travel – of words & books

London, 2022. Before the Queen departed this mortal coil, the pound jumped off a cliff, and they installed a revolving door in Number 10. Blissfully unaware of All That Would Be, I, my sister-in-law and my niece and nephew, caught an early coach to the Capital. Our mission? The Natural History Museum and Big Ben. Sorry! Elizabeth’s Tower.

We were fortunate in that arrived at the side of Buckingham Palace and saw the changing of the guards. Our sight was partially obscured by a postman’s van. Presumably he’d taken a wrong turn. I like to think of him fondly, slumped low in the driver’s seat:

‘Maggie! I’ve gone to the palace. Yes! You heard me right the Palace! I KNEW I should have used the bloomin’ SatNav’

The guards changed and marched around a bit and stood for much longer and out of all the things I’ve ever seen, it was one of them. You can’t say much more than that.

I asked a policeman if he wouldn’t mind assuring my nephew that this was Buckingham Palace. The good news? Yes! It was. Also (he pointed) ‘those are the kitchens.’ So. Now we all knew.

Onwards we trooped, towards the Natural History Museum. We had a map, we had a plan, we were prepared.

And it. was. glorious.

this has a WHALE of a story to tell. i make no apologies

We had a map. We marked off each area we visited and though we spent an eternity there and still didn’t visit every single place.

This is a Giant Sloth and let me tell you that Sid the Sloth wishes he had this height. What a legend. What ribs. What glory.

The dinosaur area (LOOK I’M NOT A PROFESSIONAL MUSEUM PERSON. I DON’T KNOW THEIR NAMES. Oh wait. Exhibit? Exhibit.) was heaving with people and yet, it was magnificent and I got to see some dino skin and lemme tell you, their skincare routine? Not it. Not it at all.

Charlie, mah boi, with his bodacious beard

I quite liked all the mineraly-rock room. My niece thoughtfully pointed out one of the precious gems on display as a gift for her mother and what can I say? The girl has taste.

Unfortunately the gem was a) in a vault and b) not for sale. Pfft. Minor obstacles. Easily overcome!

In the low, low priced gift … place … I bought dinosaur jelly sweets for the folks at work. They were delicious and inspired a poll. (The sweets. Not my colleagues.) It’s always ‘Why are you here?’ and ‘What do you do for a living?’ and never ‘What’s your favourite dinosaur?’ A simply disgusting oversight. So that’s why we, in my little office, asked the question of nearly the entire company.

And they answered.

I won’t tell you who won out, but I will say that I’m disappointed that more people didn’t vote for the Pachycephalosaurus who are clearly the spirit dinosaur of a British-man-with-a-bulldog-tattoo emerging from a pub after a football match.

(Trust me on this one.)

It was a long day, but a day that was very much worth it. We got to meet up with more members of my family, which was delightful, and so in short – it was a wonderful day and I would 100% recommend going. (With your own family. Sorry. You can’t have mine.)

If no one has asked you lately, please allow me:

What’s your favourite dinosaur?

ness talks about life

things i did not do in 2022

January 25, 2023January 25, 2023 nesskingsley

If I had a nickel for every event I organised in 2022 and missed … I’d have three nickels. That’s not a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened three times …

I MISSED A FLIGHT TO CARCASSONNE

Yeah, I could have gone to the France. (Bonjour! Voulez vous une baguette?) I had a cheap flight, and an airbnb booked – it was beautiful, a lovely little apartment up several flights of winding steps, overlooking the old town, with a cathedral at the very bottom of it all. A boulangerie right around the corner. I could have sat on a balcony, eaten pastries, and woven a story!

I did … none of those things.

The week before I was due to catch the short flight over to France two things (2) happened:

a) I began to feel a tiny, incy bit poorly

b) the feeling of dread began to climb

There was this very vivid mental image in my mind, you see – I hop on a plane and go to a country, find a ride from the airport to the apartment, walk deserted streets, forget to buy food because it’s too late, lie on the bed and perish of starvation. In the morning I wake, a Victorian waif, and sip water from a tap. Misery is my companion. Despair, my friend.

The vibes, I announced to any unfortunate person in my general vicinity, were off.

I released that I was an adult and thusly, I have autonomy. If I do not want to hop on a flight and butcher a beautiful language and be battered to death with a baguette – I did not have to.

This felt like a sudden and beautiful moment of self-realisation.

The plane took off. My seat, empty. The airbnb, cancelled.

(And it was a good thing too – I developed a filthy cold and had a redder nose than Rudolf himself. Forgive me, Rudolf! I’ll be guiding that sleigh tonight!)

I DID NOT SEE SPOCK

I say this with love, but I probably shouldn’t be permitted to buy tickets. To anything. You know, just no tickets in general. Step away. Don’t purchase.

And, in the dreadful occasion that I do purchase the tickets, I should also ensure that I have a method, a means, or a way – of getting a refund.

(I have not learned my lesson.)

A friend and I were going to go down to London to see Spock (Zachary Quinto) and Friar Tuck (David Harewood) in a play which probably was Very Serious and Important. I definitely was going for the cultural element, and not because I was determined to support Zachary Quinto in person.

We had a dream. We had a plan. We even had a parking space. And then strikes hit the railways and a dastardly cold struck my friend.

Reader, I tried to give those tickets to someone else. I did my very best. There were no takers. We couldn’t move the tickets without incurring extra cost, and we couldn’t get a refund, and if I made the trip on my own I would be driving at one am in the morning. No one wanted that. Especially me, Ness, who is very attached to the idea of being in bed and not on a motorway in the wee hours of the morning.

Alas, when the curtains opened there would have been two empty seats in Grand Circle Row F. But listen, dear actors and stage hands and theatre folk – we were there in spirit.

I messaged my friend: this play is moving me to tears.

He agreed, but mentioned that he couldn’t see the stage as someone’s head was in the way.

We were, in all probability, in our PJs, in our respective homes.

I DID NOT GO TO COMIC CON

… as you can tell, there is a theme here.

Having been to London Comic Con, dressed as Jason Todd and sporting the fakest and most wonderful of crowbars, it was obviously imperative to do it again. But this time? A friend and I were going to be dressed as hobbits.

How exciting! How thrilling!! We were going to look spectacular! The hobbitiest hobbits to ever hobbit! I began mental preparations to make the hobbit feet (and by ‘make’ I mean ‘buy’).

These plans did not last long.

‘What if,’ I asked my friend, ‘we went as ironic hobbits. With a white t-shirt that said “Hobbit” on it?’

She agreed.

I felt quite smug, as if I was a future hipster Hobbit. I could run around and demand if total strangers had eaten their second breakfast! What panache! What style!

but just imagine us, accosting everyone ‘HAVE THEY TAKEN THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD?’ and then being thrown out of comic con because our great wit proved to be too powerful

Those t-shirts, dear reader, were never made.

But no worries! We were still 100% going to comic con!! It would be grand! Great! Brilliant! It … did not quite happen.

There was a communications failure and the carrier pigeon I sent my friend was shot on its way to her. To exacerbate the matter, I had neglected to organise a) transport and b) apparel – assuming, of course, that magically and wonderfully these things would just … happen.

They did not. We live in a society.

The night before, a decision had to be made. When the morning of comic con dawned, I had a delightful lie-in.

(Sometimes, the best plans can be the cancelled ones.)

Believe it or not, the interrupted plans don’t worry me too much. Sometimes, the dream of going somewhere – that delicious, comforting feeling of something to look forward to – is worth the money itself.

(Is that what I say to comfort myself? Yes. Yes, it is.)

In Calvin & Hobbes, Calvin’s dad would probably say cancelled plans were character building or something, and you know what? I’d agree with him. I really did enjoy that lie-in.

What things didn’t you do in 2022?

ness talks about life

2022 – it happened

December 30, 2022 nesskingsley

2022 was a year that happened. That’s an entirely accurate statement. No word of a lie. Things were done and doings were … thinged (?) Moving swiftly on …

WRITING

I have written two novellas, finished one fanfiction project (I have zero regrets), and started countless projects. I wish that I could have done more, but it hasn’t been my focus this year … and that’s okay.

Project If is changing form again. I think I’ve cracked the problem – the reason why I haven’t been able to look it in the eye for months, if not years. The genre is the problem. Humour is where I feel most comfortable, and I think if I concentrate on inserting that aspect into the book, I might actually end up with something I can be happy with. (And giggle about. Because I dearly love to giggle at my work. IT’S FUNNY DANG IT ALL. I WILL POINT YOU TO THE BOOK ABOUT TOXIC UNICORN MANURE. MY SENSE OF HUMOUR IS REFINED hahahahaha.)

ADVENTURES

I’ve been very blessed to have had lots of adventures this year. I’ve written about one or two of them on here.

bruges was beautiful, like a postcard come to life

To get to spend time with the people I love? To watch my nieces and nephews grow up? To just hang with friends and family? To be a part of their adventures – big or small? To cheer on my best friend as she went on a big-awesome-amazing adventure of her own? To watch Rings of Power with my brothers and sister-in-law and terrorise them all with my firm devotion to Adar AKA Father of the Year? My bank account may never be heaving but I’m rich and I defy anyone who says otherwise.

READING

Storygraph tells me I’ve read 46 books this year. To read the list of books is to time travel, in a way. There’s a few comic books on there – may I recommend Batman Adventures and also Batman: Curse of the White Knight?

a dear friend sent me this book and it made me cry so please read it too

There’s a spattering of non-fiction, Backstabbing For Beginners by Michael Soussan was incredibly immersive … and eye opening … and depressing. Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman gave me a dose of reality and a wish to make the most of the time I’ve been given.

It would be hard to choose my very favourite book this year, but I have to say, listening to the Powder Mage trilogy by Brian McClellan was wild and I would 100% recommend. I also discovered Mo Dao Zu Shi, a story that is living proof that you can cram maximum tropes into one narrative with maximum impact and it is 10/10 inspirational to writers everywhere.

Oh! Hot tip: if you ever read The Communist Manifesto, I’d suggest reading Animal Farm first. Also pronouncing bourgeoisie is one of my favourite things to do.

MOVIES

RRR – I watched it. I stayed up until 1:30 am to finish it and what a wild ride. Reader, I was consumed. It was a musical, an essay on the horrors of British Colonialism, a bromance, an Intro To The Care And Keeping of Tigers 101, Action Scenes That Tom Cruise WISHES He Was Part Of, and just … perfection. I’m going to be watching it again with a friend and I cannot wait.

I went to see The Batman three (3) times and I have zero (0) regrets. The OST moved me to tears (‘It’s the cellos, Mum!’) and everything – everything – was a feast for a dedicated Batman: The Animated Series fan. Please watch it and you’ll agree with me that this Batman? He’d deffo adopt an orphan and think it 100% normal behaviour to let him run amok on the streets as Robin.

You can’t really mention Batman without also mentioning the horrible loss of Kevin Conroy this year; he will always be the definitive voice of Batman, and was a thoroughly wonderful human being. Batman will always bear the mark of his legacy.

MUSIC

clearly ambiguous is a prestigious two-person music group band thing of which I am a half. Heh. Read that sentence again. I don’t like to brag, but we had twenty-two monthly listeners the other day. Which, you know, is one more than twenty-one. We’re kinda famous like that.

I don’t have any excuse for this, really. Except that it was lots and lots of fun to do and now I’m blessed with knowing that I have a cackle that could be called creepy. This self-knowledge is very enlightening. Someone give me flight clearance, cause I am ascending.

LIFE

They say that time flies but listen, it doesn’t. There was so much muchness in 2022 my head boggles with it. I look back on it all and I require smelling salts ASAP please and thank you! I’ve learned a lot – in the conventional sense – I’ve always kept educating myself because oh heck yeah, it’s fun. (The mitochondria is the something of something.) But in the rest? About life? I feel like I know less. Logic? WHERE YOU AT?

2022 wasn’t always an easy year, but how can I look back on it with anything but fondness, because I was lucky enough to spend it with those I care about?

And to you, yes you, reading this post – thank you! I hope you have a wonderful new year. Have courage, and be kind – to yourself and to others. I’ll try and do the same.

Happy New Year!

lemme tell you a story

ochhhh Scotland, me lassie!

October 14, 2022October 14, 2022 nesskingsley

The first time I went to Scotland, the friend I was with went into anaphylactic shock just over the border and had to be taken to hospital. This time? No hospitals were involved and so I’d like to call it: an absolute win.

My brother and I decided we’d go to the Highlands for the weekend. I’d never been. Let me tell you … WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME EARLIER JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL THE HIGHLANDS ARE???! I’ve been cheated. Damn it, Time-Traveling Scottish Highlander Romance Novels! you didn’t tell me.

‘I’ll take the high road and you’ll take the low road …’

Loch Lomand was beautiful and so big, so very, very big. I spent most of the time we were driving past it with my nose glued to the car window. We stopped in a small village by its banks and had some lovely soup served in tartan-patterned bowls.

We took a walk and a cat peered back at me from one window, a poster of Nicola Sturgeon from another. There was a strong feeling of wanting Scottish Independence up here – signs on lampposts etc. I felt almost sorry to subject everyone to my – unfortunately – incredibly English accent. (A common by-product of being English.)

Past Fort William and ever onwards, and the further we went, the more beautiful our surroundings were. There was this moment when heavy rain gave way to the most stunning hills that rolled downwards towards the car. It felt like a secret world, locked away and so very magical.

The AirBnB we booked was on its own little loch and again – stunning.

We went for a walk around its banks, got caught in the rain, but I entertained my brother by pretending to be the presenter on a documentary ‘AND IT WAS HERE, ON THIS VERY ROAD THAT WILLIAM WILLIAM HAMMERSMITH TROD’. I use the term ‘entertained’ very loosely. ‘Tortured’ would perhaps be more apt.

If you, dear reader, ever plan a trip up to Scotland, I’d advise doing such a thing as: checking the weather first, and also planning the trip. I’m not going to say that we didn’t do it, but I will say that it turned out marvellously in spite of our incredible organisational skills and the tropical storm battering everywhere at the time.

We went to Skye and saw our aunt and the little corner of paradise that is her back garden. Over a deliciously filling meal (far better than the sandwiches I’d cobbled together that morning) I realised just how nice it is to see familiar faces, especially when so far from home.

We stopped off in Eilean Donan Castle where there were a lot of tourists (obviously I’d never call myself a tourist. Purchasing something from the gift shop DOESN’T COUNT.) and also torrential rain. It was entirely worth it, especially after we’d taken photos in front of the castle with gritted teeth, braved the queue for a coffee, and retreated with moderate haste, to the much drier confines of the car.

Eilean Donan Castle, as seen from the car. Where it was NOT raining.

With only one full day to spend in the Highlands, we’d done our best to spend it well. The next day, it was time to share the eight+ hours of driving it would take to get back home.

I insisted we stop at Gretna Green for two very important reasons:

just in case I felt like eloping
to make every regency novel heroine proud

It was then that disaster struck. I did not, dear reader, like Gretna Green. It did not have the romance. It did not even have a romance novel corner. This was a crushing moment of disillusionment. The only person to elope with was a shop mannequin and I did not feel Equal To The Task.

We returned home, tired, but immensely satisfied. I’m going to steal the Highlands and shove them in my next book. It won’t be a time-travelling romance, because I still feel betrayed by them. It will, however, include such descriptors as:

‘The rain moves in ghostly veils across the loch, pushed by wind.’

and

‘Binky looks cold, wet, and utterly miserable.’

I can’t wait.

ness talks about life

sanctuary

October 20, 2019October 20, 2019 nesskingsley

Moldova, March 2019

My bed is pushed up so that the headboard is against the window. I leave the blinds open. At night, if I crane my head, I see the stars. Perhaps the moon too.

But the mornings are delicious. I wake up bathed in sunshine, in a pool of warm light. Perhaps the sky is very blue, perhaps a cloud or two drifts across its face.

Eight o’clock is the sweet hour. Eight to nine and afterwards the sun slowly drifts up and away. My room is pink. It steals the light and keeps it safe and stored within its walls.

The rest of the apartment may be gloomy, slightly cast in shadow … but my room? With its curved walls dotted with post it notes and chapter sheets marching along the ground? With the books heaped on the sturdy little drawers and bags piled up in a corner? With white bedsheets which have caught spring blossoms and a faux brown fur that surely was once a fierce bear?

It’s light. It’s comfort. It’s a secret place where stress retreats just a little. It’s where daydreams are made and fears are kept at bay. It’s where I lie with headphones and listen to songs of hope, full of melody and wishes. It’s where a book and a tune and a cup of tea are the closest things to heaven I have and where prayers are told and heart-secrets whispered.

In here, I am at peace.

In this pocket of happiness, I find sanctuary.

There are other places – a stretch of road where the sun always shines and the bark on the trees is slowly peeling, leaving pure white beneath and a belief that surely, surely they are from another, more mystical world. A kitchen table when it is just I and a window and perhaps a cup of tea – not English Breakfast, but I’ve learned that there are other delights which can fill a cup. A carpet, on which I dance – not elegantly, never that, but with a feeling that youth is fleeting and I must grab it and rejoice in existence, in the life that flows through my veins. In a mirror in which I peer at my face and pretend that she and I have hidden jokes that we must always laugh at.

There is sanctuary everywhere. Hidden. Between the here and now and the hereafter.

(In the heart. That too. In the relief that truth brings. In the peace that follows. In the words written in the only book that is living. In the prayer whispered. In the burden shared. )

Sanctuary. Peace. Contentment. Joy.

Life will try to drench us with worries, numb our bones with cares, and steal our breath with anxiety … but there is always sanctuary. If only we look.