Ask Jamie:...

What to write about?

I have a list of topics that I’ve scribbled down, all of which I intend to get up on my soapbox about, just for your delectation. Do I fancy talking about any of them today? Nope. 

It’s not writer’s block, as that implies I’m stuck. There’s a difference between being stuck and not being in the right frame of mind to write about a certain subject. But what to do when all subjects are drawing a big fat dose of apathy?

It’s not that I’m not interested in those topics - I wouldn’t have added them to the list if I didn’t have something to say about them. They won’t be interesting to everyone, but what is? All I can do is witter on and hope that you don’t all abandon me at the same time, or that I’ve piqued enough curiosity to make you visit once in a while to see what I might be prattling on about next.

So no, it’s not about the topics, it’s more that every now and then my brain gets into ‘meh’ mode (you’ll have to picture the shrug and slight tilt of the head) and I find myself staring gormlessly at the screen.

This is where you come in. I’d like to know what it is you want me to write about. What subjects haven’t I tackled that you’d like to hear my take on? What burning questions do you have about, well, anything, that you’d like me to attempt to answer? Throw a few ideas into the comments below and who knows, one week there may be a blog post addressing the issue. If I write a post based on anybody’s suggestions the heading will begin with Ask Jamie: …, and will start with your comment and name. Don’t worry, you can leave anonymous comments too, so if you don’t want your name up in, well, not lights, but an inoffensive font, then this is the route to go.

Before we start we need to set some ground rules; don’t ask personal things as they won’t be answered, try to keep the swearing to a minimum and keep it clean, people! Inappropriate things in the comments section will be removed - I am all-seeing, all-knowing and I have a delete button.

If you don’t have any thoughts today, but something jumps into your head later, simply find this post in the archive and add another comment; it’ll get to me and be thrown into the pot.

Now, I don’t mean to imply that I know everything about everything, as if I did I’d be on a beach in the Bahamas, sipping cocktails and trying to decide how to spend my vast wealth, instead of on a rickety chair, drinking cold tea and trying to type ‘vast wealth’ without crying or laughing hysterically, but I do have opinions on many things, knowledge on a mere few and when it comes down to it I’m not above making some shit up.

Some of your questions I might be interested in and take myself off into research mode (otherwise known as Google) to find an answer. The answer may be simple, or it may be complicated and then I’ll attempt to give you my translation of it. Failing that I will allow my brain free reign to come up with something that might tickle your humour glands and hopefully bring a smile to your day (or more likely that WTF expression that I’m so used to seeing).

So, delve deep, peoples, and share with me your curiosities, your day-to-day wonderings and those questions about stuff that you’ve always wanted answers to but never known who to ask.

Ask Jamie.

Cherub

On 20th June 2013 I became a daddy. This isn’t a fact known by many people, just those closest to me and my better half. The reason that no more than that know is that I wasn’t supposed to be a daddy for another six months, and I’m not a daddy now.

We found out that we were pregnant (meaning she - I’m progressive, but I have my limits) in April last year and were so excited by the prospect of becoming parents; it was something that both of us had wanted for a long time and here we were, in a loving relationship of two years with a very special stick with some pee on it. We didn’t believe it at first and waited a couple of excruciating days to take another test to confirm, which it duly did, and we felt the elation of possibility and the weight of responsibility take us in hand.

We jumped up and down a little, laughed and wept, and settled down to begin preparations for this tiny life. We visited our doctor and became part of the system, we arranged to meet a midwife and we told a few close friends and our parents, taking the stance that many do, that we would tell the world after our 12-week scan.

(Quick note: at the time, my partner and I were living in sin(!), which we still are, but we will be wed later this year, so for now she will be known as my nearly-wife.)

The weeks passed, during which we made plans around our work life and our home life, looked at the finances (and quickly looked away) and she became more tired and aware of the new being inside of her. Not knowing the gender the pre-bump area became known as Cherub - you can’t hold a conversation with someone if you don’t know their name - and life was good. We read the books, noted the changes and contented ourselves that all was as it should be. Nearly-wife was (and is) very fit and healthy, with a near pathological need for good eating, and was taking the right supplements throughout, while I busied myself with trying to make sure she didn’t lift anything heavier than a sock. We had been told that there couldn’t be a better environment for our little one and we were happy that this was so.

The 12-week scan came around and we were filled with excitement; we’d already planned telling the rest of my family our news at a get-together in a couple of days and we couldn’t wait to stop hiding it. We sat in the waiting area at the hospital for a short while and were called in to see the sonographer, who smothered nearly-wife’s belly in gel and began scanning.

There were a few clicks and beeps as she studied the screen, moving the probe, and I remember thinking that it just looked like a mass of black and white, how could anybody make sense of it? She asked us twice if it was our first scan, to which we replied yes, and then she excused herself and left the room. This should have been a warning sign, but we were new to this and knew no different; we sat and chatted, wanting to get that scan image that we could show to everybody again and again.

The door opened and the sonographer returned with another lady in tow. The first sign of a hollow pit formed in my stomach as she started talking and told us that we needed to look at the scan again as something didn’t quite look right.

What followed is a jumble of surreal disconnected memories; sitting in a ‘quiet room’ to talk, explanations of nuchal membranes, grave faces as we were told the outlook wasn’t good, but Cherub’s heart was beating strongly. We needed to prepare for the worst and seriously consider the options. We left that day with an appointment for the following week to see a senior consultant for another scan and a creeping numbness.

We were told that Cherub was alive, but early indications were of some very noticeable abnormalities that would cause severe disability, with the prospect of constant pain and suffering for our little one, if we carried to term at all. The consultant would give us a better idea.

We struggled through the next few days in a state of shock. My family get-together became a sea of hugs and tears, and through it all we had the knowledge that we may be asked to make the ultimate decision - what parents could face that and not suffer?

The next week saw us at the hospital again, meeting the consultant, ushered in via a different route so that we wouldn’t have to sit with the happy expectant mothers. He applied the gel and this time we got to see what he saw. We saw the tiny heart pumping furiously, and the extraordinarily large sac of fluid at the back of the head that confirmed our worst fears. Then we saw the lower body, twisted, at right angles to where it should be, and no real torso to speak of, with a mass of intestines outside of the place they should be. Our Cherub was not in a good way.

Through a daze we had the options explained to us again; continue on and, if full term was reached, commit our baby to excruciating pain for the short time it would survive out of the womb, or terminate. Cherub was too young to have a connected nervous system so would not be in any pain. Yet. The choice was ours at all times, we were the parents, but the eyes of everyone in the medical staff begged us to be merciful. We should go away and think about it.

On the way home we walked into a cemetery and both fell apart. I wept and nearly-wife screamed and howled; the sound broke something inside me and will haunt me to my grave.

We got home and we reached the only decision we could. I made the phone call to the hospital and gave our decision in a monotone. We were to attend another two times; once to sign paperwork and take some medication and then once more to deliver.

That’s right, deliver. This would be the safest option for nearly-wife as it didn’t require an anaesthetic.

We attended the maternity ward a week after our first scan, in a private room, so that she could be induced, and spent a whole day going through labour and the associated discomforts and indignities that go with it.

Finally, the moment arrived, and nearly-wife was magnificent - I have never been as proud of her as I was that day. She kept her composure throughout and insisted that she wanted to see and hold our baby. We became parents and held our poor little sleeping Cherub, a tiny figure no bigger than my hand. My clearest memory is of the perfectly formed hand, smaller than the nail on my pinky.

The doctors and nurses were wonderful to us. Empathic and respectful at every step they allowed us some time as a family before taking Cherub away, only pausing to take an imprint of a hand and a foot for us.

We had a funeral. Two weeks later there was a service at the crematorium, presided over by the hospital chaplain, a lovely lady full to the brim with compassion. I had written a poem for my little one (below) and she kindly offered to read it during the service. My parents and a few close friends joined us and to them I’ll be forever grateful for their support; just knowing they were behind me helped as I carried the tiny white coffin into the chapel. I had to carry it; nearly-wife carried our Cherub for the first few months, it was only right that I carry our baby those final steps.

It’s taken us some time, but we are past it, thinking about the future, wanting to try again, but Cherub will remain a part of us forever.

——

I had started writing a post earlier this week on an entirely different subject, but Friday was the one year anniversary of the day that Cherub was born and I carried a little melancholy with me. Then in my Twitter feed, via a convoluted route, appeared a link that seemed too appropriate to ignore: 

@leahmoore http://www.lifetimetv.co.uk/features/tiny-numbers-on-births-deaths-and-the-babies-that-almost-were

It’s a wonderful article and I urge you to read it. I did and it made me think of my little Cherub and all the other countless babies that didn’t get the chance, that missed out on the love that was waiting to be bestowed upon them. It made me think of the lives that had been altered, plans made, outlooks shifted, to accommodate a bundle of joy that was never to be.

I haven’t written this post for sympathy, more as a message of solidarity to all those people that go through similar experiences, or miscarriages, and suffer in silence. To say to all those couples, heart-broken expectant parents, that you’re not alone. It’s an all-too-common occurrence that we don’t want to share with others as it’s an intensely personal time, and consequently the perception is that the majority of pregnancies are successful. The statistics say that 1 in 3 pregnancies ends in miscarriage or does not make it to full term, but if the couples involved keep it private then the world at large is none the wiser. Some around them may notice an emotional change for a time, but apart from a few close friends and relatives nobody will know the truth of the burden that they carry.

The pain of losing the promise of the child to come is something that we don’t as a society talk about much. I’m not saying that it's the same heartbreak as losing a child you have met and raised, it’s not on the same scale, but we shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that for the prospective parents the entire world has changed already. If nothing else, the knowledge that your life for the next 18+ years will never be the same can be a radical paradigm shift. To the outside world it may only be a surprising bit of news that elicits momentary sympathy, but to the couple it is a huge shock to the system after months of getting used to the idea and planning accordingly.

I am not urging you to tell anyone if you have been through something like this in your life, if that’s not what you want to do. Sharing it with the world will not necessarily make it easier and sometimes a look of sympathy can have the opposite effect than that intended. It’s very easy to feel guilt that you could have done something differently. It can be difficult to pretend to those that don’t know what you’ve been through that everything is fine and normal. The pain does lessen, and the days become easier, but the memories never leave you. It is ok to grieve, but remember that we all grieve in different ways - be patient with each other and be there for each other. For myself and nearly-wife, our bond became stronger facing this pain and for that I am grateful.

I have no doubt that one day I will be blessed with a child (or two) to shower with love and affection, and I will be a doting, besotted father, but it will never take from me the memory of the day that I became a father and lost a child.

I hope that you are never affected by anything such as this, and if you have been I hope that you have/had the strength to try again. I hope that if you have children and have never known this sorrow that this post causes you to hold them that little bit tighter, realising how fragile and precious the process was that brought them to you.

I did ask the permission of my nearly-wife before I started this post. It is a sharing of a very sorrowful, personal time and without her blessing I could not, would not, have written it. Cherub is our child and our pain, not mine alone. As it is, this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever written, while at the same time flowing almost without my input. I hope that I have paid the subject due diligence and respect and I humbly offer my love and thanks for an amazing woman. We will be parents. Amazing, crazy, naïve, scared, keen, tired, loving parents. I can’t wait.

I leave you with the poem I wrote for Cherub’s funeral.

Cherub

I am a father. 

I am YOUR father, and it hurts me to my core

I want to show my anger, my desperation, my sorrow

But the pain is too fresh, this wound is too raw

You were taken from us too early

Before we ever got to meet

The only way I know you were here at all

Is an imprint of your hand and one of your tiny tiny feet

We don't even know what gender you are

My pretty princess, my brave little soldier 

I just wish I could hold you, my child

I wish I could watch you grow older

I'm sorry I can't tuck you in at night

Or chase the monsters away

But I'll be watching over you with all that I am

For the remainder of my days

Your mummy and I are grieving right now

For there's a hole in our lives that is you

It tears me up to see your mummy so sad

And know the pain that she's going through

You were smaller than my hand, little one

But the space now you're gone is so huge

We miss you, with each breath

We miss you, and there is no refuge

If there's a life that comes after this

Perhaps we can walk for a while 

So I can hear the sound of your laughter

And feel the warmth of your smile 

I'd like to wander beside you

So you can tell me your name 

I'll comfort you by holding you tight

And perhaps you'll do the same 

JV 26/06/2013

Procrastination

I was going to talk this week about procrastination but it’s very important that the washing up gets done, right now. I’ll get around to it later.

Oh, still there? Be with you in a minute, my phone just beeped at me.

Ah, sorry, got a bit carried away with Twitter and Pinterest. I’d love to, but if I start now I’ll only get a little done - how about tomorrow? Could start fresh, get right on it.

My bad, forgot I had that…thing…that I needed to do. Really important. My programme is on now, but after I’m all yours.

Right, I’m here. Just make a cup of tea.

Oh, where did those emails come from? Quick look, nothing more, promise. And clean the spam folder, always have to clean the spam folder. And get rid of those Facebook notifications, you know how distracting they can be.

Ok, I’m here. What was I going to talk about?

Humorous picture caption to follow...

Oh yes, procrastination. We’ve all done it. Some more than others, but we’ve all done it. There’s something that we know we should be doing and we keep putting it off, finding other little things to get in the way. The fish tank has never seemed so interesting as when you’ve got a letter to write or a phone call to make to the bank. But the fish tank needs a clean? Ah, I’ve got a letter to write…

We perform little trivial tasks all the time. No big deal, it needs doing so it gets done, sometimes eventually, but it gets done. Make the task something slightly more involved or significant and suddenly the most menial of activities seems attractive. So where does this urge to do anything but the task in hand come from? Why are we so predisposed to looking for an excuse to not quite getting around to it, at least not just yet?

Perhaps it’s because we ascribe some importance to the task. This actually matters and we don’t yet feel ready to commit ourself to working/concentrating that hard. A great sentiment, we tell ourselves, we’re being conscientious and ensuring we’re going to give it our all when we do get around to it. We must mean business if it means that much to us. No half-hearted attempts here, no siree.

Trouble is, that moment of feeling like putting in the effort, of committing, rarely pops up the next time we think of it. Or the time after that. There’s always something else to do and, well, we’ve set a precedent now. It’ll get done eventually.

I guess one big part of the issue is that we all have an idea of what we want to achieve, but right now we feel a little bit lazy, but we are of the opinion that we’ll be much more inclined, less lazy, at some point in the future. What we don’t take into account is that we drag our laziness with us through the intervening time. That point in the future becomes the right now and hey, guess what, we’re not really in the mood, but if we just put it off for a little while...

We all know what is best for us, in most walks of life, and how best to go about it, but when faced with the actual choice, right there and then, we tend to opt for the easy or ‘quick reward’ route. Ask someone to choose between an apple and a chocolate bar to go with lunch tomorrow or the next day they’ll likely go for the apple as they know it’s what’s best for them, but put an apple and a chocolate bar in front of someone right now and tell them to choose and the majority of people will pick up the sugary goodness. The diet starts tomorrow.

The same goes for smoking. I’ve been there and it’s so very easy to say that you’ll just finish the pack you’ve got and give up after that. There’s not a person that smokes that isn’t aware that it’s an awful thing to be doing to their body. Not a one of them is trying to fool themselves that it’s a good thing, but when you’re in the grip of the habit it is an enjoyable thing. It’s simple to say that you’ll give up next week while puffing away today, but when next week comes and there’s the choice of a cigarette or the known hard work and withdrawal symptoms of going without to face, well it’s a different matter. (Incidentally, I did eventually give up and do not regret a single moment of it, but it was a very tough time. If you are going through, already have, or are contemplating quitting smoking then I take my hat off to you (pretend I have a hat) and wish you every success.)

It’s all about the long term versus short term gain. We could do it now, but then we’re being a martyr because we’re giving up the short term reward. The long term is invariably going to be the greater reward with the most satisfaction, but it’s just so far away (imagine this in a really whiny voice with a pathetic facial expression…yep, that’s the one). If we put off our reward until tomorrow we may miss out on rewards entirely if tomorrow never comes - anything could happen between now and then! We could get hit by a bus! Quick, better take the fun/tasty/easy option now, while we still can!

The problem with procrastinating is when the task at hand has a deadline. It must be done by a certain time or a certain date and that moment is drawing inexorably closer. We may have had lofty ambitions of giving it our all, but now we’re in danger of not actually completing it at all, which means that we’ll either a) miss the deadline or b) rush through it. Missing the deadline can leave us looking and feeling silly, or even mean repercussions that could have easily been avoided, and rushing through it means it has had nowhere near the amount of time or thought dedicated to it that we’d originally intended. 

Sound familiar?

A little tip for you: if you have something important to do, start it as early as you can. Give it the time it deserves; make yourself feel that you’ve achieved it, not just scraped it. If you put it off you’ll find it niggling away in the back of your mind while you’re doing all those other unimportant things or watching that television programme. Don’t put it off until tomorrow as tomorrow never comes. Think of the satisfaction in completing the task and ticking it off your mental (or physical) to-do list. All those little things you get distracted by will be so much more enjoyable if you don’t have that worry in the back of your mind, and you may even find that they’re not actually that attractive after all and suddenly you have more free time to do the things you want to do.

I don’t do that. I’ve procrastinated all around this blog post, highly aware of the irony at every step. Heed my words, not my actions. Become a doer. 

That’s what I’m going to do.

Starting tomorrow.

Friends

Doesn't matter how old you get, one little fart and nobody can keep a straight face.

What is a friend?

A simple question on the surface, easy to answer. Facebook says that the average number of friends each of it’s more than 1.2 billion members has is 338. 

Wow. You are popular. If you have more than that you must be high-fiving people as you walk down the street, you’re so cool. If you have less than that I don’t know why you bother getting out of bed in the morning.

Can you detect the sarcasm? Good, you should. You don’t have 338 friends. I’m not saying that you don’t have any friends, but you certainly don’t have 338. Some of those people you haven’t seen for years and quite possibly some of them you have never met at all. Chances are you’ve got some, let’s call them contacts, that are linked to you because they know someone that you met once, they have a cool sounding name or you liked their profile picture when they sent a ‘friend’ request and you didn’t have the heart to tell them you had no idea who they were.

Don’t believe me? I can almost feel some of you shaking your head, insisting “well, I have that many friends, but I’m me and clearly I’m more popular than most.” News for you, no you don’t and no you’re not. 

Want to prove me wrong? Fine, I’ve got a little experiment for you: get someone else to select a name from your friend list that they’ve never heard before. Got it? Right, now find the mobile number for that person in your phone’s contact list. If you haven’t got it you’ve failed already - who doesn’t have their friend’s number? 

But, let’s say you do. Now, wait until 3am and call it, say you really need to borrow some money and could they come out now to pick you up, see what the reaction is. If you either couldn’t ever do that to that person, or if you could but know they would tell you to bugger off (in slightly more florid terms), then they are not your friend, not really.

A true friend would drop everything if you really needed them to, at any hour of the night, to make sure you were alright. They’d question it - any sane person would - but they would be more concerned with you being ok and helping you out before starting to throw expletives your way.

Still think every one of your 338 contacts is a friend? In that case, pack up the oceans, turn off the stars, you win the universe. Move along people, nothing more to see here. Chances are, though, that you’re now looking at your list and wondering how many people would actually do that for you. But you have to consider the flip-side, too: how many of them would you be prepared to do that for? Narrows the list quite considerably, doesn’t it?

The problem is it all comes down to your definition of the word friend; we become too blasé about throwing around certain words and they lose their power. Friend is one of these words*. A friend isn’t someone that you just having a passing nod with occasionally. It isn’t someone who used to bully you at school but now wants to share with you photos of their dinner every damn waking moment.

A friend is someone that you connect with on more than just an ‘interest’ level. You may have similar interests too, but it’s the recognition of a deeper shared ‘something’ that raises the relationship above others and means you’ll go that extra mile for each other. It may be your morality, a mutual experience or a sense of humour that perplexes everyone else, but it will be a constant. From the outside you may appear to be totally different and people may wonder why you are such firm friends, but you’ll both be aware of it, even if you can’t put your finger on exactly what it is.

A friend is someone that you don’t have to see every day to maintain a bond. You can get together at irregular intervals, sometimes years, and carry on as if the intervening time just hadn’t happened. There’s no awkwardness, just a comfortable familiarity. Sure, there’ll be lots to catch up on, but a true bond will make all that stuff purely incidental.

A friend is someone that knows without being told when is the best time to talk and when you really just need them to listen. They will know you well enough and respect you enough to be able to tell you, not what you want to hear, but what you need to hear.

A friend is someone that you can not speak to for months and then call them at 3 o’clock in the morning asking for help, knowing they will as best they can.

They will support you, stick up for you, fight for you and encourage you, and when you’re getting too big for your boots they will embarrass you and leave you with no illusions of exactly how important you really are.

They will do all of this and ask for nothing in return but your friendship. There is no score-keeping, no tit-for-tat, just the knowledge that somebody has got your back should you need it.

Don’t get me wrong, you won’t always see eye to eye. You’ll have disagreements, differences of opinion, possibly even arguments, but if you’re friends you won’t hold grudges. You’ll agree to disagree, smile, talk about each other behind your backs for a short while (don’t pretend you don’t) and move on.

You have many people in your life. You have relatives, mates, colleagues, acquaintances, lovers, partners. Some you will have known for years, others for a very short time. In the future you will meet more people. How many of them are or will be friends? How many will fade away as the years pass? Discounting the close relatives, how many of them would step up when you really needed them to?

So, how many friends do you really have? Think about it. You shouldn’t need to tell them or ask them. If they’re you’re friend you’ll already know.

Oh, and before you go, what was your number again? Keep your phone on tonight…

* Love is another. Seriously, if you think of having a McDonalds and agree with their tagline that you’re ‘loving it’, please stop reading now and seek professional help. Go on, we don’t need you here.

The Snorer

A short story for you this week, inspired by a recent camping trip. Ever noticed that there's always at least one person that can snore professionally at any campsite? Well, maybe there's a reason for that...

The Snorer

“I don’t believe it.”

“Wh-…huh?” Lisa blinked, pushing her hair back from over her face with the palm of her hand while pulling the sleeping bag up around her chin with the other. She cracked one eye open and looked at her boyfriend, Harry, a washed out shape visible by the glow of his iPad screen, his shadow dancing large on the inner surface of the tent. “What did you say?” she murmured, snuggling her head further down into the warmth of the pillow.

“Sorry, hon, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He angled the screen away from her face. “Just moaning out loud.”

“S’ok. Wha’ ‘bout?” Lisa let her eye drift closed again.

“Seriously? You can’t hear that? I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up!” He rolled closer on the airbed and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I swear you could sleep through a bomb going off.”

She smiled, eyes still closed. “Not my fault. Someone put me to sleep so nicely…”

Harry laughed and kissed her forehead again. “Well, you look so cute in your pj’s. What’s a man to do?”

She tilted her head, searching for a kiss, when a loud wheezing noise filled the air.

“What the hell was that?” Lisa looked up at Harry, watching his brow furrow and his lips press into a thin line. The iPad screen timed out and the tent went dark.

Harry breathed out heavily through his nose, a sure sign of his irritation, and rolled onto his back. She saw his jaw clenching when the light of his torch flicked on, chasing the darkness away.

“It’s been going on for about half an hour now. Just wait, the best bit’s coming.” Almost before he finished speaking a loud, low rumble rolled through the tent.

“Jesus, is that someone snoring?” she said, blinking fully awake.

“Yep. Either that or a bear.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

He turned his head and she knew she’d said the wrong thing even before his mouth opened.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Oh, sorry, I just thought you might have some idea who it might be, that’s all.” She cringed back slightly. She hated it when she said something that made him look at her like she was stupid.

He closed his eyes briefly and then looked straight into hers, the way he did whenever he was trying to be patient with her and failing miserably to hide it. “No, my darling, I have no idea who’s making the noise.”

Harry sat up suddenly, his tousled hair brushing the fabric of the tent as the wheezing sound rang out again. He reached over and grabbed his fleece jumper from the pile by the zipped door and dragged it over his head.

“Where are you going?”

“To figure out where it’s coming from and stuff a sock in the guy’s mouth, or something.” He worked his way out of the sleeping bag and started to pull on his jeans. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll never get to sleep with that racket going on all night. Maybe I can get him to-“ He broke off as the rumble threatened to drown out his words. “Christ.” He looked at her. “Get him to turn on his side, or wear a bag over his head. Not exactly fair to inflict that on everybody else, is it?”

“Be nice, baby, he may not even be aware how loud he is,” she said, and put a hand on his knee as he leaned over to unzip the door.

He put his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to be nasty,” he said, shuffling on his bottom towards the opening. “Just let him know that he’s causing a public nuisance and he deserves to be flogged.” He grinned at her, a mischievous gleam in his eye. He was so changeable, but it kept things interesting.

“Harry…” she began.

“Trust me, hon, I’ll be diplomatic. Ish.” He sat on the groundsheet in the tiny porch area and forced on his walking boots, not bothering to tie the laces. “Be back in a mo.”

Harry grabbed the torch off the end of the bed and the inner tent went dark as he zipped the door to the inner tent closed. She watched as the shadows jumped, heard the outer zip open and the sounds of Harry scrambling out into the night, accompanied by the loud wheeze.

“Harry?” Lisa called in a low voice.

“Yes?” His voice was slightly muffled by the layers of tent, so how loud must the snoring be?

“Be careful.”

The outer zip combined perfectly with the rumble as he pulled it closed.

“Of course. When am I not?”

Wheeze. Rumble.

Wheeze. Rumble.

Wheeze. Rumble.

Lisa was trying to gauge how far apart the wheezing and snoring were until she realised that was for thunder and lightning and probably wouldn’t tell her anything about the distance to the source. Must be tired, she thought, wonder how long he’s been gone?

Since Harry had gone off she’d closed her eyes a couple of times in the darkness. Only now did it occur to her that she may have dozed off completely and she had no idea if he’d been gone for a few moments or a long time.

  She forced her head up off the pillow and listened intently for a moment.

Wheeze. Rumble.

  The periods between the snores were silent, not even the sound of a breeze rustling the nearby trees or a nocturnal animal scrabbling in the undergrowth. Her eyes had adjusted as best they could to the darkness and she scanned for a light patch anywhere that might indicate a torch outside.

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  She tentatively reached one arm out of the sleeping bag and felt on the floor beside the bed for her head-torch. She really didn’t want to get up and go outside but the oppressive silence between the snores was beginning to freak her out a bit and she just wanted to be near Harry, even out in the cold night.

  Lisa pressed the switch on the top of the torch and a bright beam of light shone out. She blinked, lying still as her eyes adjusted. She could faintly see her breath misting in the air and her exposed arm prickled as her skin raised in goose bumps.

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  The torch went out.

  “Aw, come on.” She shook it, her eyes now blinded by the dark. She fumbled at the switch on the top, pressing it again and again, but nothing happened.

  She could feel her heart beating harder in her chest and she tried to control her breathing, but her fingers betrayed her rising panic, dropping the torch somewhere among the folds of the sleeping bag.

  She patted at the top of the bag, searching, slowly at first, but with increased urgency as she failed to locate it.

  “Come on. Comeon comeon, please. Where…? Please please-“

  Wheeze. Crack.

She froze, her eyes wide and her heart jumping about. She felt faintly sick. What was that? It had sounded like it was right outside the tent, mere inches from her head. Why was there no rumble? For God’s sake, where was

  “Harry?” The name was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her eyes hunted for any sign of his torch. Her outstretched hand clenched into a fist.

  The outer zip buzzed open, once again accompanied by the low rumble.

Her head-torch flicked back on.

  Lisa screamed.

Harry snorted again, wiping at the tears in his eyes. He was lying beside her on top of the airbed, his laughter just starting to subside. Her head-torch was off to one side, shining up one of the walls.

  Lisa swiped at him and hit him on the arm. “It’s not funny! You scared the shit out of me!” She hit him again and he threw up his arms in a half-hearted defence, a huge grin on his face. “You did it on purpose. Bloody sneaking around.”

Wheeze. Rumble.

  “What? No, not on purpose,” he said, giggling. “It’d never be as funny.”

  “Stop it! You really scared me.” She pulled her arms back inside the sleeping bag and dragged it up around her neck, her forehead creasing, her eyes glistening.

  “Oh, hey. Oh, honey.” He rolled nearer and put his arm around her, pulling her close.    “Honestly, I didn’t mean to make you jump. Or scream.” He kissed her forehead and then put his head against hers so that he could look into her eyes. “Really.”

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  “Well you did,” she said, her lower lip sticking out slightly.

  “Oh, look at that pout.” He kissed her on the mouth. “I’m sorry, hon, I really didn’t intend to scare you. My torch packed up for some reason so I had to stumble my way back to the tent in the dark. It’s almost black out there.”

  “But how come I didn’t hear you coming? I was listening for you. It was eerie how quiet it was. Well, apart from that damn snoring.”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure you were awake? I wasn’t trying to be quiet and I called your name a few times. I just thought you must have fallen asleep again.”

  “You can’t have. I was definitely awake and I couldn’t hear a thing.”

  “Then I don’t know what to tell you, honey, because I definitely did.”

Wheeze. Rumble.

  “So, that racket still seems to be going on. Couldn’t you find where it was coming from?”

  Harry frowned, gave her another kiss on the mouth and turned onto his back, staring up at the roof of the tent.

  “No, not quite. Bit stranger than that, actually.”

  “Stranger?” Lisa asked.

  “Yep. When I came out of the tent the snoring seemed to be coming from over in that direction.” He gestured off to one side. “You know, where that old tent looked like it had been around for ages, off in the corner”

  “Oh, I thought that was abandoned. Not seen anyone around it since we arrived today, have you? I mean, who’d want to sleep in a heap like that?”

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  “I know, bit of a crap-hole, but it really sounded like that was where the noise was coming from, so I wandered over that way and that’s when my torch went out.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Don’t know. Batteries were new so it must be the bulb. Pretty sure I’ve not dropped it.” he looked at her. “Anyway, I thought I’d just go over and make some noise or something, you know, wake him up, or see if I could get his attention and ask if he could try to keep it down. Then this crazy old bloke is suddenly right in front of me.”

  “What old bloke?”

  “No idea. Don’t even know where he came from. Pretty sure he didn’t have a torch or anything, so I don’t know how he saw me.”

  “What, someone from the site? Like, staying here, or staff?” She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him.

  “Again, no idea. One minute he was just there, right in my way. I thought he might be a bit slow or something, so I just went to walk round him and he got in my way again and asked me where I was going.”

  “Oh, what did he look like?”

  “Too dark. I could just about make him out. Looked like he was dressed as a farmer, but honestly I couldn’t tell you. Some sort of tweed. Wellies. Didn’t smell too good, either. Thought he was going to touch me at one point and had to step back. Very ripe.”

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  “Why’s he crazy?” Lisa said.

  “The old freak wouldn’t let me near that tent. I told him I just wanted to talk to someone about the noise, the snoring, so I could get a bit of sleep, and he said I needed to leave it alone. I mean, we could hear it clear as anything from there, and it’s even louder out there than it is in here, but he kept stepping in my way, going on about it being protection or something.”

  “Protection?”

  “That’s what he said. Wittered on about there always having to be a prime snorer-“

  She laughed. “Prime snorer?”

  “That’s what he said, exactly that. There has to be a prime snorer at this time of year to stop them coming. To protect the campsite.”

  “Stop who? What the hell is he going on about? What’s a prime snorer?”

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  “I don’t know. Man is off his head. Even said that they have people on standby to come if no snorers are booked.” He laughed and rolled onto his side to face her. “Said we shouldn’t be able to hear it, our tent must be wrong! I got the impression he’s been sitting out there all night, guarding that tent.”

  “You’re pulling my leg.” She smiled uncertainly, searching his face for sign that he was teasing.

  “Nope. There is a crazy old coot out there that seriously believes that he’s got to keep that bloke snoring or this whole campsite is in danger from, I don’t know, evil pixies.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “Oooh, spooky spooky.”

  Harry shook his head. “Man’s been watching too many trashy late night movies.”

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  He shot his head forward and gave her a peck on the nose. “Right, that should be enough time,” he said, and sat up.

  “What?”

  “I’m going back out there. That man wouldn’t go away while I was there, but I’m pretty sure I can get past him now I know he’s hanging around, creepy old sod.”

  Lisa reached out and grabbed his arm. “Do you think you should? Sounds like he’s a bit of a nutter - he might get upset if he sees you.”

  “By then it’ll be too late. I am not going to lie here all night unable to sleep while that noisy bastard makes the trees vibrate with his snoring. If the old bloke has a problem with it he can bugger off, far as I’m concerned.” He slid towards the door again.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she said, fervently hoping for a no.

“No, honey. You stay here and keep the bed warm, I won’t be long.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and nodded. “Well, at least take my head-torch to see where you’re going.”

  “Not this time.” He unzipped the door. “Probably how he knew I was around last time, so I’ll go without. I know where I’m going now.”

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  She watched as he shook his head, smiled at her and pulled the zip closed. A sudden chill made her shiver and a sense of foreboding stole over her.

  “Harry?” 

  The outer zip opened.

  “Yes, hon?”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you too. Back in a mo.”

The zip closed.

  Lisa lay in the half-light of the head-torch, straining to hear Harry’s footsteps.

  Wheeze. Rumble.

  She put out her hand and felt the warm patch where he’d just been. Silence crowded in on her from every side and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hear his voice in her mind. It was no good, the lack of sound was too heavy and oppressive. She opened her eyes.

  It was black around her. The torch had gone out.

  She twisted, trying to find the light.

  From outside she thought she faintly heard a cry. It could have been the voice of an old man.

Wheeze. Rumble.

She shook at the head-torch again, trying to get it to work. Her bottom lip trembled and she felt the urge to cry welling up inside her.

  “No, no, no, nononono.” The last words ran together and a sob escaped. “Harry, please…”

  Wheeze.

  Lisa became still, waiting for the other part of the snore, waiting for the rumble. A tear came free and spilled down her cheek.

  Nothing.

  She took a quick, ragged breath and became aware of a smell in the air. A rank, damp smell that conjured up visions of mould and decay.

  A scream pierced the night. Not far away. Too close.

  She whimpered and clutched the torch to her.

  A skittering noise came, sounding as if it was just outside the tent. Another sounded, this time behind her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  There was a soft chittering, a noise unlike anything she had ever heard before, and it came from the other side of the inner tent door.

  Every part of her was now trembling, some primal part of her responding to the sound.

  There was a stirring in the air, something that caused her hair to move as if in a breeze, and the chittering came again. From in front of her.

  A small moan forced it’s way out and at that moment the head-torch flicked back on again.

Lisa screamed.