Where'd I Leave It Wednesday

Where’d I Leave It Wednesday: Father’s Day

Happy Wednesday bookish people! I hope everyone is having a good day, and that you all had a good Father’s Day last Sunday. That’s what today’s story is all about – what I did this year on Father’s Day.

Car Shows and Cats

It was an early morning start to this years Father’s Day, and by early I mean we left home before seven in the morning. That’s not too bad for me because I’ve always been an early bird, the same as my Mother. My Dad and Sister though, they could sleep through anything. Literally, this one time we were in a hotel on the Isle of Wight I think and a helicopter landed right by the hotel. It was so loud, my Mum and I both woke up but my Dad and Sister slept through the entire thing.

Anyway, we left early. We travelled up to Beaulieu for the vintage car show that they were holding this year. My parents both love cars, I on the other hand can’t tell the difference between them. The only thing I can see is one is red, one is blue, one is green… so you can guess that my Parent’s don’t ask my opinions of the cars as we walk around. So, we finally got there – after three and a half hours of driving.

The only good part about the travelling is that it gave me plenty of time to read. My book of choice for this trip was Serpent and Dove by Shelby Mahurin, which was an amazing read. Unfortunately doing this I managed to strain my eye.. (Just don’t tell my boyfriend) but it was worth it.

W went to the show. I can’t comment much on it because there wasn’t much there for me, some of the cars were nice. The stalls had some nice 50s style dresses and in the afternoon I ate a hot donut. On the way home we went to visit my Great Aunt, that was really nice to get to go and see her, especially because she’s not very well at the moment. She also has a cat which makes everything better. My sister getting a cat has really changed my opinion on them. On the way home, another four hour drive!, we stopped for dinner which turned out to not be very nice. My Dad’s dessert arrived but mine and my Mum’s didn’t show up for another twenty minutes and of course when it finally did I dropped chocolate cake down my dress…the stain placement was not good.

And that’s what I did this Father’s Day, I hope you enjoyed my story!

Where'd I Leave It Wednesday

Alien Skin

Happy Wednesday bookish people! I’m back with another Where’d I Leave It Wednesday. This one is a bit different to usual, it isn’t focusing on my cane rather just my life in general at the moment. It was a piece that I wrote for a competition, that I didn’t win, and I thought I would share it here.

I hope you all enjoy it!

It was thin in my hands. Blue, and it crinkled like paper. With a string hoop stitched into each side of it. My hands fit through the hoops, it scratched at my ears as the blue front compressed to fit the contours of my face with each intake of breath, a second alien skin over the top of my own. Everyone else around me has blue alien skins now too. It only shows up when we go outside, or the postman knocks the door, but he’s already outside – that’s why his alien skin is already showing it’s had chance to fit to every crevice long before he sent the post through the letterbox or rang the doorbell with his gloved hands. Sometimes people have theirs hanging from their faces, dangling precariously from an inflamed ear that always has a crimson crescent curled around it’s back. It looks like they are shedding. Like a snake does when it’s done with its original skin. If you laid my alien skin out on a table it would be smaller than my sister’s is but when it is smoothed onto my face it covers just the same amount. My tiny brown eyes stare out at me over the top when I look in the mirror, it’s the same look my sister’s kitten gives me when he hides on the stairs but drops his head on the step above with a thump. Some days I think I’d quite like to be a cat. All I’d have to do is stalk through my owner’s open and welcoming legs, brush up against their skin and bite with my fanged teeth if they tried to move while I was walking through because, how dare they move. All I’d have to do is wait for hands to feed me, then lay on my back while the same hands, and others, would rub my belly and I’d pretend to push them away with my paws while really wanting them to continue. And I’d purr all day because I wouldn’t have to wear an Alien’s skin on my face whenever I left the house and I wouldn’t have to guess whether or not I knew the person I was talking to because as a girl registered as blind in a world where we are all wearing Alien skin faces, I can recognize even less than usual. We got Shadow, that’s the name my Sister gave her Kitten, in October 2020 and it’s fitting that he’s black and white when we got him in the month of Halloween – we tried to dress him up in a Mickey Mouse zip up jacket but he wasn’t having any of it, he hid in my backpack with one tiny paw poking out the side to swipe at our legs instead. Revenge for the dress up, he’s definitely my Sister’s cat – and he also really hates the Alien skins we wear when we go outside.

That’s it for today’s story, I’ll be back next Wednesday hopefully with another one!

Where'd I Leave It Wednesday

If God Had Siblings – Where’d I Leave It Wednesday

Happy Wednesday everyone! It’s halfway through the week already, is it me or are the weeks passing by really quickly? It’s probably just me. Today’s post is another Where’d I Leave it Wednesday, it seems like the more life story/memoir writing is working for the moment so that’s what I’m going to keep going with.

Today’s story is all about my encounters with religion, there haven’t been many – not including my secondary school Christian assemblies – but some of them are included in this story.

I hope you all enjoy it!

If God Had Siblings

If God had siblings I’m not a religious person. I think that there might be a God but if there is, he’s not that helpful. I was christened. It was the same day my sister got chicken pox and she decided to pick at the spots in the middle of her forehead, right between her eyes. There is a scar there now that I like to poke at. It’s the same size as my fingernail and if I put my finger there it looks like she has grown a horn. She says if it’s a horn then she is a unicorn, I say a rhino.


            I haven’t been to Church since I was a young child and my Grandparents believed that if you didn’t go to church at Christmas you couldn’t be buried there. I enjoyed these visits; I didn’t understand the idea of God behind it but I liked playing with the toy sheep of the Nativity scene. I even slipped one into my pocket one year. I named it Dave. We would stand in order of height and sing Christmas carols from the lyrics on the projector. Of course, to me the lyrics looked like the static on a television. A mixture of black and white waves flowing up and down, over and over again. I did what any other visually impaired child, with an imagination, would do. I made the lyrics up myself. I sang loudly every year to the reimagined Christmas carols “Little Doggy” and “Once Royal Daddy’s Sleepy”. I was not talented at singing. The elderly couple that sat behind my family every year would see us enter the church and take from their bags a set of earmuffs each which they would wear as soon as I stepped up on the bench for the carols. Strangely, nobody would correct my wrong lyrics. They allowed me to sing like nails on a chalkboard, louder every year until my Grandma told me we would not be continuing to attend the church carol services. We started going to the Pantomime every Christmas Eve instead. I wasn’t allowed to talk there; I think that is why they chose it.


     Even though we stopped attending the church these were not the only moments that they have tried to talk to me. There are always people stood outside the large shopping centre in my town. They are usually dressed all in black, black suits, black dresses, long black overcoats that make them look like sketchy stalkers misplaced from an old Scooby Doo episode. They carry poster boards tucked under one arm, chasing unimpressed customers around the grey bollards like seagulls going after a pasty. Usually I try to avoid them, the idea of them stopping me to try and ask about my views on religion makes me go cold throughout my body.


            This one day, I stopped on the pavement the other side of the road to the shopping centre. The paving stones rose up from the ground in front of me, rising and falling, sloping under the ball of my cane like mountains. The texture of the ground changed as my cane met the tarmac of the road. I stopped instantly, allowing my ears to pick up on every sound around me. The whistle came from the left as the air pressure changed, I felt it on the exposed skin of my hands as the bicycle passed me. Then I could hear nothing so I crossed the road. My cane lodged in a hole and I wobbled like a jelly before an arm steadied me. It was an older woman, dressed all in black. “What unsteady feet you have” were the first words the strange woman said to me. It made me think of the story of Red Riding Hood and the Wolf dressed as her Grandmother, I only just stopped myself from checking if the woman had sharp teeth protruding from her mouth. Her coat was zipped up to her chin and leaflets were stuffed in the top pocket where a handkerchief would usually be. They were religious leaflets but she seemed to be trying to help me so I allowed her to lead me towards the shopping centre entrance. Then she started talking. “God wants to help you”, “God wants to make everyone feel happy”. While she continued to animatedly tell me why I should gift my soul to God I watched the drops of heavily falling rain trickle down her cheeks. They looked like tears. Tears don’t make her look happy; God wasn’t making me feel happy right then either. The only things I felt were cold and wet.


         I thanked the woman for her help and attempted to pry my arm from her grip. Her face contorted; her smile changed from a fake smile to a frown. “Sinner” she told me “you must be a sinner; God is punishing you and that is why you are blind. If you pray and go to Church, he will remove his punishment and you will be healed.” First, she was telling me that God just wants me to be happy and now she was telling me that he wanted to punish me. I couldn’t think of much that God would want to punish me for, perhaps the time that I pinned my sister to the floor and sat on her chest to keep her there when I was four years old and my sister was seven. If God had siblings then he would understand. I didn’t want to tell her that there was a scientific reason behind my sight loss or that I wasn’t sure I believed in God because I didn’t want to upset her. I walked away from the wolf grandma who continued to call after me “sinner, sinner”. I pretended that I didn’t know it was me she was still talking to. That encounter didn’t change my opinion. I’m still not a religious person.

That’s it for today’s story, I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

Where'd I Leave It Wednesday

Where’d I leave It Wednesday – Garden In My Bedroom

Happy Wednesday bookish people! It is that time again where I tell you about one of my experiences that may or may not be funny. Today I’m doing something a bit different, usually I just write out the story but one of the modules on my University course was Creative Non-fiction where I wrote a few pieces about my experiences. This story is about how my cane picks up leaves. I hope you enjoy it!

I have more leaves gathered in my bedroom than there are in the park that is just beyond my front door. I’m not a collector in any way. Well, I am when it comes to books and pin badges, but definitely not leaves. They sit on my purple carpet, crinkling in agony when I walk over them. Most of them are torn. Flakes of brown and orange strewn around the floor. A friend of mine asked me if I’d spilt a box of Cornflakes and not picked them up. I told her it wasn’t but at that time we were already running late and I couldn’t explain that actually it was the corpses of leaves. I’m not sure that is any less weird.

They get impaled on my cane, like meat on a skewer. I can walk along the street just fine. Well, it’s a different matter entirely when I come across a pile of leaves. By the time I get home there are so many of them, twirling around my cane like orange pole dancers, I barely notice them anymore. They have become part of my room; it would be strange to get rid of them now. “You should hoover them up” I’ve been told by many people before. I can’t bring myself to do it. The leaf that is still green got stuck to the bottom of the cane when I walked through a particularly deep puddle of leaves. It got dragged with me for miles and now it lives on my bedroom floor. The least I can do is provide good hospitality. It’s not as bad as it sounds. My carpet isn’t completely filled with leaves, I leave most of them outside the house when I shake off the cane in the same way as you would an umbrella after closing it.

Picking up leaves isn’t the only thing that happens when I use my cane outside. I usually find that there are two different types of people that notice me on the street. There are the ones who ignore the cane and continue to walk towards me; I enjoy the look of surprise on their face when I don’t move either. Their shoulder will bump into mine; it will be knocked backwards but my legs will remain strong, unmoving in the slippery pavements. They all do the same thing. They turn, mouths open and begin to say “look where you’re going” but they stop when they notice that I’m Visually Impaired. The irony of it always amuses me.

Then there is the second group of people, the ‘helpful’ ones. If a person offers me help and I need it then I will be thankful for the assistance. However, some people don’t ask before ‘helping’. I must have an expression that screams help me. The one I remember most vividly was on a cold day, it must have been Autumn because the air was cold and the metal of my cane had been turning my fingers red as I held onto it tightly. The leaves had already begun falling. They were cutting into my skin like cat’s claws on a scratching post, climbing up my boots higher and higher. I was stood at a crossing, waiting for the man to turn from red to green as I usually do. I can’t tell when there is a space to cross between cars so I wait for the green man. There is a cone on the bottom of the Pelican crossing control panel where I press the button. If I put my finger on it and wait when it turns green the cone spins. It’s useful for sunny days when I can’t see the colours of the man.

Anyway, returning to the strange incident I remember. I was stood there waiting, rolling the ball on the bottom of my cane over the bumps by the edge of the road, when I felt a hand on my arm. It pulled gently and I moved with it. My feet stumbling over each other past the pavement on the other side and across another crossing, then another and then another all at once. I didn’t have the chance to look at who was pulling on me until they stopped walking and let go. I caught my breath while looking at them. It was a lady, if I had to guess she was probably around sixty years old, and she was smiling at me. I knew I had to be polite so I said thank you and watched her walk away down the street. She was only trying to be nice is what I told myself as I slowly moved back to the crossing that the lady had just walked me across. If she had given me a chance to talk, I would have been able to tell her that I had only wanted to get across the first crossing and not the three subsequent ones.

Things like this happen to me more frequently than I would like to admit. Once I reached the street that I had originally intended I looked down at my feet. There, lounging peacefully were clumps of leaves. They were red and orange and yellow. I shook my feet forcefully. Most of the leaves spun away, dancing across the paving stones without partners. Some lay at my feet, as lifeless as if I had killed them. They were submerged in puddles of water, reflecting the colours like a spilt paint box. Curling, closing themselves up into small orange cylinders, like orange Wotsits drowning in the puddles underneath my feet. Of course, they didn’t all extract themselves from me. I carried stowaways under my boots, which I didn’t realise until I reached my house. I carefully peeled them from my soles and let them drift to the purple carpet. Becoming part of the garden in my bedroom.

That’s the end of today’s story, let me know if you liked this style or not and whether you like this style or what I usually write more!