So much has happened since I last found the time to write something of note, that I do not quite know where to start. To think I am in the midst of my final week in Dearne Valley and it only feels like yesterday that I was making the move this far North. Where does the time go? 

I cannot pretend that it has been an easy fortnight, despite the glorious distractions I have encountered, but change tends to make everyone a little wary and apprehensive, even if I am the instigator of that change. Or is that because I am the instigator of all this change?

Again, I am not going to write a confession to set the tongues wagging. Mistakes have been made and life goes on. 

Instead I am going to reminisce about the delightful weekend I had with my Lords and Ladies of the Shire on our coastal rendez vous last weekend. We feasted, pranced and indulged with a furore that the Viking gods would have been proud of. It made me realise how grateful I am to call them all my friends, and I shall miss each and every one of them while I sojourn in the Far East. 

We were graced with the presence of the Duke's sister, the brunette, Harlequin and many fair Ladies who each have a special place in my heart. We took part in many rural activities, though I cannot claim to have caught any fish (which I was most disappointed about!). It was a weekend to remember and I am still on a high when I think about the fun we had.

With Dearne Valley coming to a close, Brighthelmstone is beckoning ever closer, and this time I am taking a more active role. I have more responsibilities than ever and I have already begun my preparation for the summer! It is something I am most looking forward to, not least because it shall give me the time to come to terms with all that has happened this past year. 

All this talk of what I have to do is making me more aware that I should do less talking and take more action. As always my summers are inundated with activity but that doesn't mean my writing isn't a priority ~ only it becomes ore ethereal as it seeps in and out of my consciousness. 

I shall always write and create stories even when my life is as hectic as it is now. 



D. S.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there, does it still make a sound?

Therefore, if a sin is committed but there is no one to witness the act, does it really count?

I am as terrible as that sounds, but I am not yet brave enough to utter the words that could send me spiralling into an alcohol-fuelled frenzy. It is better that I close that door and walk away from the damage I have caused without a glance behind me. 

It is not the first time I have made such a mistake, but far from being an entertaining entry, this seems to have potential repercussions that I cannot soften with kind words and hollow promises. I may have even outdone myself this time. 

So, instead of focusing on that misdemeanour I will rather reminisce about the weekend just passed and exclaim proudly my love for my Irish Lady of Corcaigh, the brunette and four minstrels who kept us suitably entertained all the while. 

To think a year has vanished since we last drank in each other's company is absurd, but it felt like no time had passed as we joked about our time in the City of a Hundred Spires, watching intently the delicious quartet who serenaded our reunion. They were clearly a little too young for each of us (words I never thought I'd say), probably no older than the enamoured young Captain from the Antipodes. But they each exuded a confidence that was electrifying. It is not often I can find a man to transfix my gaze for an hour, let alone an entire evening, but those four did more than that...

I am no longer the girl that lusted after a musician for years, but there is something decidedly scrumptious about a man who knows his way around a musical instrument and can sing words that your heart has longed to hear. 

Enough about them... Though they certainly have not left my thoughts. 

The Irish Lady of Corcaigh was an absolute dream. She had so much to tell me, what with making herself known in her home town as she inspires other women to be as headstrong. Similarly, the brunette is making incredible progress in her own personal journey and her stubbornness know no bounds. It was only a fleeting rendez vous as I still have three weeks of hard toil ahead of me, but it was worth the headache I had this morning.

As everyone expected, I am suffering from itchy feet and need to be back on the road, travelling to distant lands. Though that will come, all in good time. I have a summer in Brighthelmstone to look forward to first...

D. S.

There is so much that I have to tell and I haven't a clue where to start. The last time I wrote I was enjoying my life in abundance with the brunette and making good one of my new year's resolutions. Since then much has happened; words have been said and mistakes have been made, so much so that they could be life-altering.

But does that mean I have the strength to talk about them, to write them down? I have to admit that I am the guilty party, the one more culpable in these latest occurrences, and if I actually put pen to paper and own up to the crime... Then that cannot be undone.

I know that over the years I have flitted in and out of people's hearts, cities, countries without so much as a second thought as to the consequences of my actions. I have always been rather hedonistic, and though I had toned down my behaviour of late, it seems that my so-called maturity was nothing more than a facade. 

Nevertheless, I am back in Dearne Valley for my final month of solitude before I travel to Brighthelmstone for the summer. I am fortunate that the Irish Lay of Corcaigh is gracing me with her presence this weekend, so as to distract me from my ever tumbling thoughts of despair. We have not seen each other since that eventful night in Bohemia and I cannot wait to reminisce and make new memories with her. 

My week in the Shire was more relaxing than I give it credit ~ both my father and brother were in attendance and it was delightful to spend some time with them, feasting and celebrating our successes in life. 

I even managed a short jaunt to the northern counties, catching a glimpse of the Duke of Albany before he disappeared on a rendez vous of his own. I miss the city that I have called home for so many years. Though the Shire runs through my veins, the northern counties will always tug at my heart. Much like the Antipodes and Bohemia will always bring me fond memories. 

I am not yet brave enough to utter the sin I have committed. Instead I sway back and forth between burying my head in the ground and moving on entirely. For truly, the only way is forward.



D. S.