Nolfolk adventures

Posted by Katy Regan at 13:17 on 26 Apr 2010

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Sorry for long silence - been holed up in a conference hotel in Harrogate trying to finish my book. I'm so lucky to be afforded such luxuries (thanks to Egg, actually) forty-eight hours without child or the washing up calling, just me, my lap-top and a distinct fantasy of myself as Muriel Spark or Enid Blyton, beavering away in a wood-panelled room, views of leafy Harrogate through the huge sash windows, just the sound of my fingers tapping and the old radiators gurgling and......oh, my computer rattling and shuddering like a bloody pneumatic drill!! Yes, that's right, I drove four hours to Harrogate (protagonist is from there and I had to write a scene, so not totally random...) and spent the best part of £150 on two nights accommodation for my computer to malfunction! Just so typical of my life! I should have known, it was all going far too well. Lovely hotel, sunshine blaring through the curtains at 7am when I took to my desk to commence my writing marathon - bliss! Then, two hours into it, after I'd breakfasted alone, my notebook by my side as I tucked into a full English (could this get any better?) KER-PUT. Computer starts with this totally random, deafening rattle like the engine of an aeroplane, right there in my room. A quick call to IT specialist Matt Black confirms that yes, my computer is er...broken. "Not much you can do" he said. "Shame, you should have taken my lap-top as a back-up" Oh dear.....

So, what do I do? After a good half an hour pacing the room, shouting obscenities at the computer, window, floor, and any inanimate object that will listen, I realise my options are: a) buy a new computer (with my knowledge of computers this wasn't wise) b) go and find an Internet café to work in (I'd just spent £140 on accommodation - This would be insane c) put up and shut with the noise and pretend it's not happening

So this is just what I did. I got my i-pod, stuffed my earplugs in, put on Beth Orton on repeat play and tried to get on with it ( Beth Orton is the only album I had on there which was remotely mellow. Since I am tech-disabled - MB says I have the Midas touch with computers, only in reverse - I have only managed to put four albums on there as many years of owning it and didn't fancy trying to write anything through The Libertines...I can tell you!)

Now, I don't write with music. EVER. I need silence, an empty house, scented candles (who am I kidding? I don't need those! I just like wasting time and money on ‘accessories' in a bid to put off the actual work)...

This was hard, really hard, it put a whole other dimension of concentration on there which actually gave me a headache (God, that makes me sound even more like a precious Victorian, ailing scribe, doesn't it? Pass me the cold compress Jeeves! I have done five minutes work and am feeling a little queer. I simply must dictate the rest whilst reclining on my chaise-longue wearing a turban of fruit..) But anyway, it was either the music, or the insane rattling, so I chose the music. Eight hours of Beth Orton? I wanted to open a vein by the end! Then I retired from the writing early, at 7pm (well it hurt my head too much.) to dine on steak and chips alone in the dining room, which by then had been over-taken by a coach-load of Geordie kids who'd just come back from a swimming convention. This is what I love about going off and writing alone, you always, always have a little adventure.

Talking of adventures, the hols in Norfolk were brilliant. (see picture!) I must admit, I had worried a little beforehand...Egg, Fergus and I are not that used to spending more than a few hours together - would Egg and I bicker and Fergus have tantrums when we tried to have a conversation together? But as it was, we didn't bicker once and Fergus was good as gold. The accommodation was beautiful too (I had left this up to Egg and he came up trumps)

The first night we stayed in a beautiful farmhouse near Briston in north Norfolk, arriving at tea-time when the famous Norfolk big skies were filled with a hazy, setting sun and all there was for miles to see were cows and hay-stacks and the sound of moo-ing (quite literally.) The farm had beef cattle and it was calving season. Fergus couldn't believe his luck when he got to see calves, still oily and half-drunk from birth staggering around the field, just two hours old.

The second and third night we stayed in a place in Sheringham, up the coast - a charming little seaside town with just enough tack for me to approve (Norfolk can be a bit welly and Barbour jacket brigade but this had shops selling flip-flops and buckets and spades, and slot-machines and fish and chip shops and cool little pubs, where sun-burnt locals sat supping ale outside - my idea of heaven...) The place was called the Old Smokehouse (as the name would suggest they used to smoke fish there) but thankfully no longer smelt of smoked fish (!) and was in fact the epitome of ‘chic staycation' with its exposed brick-work and beams and wood-burning stove and bedrooms in the loft (I think Fergus would have been quite happy just sitting up there all day.) We were blessed with the weather and spent all day on the beach, played a kids version of charades that someone had given Fergus, all evening in a pub-garden - ace fun.

Check out The Smokehouse for a different place to stay - it's very cool. Also, whilst I'm onto the shout-outs, my friend, the novelist Rowan Coleman (oh I do like saying that!) has a writing competition up and running with awesome prizes including writing mentoring from Rowan herself, who take it from me, is a total pro and has written many, many, best-selling novels, including The Accidental Mother. Read all about it on her blog....

http://rowancoleman.blogspot.com

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