London at dawn: City at sunrise

About this time last year, I went on an early-morning tour of London with Gemma Seltzer from Write & Shine and Saira Niazi from Living London (both pictured above). Saira led us around places I'd been to before, such as The Vaults (graffiti-covered tunnels where I saw Alice's Adventures Underground), Cross Bones Garden (where people, many believed to be prostitutes, are buried and surrounded by ribbon-covered railings and kind messages), Borough Market, Gabriel's Wharf and the bridges along the River Thames.

We went past places that hold happy memories for me (Konditor and Cook, where I would be going for a cake lock-in later that day; Tate Modern; Shakespeare's Globe) and places that hold sadder or bittersweet memories for me (the new Cancer Centre at Guy's Hospital, where I went with Vicky when she had radiotherapy; Blackfriars Station, where I met Helen the last time we went out in London).

Saira also led us around places I'd never seen, including a small, hidden garden with a tiny library. As well as being a lovely guide, she was so informative and knowledgeable. It's nice to learn new things about your city, especially when you've been living here all your life. Gemma gave us writing exercises every so often, and there was just enough time to take a few photos before we moved on to the next sight. Those of us with cameras lagged behind everyone else, but it was a great opportunity to take photos of places you wouldn't usually photograph. It made you see the beauty in the ordinary and look out for the unexpected. It was a truly wonderful morning and at the end we sat down near Tower Bridge, had a breakfast picnic and chatted.

There will be another early-morning tour with Living London and Write & Shine this Thursday. This time it will be set around Chelsea and Battersea. It's from 6.30am to 9am, so you might be able to fit it in before work, if you can make yourself get early trains or buses to Sloane Square! Details here.

Living London runs other walks around London. Write & Shine also runs writing workshops a little bit later in the morning (7.15am or 9am starts) and I have been going  these regularly this year. It's been a lovely way to get back into writing, and I even got a tiny piece of flash fiction published in an anthology which you can buy here from Arachne Press. For me, it's about writing for writing's sake, enjoying it, and (if you want to) having the courage to put your writing out there. It's scary, but I'm glad I've become braver about my writing this year. Seeing my friends and family in the audience when I read my story out at the book launch in June was one of the most surreal and proud moments of my life. It's taken a long to get here, but I'm here.

Here are some photos from the dawn tour last year. I often get overwhelmed by the number of photos I take (this is the problem with digital cameras) and rather than edit and share a few, I hide them away and don't do anything with them...which is silly!

Autumn blues (and pinks)

It's officially autumn. I was wearing two layers at the weekend, it was dark when I got home from long days at work at the start of the month, and I'm pretty sure I saw frost on the grass earlier this week.

But as it warmed up this week, I could enjoy the late roses and pink sedum. And butterflies have come out dancing again.

I know some people love autumn - the friends I visited last weekend were happy it's autumn now, and last week when I went to a Write and Shine workshop, a lot of the writers seemed excited or happy or at least gently optimistic about the autumn equinox. When we went round the table, each saying one word that came to our mind when we thought of autumn, I said "sad".

I feel blue when the days get shorter and colder and darker. I feel sad when I see the summer flowers shutting up shop for the year. And my heart sinks a little when I see the Halloween and Christmas things in the shops before the summer is over.

The photos above were taken at Selfridges on a beautiful warm day in August. Christmas comes very early to Oxford Street each year, but it's still strange to see. The David Bowie bauble is pretty cool if you have money to burn. I am sentimental though, so my favourite Christmas decorations are the oldest ones with the fondest memories attached to them.

Today is the big Macmillan coffee morning. This time last year I went to Helen's parents' house where Helen and her mother ran a coffee morning as they had done on previous years. But last year's was poignant - the beautiful young woman in the green Macmillan t-shirt serving us tea, coffee and cake had been diagnosed with terminal cancer six months earlier, and would leave us seven months later. The last few weeks, several of her photos and videos have suddenly brought me to tears. My grief is cyclical and I feel like I'm back at disbelief and deep sadness.

The last few Septembers, Helen's mother and I met at the local allotments and bought dahlias. I love the bundle of dahlias wrapped in newspaper - it reminds me of a passage from the late Jane Packer's book, where she remembers her grandfather bringing allotment dahlias for her grandmother. Last September, I gave flowers for Helen - Darcey David Austin roses (named after her fellow dancer Darcey Bussell) and sunflowers with British lisianthus - and a smaller posy for her mother. I love the deep pink-reds and yellows of the season. The colours almost banish the blues of the shorter days. This year her mother and I meant to go to the allotment open day, but life got in the way.

Tomorrow I'm going on the first Twilight Walk organised by both St Christopher's Hospice and Greenwich and Bexley Hospice, walking around Greenwich and Blackheath. St Christopher's looked after Vicky as an outpatient for a few years and as an inpatient for the last five weeks of her life. Vicky's fundraising page is here. St Christopher's also looked after Helen as an outpatient and at home. Helen's fundraising page is here. And Greenwich and Bexley Hospice is where I've received bereavement counselling for the past year (as I'd worked as a bereavement counsellor at St Christopher's for three years, I couldn't have counselling there because too many people knew me). My sessions are about to come to end, and I'm utterly grateful to the hospice, the bereavement service, and my incredible counsellor for the support they've given me during this wretched year. You can donate to Greenwich and Bexley here.

I hope you have lovely weekends and the sun shines for you.

The Red Shoes

A few years ago, I went through a wonderful, creative period in the spring and summer. I had been going to random classes - tap dancing, ballet, flamenco, improvisation, screen acting, screen writing - and I was writing and drawing much more. I read a book called The Creative Screenwriter by Zara Waldeback and Craig Batty, and there was an exercise where you choose three nouns and write a short story with them. I wasn't sure how creative I would be if I chose the words myself, so I asked friends to give me three words that I could use. It was a great exercise, and some of the short stories ended up becoming three-chapter stories or longer stories which I kept adding to.

The story below was written after being given the words "shoes, castle, and bewilderment" by my childhood friend, Pauline. It was written on 28 May 2013.

I thought I'd share it now because red shoes have been on my mind since the sad news about David Bowie; Let's Dance was my first memory of him, late 1970s child that I am. That video is so evocative for me - I must have watched it scores of times when I was young. I didn't know then that the red shoes in the video followed on from their symbolism in the depressing Hans Christian Anderson fairytale and the stunning Powell and Pressburger film (see Lyn Gardner's piece here about the symbolism if you are interested in reading more). I didn't understand the story of the Let's Dance video exactly, but it felt very sad to me as a young child, and (not knowing what acting was) I couldn't understand why Bowie was ordering the man about like a strict teacher.

This story is happier. And, because I haven't felt like writing fiction lately but have wanted to do more photography, I've taken photos of red shoes to illustrate it. As Alice says before she goes down the rabbit hole, what is the use of a book without pictures or conversations?

Bored of Brogues

Was this really happening?

It was, but he still couldn't understand what had happened, what had led to this.

He had only gone to the shop to buy some new brogues for work. The sleepy-looking girl had shown him all of the brogues in the men's section, but nothing took his fancy. So, in her hungover daze, she led him to the women's brogues.

He hesitated. He wanted to say that he was fine, he'd just go to the other department shop across town, but when he opened his mouth to speak he just shut it again and followed her.

The women's brogues were definitely nicer. Instead of the rather serious black or chestnut brown of the men's, these seemed to be winking at him with their sexy cherry reds and cobalt blues, their candy pinks and mint greens, and their leopard prints. He picked up a cherry red brogue, but then he stopped. Behind it, in a shiny blood red that he could see his face in, was a pair of Mary Janes.

The toes were rounded, sort of conservatively but teasingly, and the back had a heel - not stiletto high (he'd looked in wonder at the women who wore these to work) but high enough for the wearer to notice and walk taller.

He didn't realise how long he had been looking at them, when the sleepy girl took one of them off the shelf and took the red brogue from his hand. She asked what size he was and he told her. As she went off to get them, he looked around the women's section in bewilderment. Did other men do this? Was it normal?

He sat down and just as he decided he'd been stupid and should leave before she got back, she came through the door with four boxes. She had brought the next size up too, in case they came up small on him. He looked worried and confused, but she gave him a tired smile as she got the shoes out of their boxes. Then she sat on a table and yawned.

He tried on the red brogues first. They were tight so he tried the bigger size. He walked around and looked in the mirror. They felt less stiff than his usual shoes, but he liked the secure movement they allowed. The only problem was they didn't look right on him. Besides, wouldn't it look strange if he wore cherry red shoes with his grey suits and blue shirts? Colour combinations was not something he'd thought about much before - a luxury that came from only wearing grey, blue and black.

He looked at the girl, who was now resting her eyes. He took the red Mary Janes out of the box and held them in his hands for a while. They looked like doll's shoes and even though they were his size, they felt so small. He liked how he could wrap his hand around the middle of each one.

He put one on. It was peculiar, slightly restrictive but not uncomfortable. He tried on the other and stood up. He felt a surge of blood to his head and held onto a shelf for support. When he'd regained his balance, he started to walk. He looked in the mirror, turning to look from all angles, posing in different stances, and walked again.

He wanted to run and jump and dance. The last time he had a rush like this was when he'd been for his job interview and was offered the job straight away. This was incredible. How a small thing could make him feel so different.

He looked at the girl. She was asleep.

He went to the mirror again. He imagined that he was posing at the end of a catwalk runway. He pretended he'd just been rescued from a locked room at the top of a castle and his rescuer had given him these shoes as he was carried out of the castle gates. He imagined wearing them in a dark forest, feeling no fear because the shoes would protect him.

He put his usual shoes back on and put the Mary Janes in their box. He woke the girl up and pointed to the box.

"I'd like to take those."