours, if not days, and I stay up late into the night trying to get it done, making myself tired which doesn't help, and I usually turning to someone else for help in the end (and they help me get it done in like half an hour).

I've never really been comfortable with physical contact, I've never initiated any. It's not necessarily uncomfortable, it just doesn't come naturally. I'm used to simple greeting hugs and kisses with close friends and family, they're fine, but generally I prefer standing back and giving a wave or smile and verbal greeting. Even when I've been really upset and crying, I don't go to other people for comfort and ask for a hug, although I'll sometimes accept one. If someone else is upset I don't feel like giving them a hug or anything. Showing physical affection in relationships is something I've had to start to teach myself to do, I have to think about it. While I've dated a few people, it's never worked out, I've never had a boyfriend.

When it comes to what I eat, thankfully I've grown out of most of my fussiness. When I was very young I mostly just ate apple and yoghurt; for many years I refused to eat onions, mushrooms, kidney beans, butter or spread, gravy, cream, custard, mayonnaise, and probably other things I can't remember; and it wasn't until I was 21 that I drank anything other than Ribena. Now, I love food and eat a wide variety. But I do want to have a healthy and nutritionally balanced diet - hence why trying to do a meal plan can stress me out, because it bothers me if there's more than one meat dish per week and not enough fish or veg, for example. I also do things like, if I've had a portion of a certain fruit or vegetable, I won't have another portion of it later that same day - for example, a second glass of orange juice, or some cucumber in a salad with dinner if I had cucumber with salad at lunchtime.

If I'm talking about something and am interrupted and the conversation goes off on a tangent, I feel like my turn has ended and I close off, I won't carry on with what I was saying unless I am invited to do so. E.g. If I'm telling someone what I did at the weekend and they interject with a comment or question and the conversation goes off on a tangent for a few minutes or more, I won't then pick up where I left off and tell them about the rest of my weekend unless they prompt me, even if it's something I enjoyed or was interested in and would like to talk about. If I am talking, I can't tell if someone gets bored or loses interest. When something is really bothering me and I need to communicate that, I have to keep going till I'm finished and have said everything I have to say. Usually this is online via text-based messaging, so other people can feel a bit bombarded with really long, sometimes emotional messages. But I don't know how to not do that, I'm not able to judge what other people might find "too much".

I can't do more than one thing at a time, like have a conversation and cook dinner; I have to pause one activity to be able to do the other, or I get flustered and confused and they both take longer. I also find it very hard to concentrate on things if there's noise or activity in the background, such as the radio or music or a conversation, I can't tune things out.

I have a shockingly bad memory. I usually forget things within seconds of being told / hearing / reading them. I tend to make notes on my phone or a post-it to try and remember something, but that doesn't help. I'll remember most things at some point, but again it won't stay in my head and I'll forget then remember then forget then remember. Having been out of education for nine years now, I no longer have the ability to memorise, store, and recall at will (in fact, I don't think I really learned that skill well in the first place). I'm sure it's something I could improve a little if I exercised my memory muscle, did things frequently and regularly to practise using it (if anyone has any ideas I'm all ears) but it's a skill that I'd need to learn and practice to maintain, it's not natural. I never reminisce, I can't recall stories from my life at will.

When it comes to things like films and books and TV shows, or even real-life events, I can never really talk about them. If someone asks me what I thought of such-and-such a show last night, the only answer I can give is something like "Yeah, it was good." I enjoy things or find them interesting, or I don't. I never have any ideas about what might happen, or opinions about what has, etc. There are many films and books and TV shows that I love, but I can't have a conversation about them. Similarly, I can't describe people - if I'm asked what so-and-so is like, I can only shrug and say something like "Umm... they're nice...???"

I do what some people refer to as over-explaining (you might have noticed, haha) - giving details and background and information etc. which may not be deemed necessary by the other person or people - but to me it's just explaining. It's just what I naturally do, but if you want to apply a logical reason to it then it's because it helps prevent misunderstandings and miscommunications, because the other person or people then has all the information and context.

I find it difficult to do things that are aimless - both in terms of doing a task without knowing or understanding the reason for it, and in terms of just wandering around aimlessly. Part of me really likes the idea of being in the RAF, but I'd probably hate being in the military because you have to accept orders without question, often without understanding why you need to do whatever it is. When I travel, I can't just wander aimlessly and explore and see what I come across, I need to have a destination and a route to follow or at very least an end point to find my way to with a map, and a plan of what I'm going to do.

Being generous and sharing things isn't a natural impulse. Only occasionally do I feel like doing it, want to do it of my own accord. I think my sister's a little offended by my keeping a box of chocolates and personal treats in my room, because she keeps hers in a kitchen cupboard and tells me I'm welcome to have some. That's very kind of her and I appreciate it, but I only rarely take her up on that offer and balance it by letting her have some of my chocolate when she runs out. I find it very difficult to let myself spend money on a treat, so if I do allow myself to do that then I want to enjoy whatever it is as much as possible for as long as possible. If I share it then there's a risk I'll end up having the smaller portion and that I'll run out of it sooner (and therefore need to spend money on a replacement sooner). To me that's perfectly reasonable, but other people see it as being greedy and selfish. And sometimes I do feel greedy and selfish, I'm ashamed of how difficult I find it to spend money on or be generous towards the people I care about.

I don't have any sensory issues, (although I do sometimes get inexplicably very bothered by music being on when I don't feel like listening to it, maybe that's something), but I do have some comforting habits. I play with a strand of hair on the left side of my head, countless times every day; I like that it's soft and smooth and smells nice, haha. Likewise I'll run the fingertips of one hand over the fingernails on the other, because they're nice and smooth. I keep an elastic hairband on my right wrist and play with that a lot. If I'm among a group and am asked a question, I pull my hair up into a bun as I start to answer, or if I'm sat at a table and have to speak I often lean forward and cross my arms on it. They're automatic, unconscious things, probably to diffuse my nervous energy and as a protective gesture.

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Many people will be able to relate to something I've written, see something in themselves or maybe in someone they know. Some people say things like "everyone has autistic traits" - and it is true that everyone has some quirk, an oddity, particular habits, things they struggle with, or whatever. But we also have to be careful to not misunderstand, underestimate, or invalidate just how different and difficult it is for people with autism. Understanding and navigating the world and all the unwritten, flexible, context-dependent social "rules" is tough enough for the mainstream neurotypical population to deal with. Things that most people take for granted and can do or deal with easily and intuitively, we find very difficult indeed, if not impossible. So for autistics the social world is a complete minefield.

Some people see autism as something that means the person is deficient in essential things, as something that needs treatment and fixing. Many other people are now beginning to reframe it as just a natural human variation and another way of seeing, understanding, and interacting with the world. Who's to say that the "social norm" is the "right" way? I like analogies, they can make things easier to understand, but I can almost never come up with them myself, so this one comes from a former colleague: Autism is just a different operating system. Like, Windows and Mac or Xbox and Playstation. Neither is necessarily better than the other, they each have their strengths and things that they're not so good at, but unfortunately most of society understands and is geared up around just one, making things difficult for the other or others.

My diagnostic report came with a list of recommended books, and I'll give one or two of those a read because, although I can recognise these traits in myself, I still don't really understand what it means. Although my head knows that I have autism, I've always been this way and it's normal for me. I don't truly understand, I don't fully know how that makes me so different to the general population, or how other people see me. I'm sure the books will also give some ideas for strategies and things people like me can do to try and make things easier for ourselves - even though many things will never become truly learned or second nature, and we're always going to have to work harder at some things than most people. I was also given a summary sheet that I can make copies of and give to people like future interviewers or employers, to let them know that I have autism so they may need to make suitable adjustments (e.g. break up a long question into separate ones).

This has been an awfully long and heavy post, and has taken me a very long time to write, so thank you to those who have stuck with it and read the whole thing. I hope it's been interesting, and has given you a slightly better idea of what it's like to be me, and what it can be like for other autistics. As I said, each individual is different, but having a better understanding of just one is a start. If you'd like to do some research to find out and understand more about autism, there are lots of blogs and articles online and videos on YouTube (including a number of good TED and TEDx Talks), and books or e-books. If anyone has anything to add, or any comments or questions, please do either comment below or on my Facebook post, or send me a message - I'd genuinely love to hear from you and know what you think, even if I don't know you personally. Also, feel free to share - it may help someone else :)

Thank you ever so much to all the wonderful people who accept me and love me as I am, and have done their best to understand and support me throughout my life, I am eternally grateful :) xx

Edit note: The original version of this post included terms like "Asperger's", "high functioning", and "mild case". Since joining the online autistic community I've learned that these are considered to be unhelpful and harmful, so have edited them out.