Holywood (yes, that is the correct spelling)

You see we have a version in Northern Ireland as well. Our Holywood is in Co. Down and we recently took a trip through (or should I say up) Redburn Country Park in Holywood. It's quite steep in places but some of the views over Belfast Lough were worth it and the scenery in the forest on the way back was beautiful. In the Out and About post I added two photos from the Cavehill side of Belfast - the zoo and the castle. Holywood is on the opposite side of the Lough.

Sorry about the poor quality in this one  - was standing on a park bench trying to get a photo that included Samson and Goliath (the Harland and Wolff cranes).

Dunluce Castle

Dunluce Castle is in Co. Antrim on the north coast of Northern Ireland. I included a photo of it in my first North Coast post. Rita Wilson is a photographer from Donegal (we share a love of Irish Setters) and she has captured some stunning scenes from the area but she recently added a photograph of Dunluce which I love. The weather hampered Rita's attempts to get any further photo opportunities during her visit but I think it provides a fantastic foreboding atmosphere in the one picture she did get.

Rita Wilson Photography - Dunluce

Another Bridge

In my last post I included pictures of the Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge. There was once another bridge to rival its popularity in Northern Ireland. The seawall, including the Tubular Bridge at The Gobbins in Whitehead/Islandmagee. It was opened in 1902 but closed in the 1950's.

The links below lead to some photographs of The Gobbins and an article on the Antrim coast by the BBC Coast programme. The article is from 2006 and refers to The Gobbins as derelict and forgotten. Thanks to investment and a £6 million project it looks like they may be restored and hopefully opened by 2014. I'm looking forward to testing out my nerves on that walk.

Gobbins restoration project
The Gobbins photos
BBC Coast
Islandmagee
Whitehead Rail and Short History of The Gobbins

More North Coast

As I said in the last post, we've been out and about being tourists at home for the last week. Our first stop was the North Coast in Co. Antrim. We stopped at Larrybane Bay and crossed the Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge onto Carrick Island, followed by the impressive new visitors centre and guided audio tour round the Giant's Causeway. We finished up with a meal by the harbour in Portrush.

As someone who grew up in Northern Ireland during the Troubles and has seen the changes the country is going through, I was still surprised by one huge difference I witnessed this summer; the amount of tourists from outside Northern Ireland. At Carrick we found Germans, Americans, Swedes, Italians, French. The new visitors centre at the Causeway is not only massively bigger than the old one, but a technological world away from it. When we rounded the path, into Port Ganny we saw a different view of the famous stones than we'd ever encountered before. It was covered in dots of colour as visitors in a rainbow of shower proofs picked their way across the stones to walk in Finn McCool's footsteps. Again we found a plethora of accents, not just near neighbours from Southern Ireland, Scotland, England and Wales but many parts of Europe, America and Australia. 

I find that encouraging. Talking to people they are certainly much less wary of travelling to Northern Ireland and many say they wanted to visit for years but were just too put off by the bombs and bullets to do so. I do also wonder what will happen to scenery that in some way was sheltered from the march of tourism. How much more walked and worn will those basalt stones become?

A further dash of colour was added to the Causeway thanks to the art installation embedded in the landscape by German artist, Hans Peter Kuhn; a series of red and yellow flags that rotate in the wind.

The view from the headland in Larrybane Bay, looking at Carrick Island (you can't see the rope bridge from this side) and Rathlin Island in the distance. 

The cliffs in Larrybane Bay, looking back towards the visitors centre.

The view from Carrick Island after crossing the bridge.

Portnaboe (Giant's Causeway)

Can you spot Humphrey the camel?

The yellow squares are the art installation

The chimney stacks on top of the McCool House

The organ pipes

Portrush Harbour

A tourist at home

For the last week my family and I have enjoyed being tourists at home, making the most of our National Trust membership by viewing some of the beauty spots and estates by foot or on our bikes. Despite the unpredictable summer weather, including being caught in a thunder storm by the Giant's Gate at the Causeway, we've had a wonderful week and been reminded how lucky we are to live in Northern Ireland. I've taken an awful lot of photos on our travels, so be prepared, pictures to follow.

New Word

On my travels today I learnt a new word, a rather lovely one: Spurtle.

So what is it? Well at Castle Ward there was wood turner demonstrating his skills. He made us a spurtle - apparently, it's a Scottish kitchen utensil, used for stirring porridge and doesn't bruise food as much as a spoon does.

Two New Books

I have a new reading list thanks to two books arriving in my life today.

A very shiny new signed copy of Every Time We Say Goodbye by Colette Caddle (thank you very much Colette) and, thanks to the second hand bookshop in Castle Ward, Pauline McLynn's Bright Lights and Promises.

The Glass House - extracts

A few snippets from the work in progress.


From Chapter Two:

        A deep, satisfying warmth filled Caitlin, once again safe in her sanctuary. Her glass house. No ordinary structure of glass and aluminium, but a perfect piece of Victorian architecture and engineering, sitting at the edge of a walled garden, in a property once owned by Caitlin's grandparents. Now in her ownership and care, it looked stunning, with its dwarf brick walls, sparkling glass and white, cast iron frame, topped with a ridge of fleur-de-lis, but it was a very different picture when she first inherited it. Caitlin’s heart had swelled with sympathy when she first glimpsed the rusted framework, most of the glass broken and what little remained so black with dirt it was unrecognisable, crumbling brickwork, overgrown with nettles and layers of mud so thick they could have sent a geologist to heaven.

From Chapter Twelve (a little steamier and names removed to protect the identities of those involved - you'll have to wait unit some fabulous publisher decides it's brilliant - or at least until I put these chapters up on Authonomy - to find out who they are):

         She had a moment to take in the walls of glass, overlooking Queen's Island before the pair fell to the leather sofa. Kisses bruised lips, hands brushed over clothing. He shrugged off his suit jacket. She sought the buttons on his shirt and opened them, pulling it free from his trousers and pushing it off his arms. She unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. His legs pressed hard against hers, his weight pushing her against the leather which warmed and moulded to them. His hands found the edge of her dress and raised it over her thighs, revealing the line of fine lace that edged that day's most thought about purchase. His fingers traced the line, his weight shifted sideways, as he followed it across her thigh and between her legs. As his knuckle grazed her she lifted her hips and parted her legs. His hands moved up, over the delicate black lace shorts, pushing the dress higher, over her waist.

        'I want to see the rest of this,' he said, continuing to reveal the matching bustier.

She sat up, turning round so he could unzip the dress and remove it. Keeping her back against him, he kissed her shoulder, her neck, he traced circles around her nipple. Slipping the bustier straps off her shoulders, he began to unhook it, freeing her breasts to his touch.

        

        Standing in front of her, he pushed his trousers and underwear to the floor. She took him in her hand, teasing him first with her tongue and then her mouth, only stopping when he pulled away from her and brought her to her feet. 

        The lace shorts skimmed down her thighs and over her knees. She began to remove the shoe but his hand held her ankle. 'Keep them on.' 

        She halted and he eased the shorts over one foot, then the other. Discarding them he kissed her ankle, the inside of her knee, then her thigh. His fingers began to tease and probe until she brought him back to the sofa and he once again pressed against her, her hips answered his movements, while he held the heels of those twinkling shoes.

From Chapter Thirteen (during a tour of Titanic Belfast):

        In complete quiet, Caitlin watched as the camera relayed video of the broken ship and Dr Ballard's voice discussed the finds. Recalling the splendour they'd witnessed throughout the tour, the hopes the ship had generated, the effort taken to build her and the pride so many people of Belfast had felt in her, their devastation at the loss of her and so many lives, she began to see what the new building symbolised. More than just a tourist attraction, a sign of the still fragile peace that claimed the country but an acknowledgement of the city's role, the possibility that it could reclaim what it had once been, have pride in it's accomplishments and itself again.

....and that's all...for now.

The Glass House - Chapter One

Chapter One

         'Clematis, honeysuckle, a winter flowering jasmine and an evergreen cistus?' Caitlin gestured to the gardening manuals, spread across the gleaming granite worktop, seeking her sister's approval.

         'I've no idea what any of those are, you choose.'

'Sometimes I despair of you. I'm never going to convince you gardening is good for the soul, am I?'

         'You inherited those genes,' Niamh replied, fingers splayed and moving, like hands dancing across a keyboard, 'I much prefer nail extensions to green fingers, thank you very much.'

The sparkling, well-tended talons settled on the counter, next to Caitlin's, who's stubby finger nails and skin were indelibly stained from the green and brown of plants and soil, the tools of her trade.

        'Lucky you found a rich man to marry then,' Caitlin said, tucking her hands between her legs and shifting on the uncomfortable bar stool she detested.

        'Don't knock my rich man, it's his generosity paying for your gardening services.'

'What am I paying for now?' Tom Whitley asked, his sudden arrival preventing Caitlin's reply.

        Niamh turned to him, hands on hips. 'Don't be such a grump, you know full well Caitlin's redesigning that hideous garden for me.'

        'Nothing wrong with the it the way it is,' Tom said. 'No need to spend any money on it.'

'It's the last reminder of your ex-wife in this property and I want it gone, now.'

        'Now, that's not fair. You know I can deny you nothing. If you insist on changing it, I'm sure Caitlin will be offering me family rates.'

        Caitlin, having no intention of offering him anything, pursed her lips and remained silent, ignoring his placating smile.

        'Anyway, I don't have time for this right now. Just popped home to pick up my passport, had a great tip about a property in Marbella that would be prime a-list rental; rushing out to see it before the family of the recently deceased little old dear sell it to someone else for a song.'

        'Wait a minute,' Niamh placed her hands on his chest, 'You're going to Marbella, now?'

'That's what I said, isn't it?' Tom muttered, walking away and rifling through a kitchen drawer for his dog-eared passport.

        'You're not going to Marbella without me. Give me an hour to get ready.'

'Be serious pet, the flight leaves in three hours and I have to be at Belfast airport in an hour. You know you'll not be ready to leave by then.'

        'I just have to pack a bag, change my clothes and freshen my make up.'

Caitlin sniggered. 'And we all know how long that takes.'

        'I haven't booked you a seat,' Tom continued, 'and, even if I could get you one, you'd be bored whilst we try to get a good deal out of the family.''

        'We. Who's we?'

'Just a business contact who's interested in investing in this property with me.'

        'Male or female business contact?'

'Don't start that. We're still newly weds after all and you know I only have eyes for you.'

'You better have.'

Clutching the passport, Tom reached around Niamh pulling her close and placed his hands on her bottom.

'Why would I need to look elsewhere when I have my pretty, young wife waiting here to welcome me home?'

        As Niamh stroked the lapels of Tom's suit and cradled into his embrace, Caitlin wondered how her sister could welcome words she found condescending. Spotting the familiar pout decorating her sister's face, Caitlin smirked, knowing Tom's escape was about to become conditional.

'You better make sure you bring me home something expensive and dazzling.'

        Caitlin was relieved to see him break the embrace and turn to leave the room. The man repelled her and she couldn't imagine how Niamh could bear his touch. Hearing the front door slam as he made his speedy departure Caitlin realised he'd side-stepped the issue of who he was travelling with.

'How can you stand him talking to you like that?' she asked.

        'Oh don't be such a feminist. Your attitude is the reason why I'm happily married and you're alone.'

        'I'm alone because I have standards and anyway, I'd rather have no-one than an old man groping me and talking down to me like some brainless doll.'

         'Tom's not old. He's only fifty.'

'Exactly. He's twice your age.'

         'He looks after himself and he's fitter than some of the men I know in their twenties. Sometimes I think you're just jealous. I have a loving husband and two beautiful homes whilst you dig around in the dirt every day, just to pay for a scruffy van and that crumbling house. Tom says if you knocked it to the ground and sold the plot you could make a fortune.'

         'Tom would, but how can you be so soulless? You know how much I love that house and I happen to like digging around in the dirt. It's more honest than digging for gold.'

Gathering the catalogues, and heading for the door, Caitlin found her muddy wellies.

         'That's typical, throw insults at me and then run away.'

'Goodbye, Niamh.'

        Caitlin sat in a wooden chair by the Aga watching her mother enact the daily ritual of placing the peeled potatoes into the pot of boiling water. Once upon a time the Aga had been fuelled by coal and Caitlin's head swam with delightful memories of her father sticking his feet on the edge of the fire to warm his toes, to the chagrin of her mother who knew there would be yet another pair of charred socks to be darned. Now oil-fired, the coal and the darning needles had long ago been discarded, no longer needed.

        'Did you call round to see Niamh?'

'Yes, Mum.'

         'Lovely house - isn't it? Was Tom there too?'

'Briefly.'

         'He's such a hard worker that man. Looks after Niamh so well. I wish you could find someone like that.'

         'I don't want to be looked after and certainly not by someone like Tom.'

'Why do you have to be so hard on him?

         'Aside from the fact that he is a misogynistic dinosaur?'

'That's nonsense. He just enjoys looking after your sister and she's more than happy to be looked after, so who are they hurting?'

         Caitlin stared at her mother wishing she could answer, almost speaking the words which boiled in her head. If only she could be sure of what she saw the night of Niamh's wedding, she wished yet again that she'd gotten a better look at the man, then maybe she could voice her suspicions. Instead she hung her head, knowing her mother would assume she was sulking.

          'Anyway, were you able to help Niamh out with the garden?'

'Sort of.'

         'What does that mean?'

'I made some suggestions but we had a bit of a disagreement before I left.'

         'You two don't know how to have a bit of a disagreement; blazing row would be more like it. I've never met two sisters who fight as much as you do.'

         'That's not fair Mum. All siblings squabble.'

'I remember that day we brought Niamh home from the hospital. You were three years old and kept telling us how excited you were to be getting a sister, then you looked at her and you both burst out crying.'

        'We're just very different people.'

'Niamh was always more like me, I'd love to have had the advantages she has, but you're so like your father and your grandmother. Never happier than when up to your elbows in muck.'

        'Speaking of which, I better get back to work.' Caitlin pushed the chair away from her legs, scraping it on the tiles, as she stood. Pushing her hands into her pockets she wondered if she'd ever gain her mother's approval in the way Niamh managed.

        'Aren't you staying for dinner? I've done enough spuds for you and your dad.'

Eager to leave the conversation, but equally keen not to look any more of a petulant child than she already did, Caitlin acquiesced, thankful that her father would be home soon and she could update him on the glass house.

The Glass House

I'm writing a novel with the working title, The Glass House. I chose the title because the main character, Caitlin, finds sanctuary in the Victorian Glass House she inherited and restored. On another level I thought of the fragility of glass, of relationships and how quickly the world we think we inhabit can change. Thinking of the old adage, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, I believe Caitlin has a lot to learn about judging people on first impressions and taking time to consider the flaws in her own life before condemning others. 

This is the pitch:

Twenty-eight year old Caitlin lives in a crumbling house near the village of Sion Mills in Northern Ireland. Her energy and finances are focused on her restored Victorian Glass House and her burgeoning horticultural business. Her younger sister, Niamh, is married to a man twice her age and the sibling relationship is strained by Caitlin's dislike of him. 


When television producer, Stuart, arrives with the offer of a new career, Caitlin is propelled into a different world and Stuart's arms. 

Drawn into the residue of paramilitary gangs, the truth of her new life is revealed and Caitlin learns the value of friendship, family and not judging people by first impressions.

A writer's viewpoint

I recently met a female writer of romantic erotica and considering the buzz around the genre I asked her what drew her to it and inspired her to write her first novel, The Firm Hand Of Love. You can read her answer below in the comments to 'More on the big trend...'

Thanks Paula.

More on the big trend...

Following on from my last post, about Bared To You, saw this article tweeted by Huff Post today. Seems erotica really has got everyone talking.

Huff Post

Like so many women around the world, I've read the Shades trilogy and like so many I have mixed feelings about it. No-one can deny the popularity the series has been greeted with but some have reservations about the writing and there are some things in the book that I personally became irritated with, the constant references to her inner goddess and his happy trail, among two of them.

I have also read book one in The Crossfire Trilogy by Sylvia Day, Bared To You. Book Two, Reflected In You, is out in October. I found Sylvia Day's writing so much more fluent and skilled. Someone else commented to me that they thought all the characters were much too good looking, too perfect on the outside. I think that's part of the theme in the story. The two main characters are drawn to each other but both have painful experiences in their past that disrupt the relationship. Scratch the surface of some of these beautiful people, with affluent lifestyles and all the trappings they could wish for, and you'll find plenty of ugliness.

Novelicious published their review of Bared To You today and for anyone who liked Shades but found it a bit lacking, I'd recommend they check it out.

Novelicious Review: Bared To You

Signed copy

I'll be eagerly watching the post for a new book to arrive. I won a signed copy of Colette Caddle's new book, Every Time We Say Goodbye, yesterday.

Every Time We Say Goodbye

I'll let you know what I think when I've read it.

I have a short story called Hope's Rainbow available on Shortbread (a great online resource for anyone interested in reading and/or writing short stories).

http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk/story/view/hopes_rainbow/#axzz23SdoyrjN

The story was inspired by my husband and the rest of the team he ran Mud Madness with. Their team raised a few thousand pounds for Marie Curie and all four of them completed the run, which is a bit of a mixture between cross country and an obstacle course, all designed to get the competitors as saturated in mud as possible. These are a few photos we took on the day and underneath them is a link to the website, which contains better photographs and videos of the course and some of the 1000 people who took part that day.

Mud Madness, Co Armagh

A tanker used to suck up water from muddy streams and spray it over runners (and those supporters of us foolish enough to stand too near ) 

More pictures and videos on the Mud Madness Website:

http://www.mud-madness.com/media.htm

Whilst cycling around Gosford Forest Park last weekend we went by Gosford Castle. Last year we saw the crew for Game of Thrones there and wondered if it might be King's Landing. No sign of filming this year, although it appears someone else not only saw the sets but found something interesting:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-19260722

Gosford Forest Park

Out & About

Could have called this miscellaneous pictures as it's a bit of a mish mash.

From the County Down countryside in the snow, to the zoo and castle in the Belfast Hills, Castle Ward on the Ards Peninsula and the Marble Arch Caves in Co. Fermanagh.

Since this picture was taken a set has been constructed for the filming of Game of Thrones - today you could see the scaffolding for the set just beyond the telephone pole in the distance.

Belfast Zoo

Belfast Castle

Gardens at Castle Ward, one of my favourite National Trust Houses because of it's unique design  - one side Classic and the other Gothic - internally and externally.

Inside the Marble Arch Caves (which aren't actually marble, but limestone, and no less spectacular for it). Their website does them a lot more justice than my photography skills:
http://www.marblearchcavesgeopark.com/

I fear a new addiction may have begun. I am with laptop again as a MacBook pro arrived today. New apps to get used to and a whole lot more ports than my poor deceased MacBook Air. No excuse now not to keep the external drive plugged in and backing up.

Tollymore Forest Park

A series of photos of Tollymore Forest Park in the Mourne Mountains.

On a visit two weeks ago we spotted the crew trucks so looks like Game of Thrones is filming there again. It's also the setting for Your Highness. We had a chuckle when we watched the film and spotted one spot of the river being used that our dogs are partial to for a refreshing drink.