Spring is a time for newness.
Just like Mole whitewashed his burrow in The Wind In The Willows, I have freshened up my blog with the arrival of the new season. The site’s got a new layout, I’ve got a new logo, new photos have been shot and from Monday there’ll be a new series of Made In Chelsea blogs starting up again.
It’s odd that I mention The Wind In The Willows, being that it’s a children’s book that I remember fondly from my childhood. I used to think of it often whenever my Grandma would take my sister and I down to the riverbank near her home. I have always thought I could write a children’s story, but always concentrated on darker more grown-up writing. However, despite only being a quarter of the way through 2015, I’ve actually written one this year. It’s not about wind and it’s not about willows – far from it, in fact. I hope to be able to report more on this as the year goes on – it’s currently being looked at by agents, publishers and self-publishing companies (one of whom I have actually had an offer from). But for now, it’s back to blogging.
I hope that those of you who have followed my Made In Chelsea blog over the past 4 seasons will be back on Monday. Find them on the new MIC page, dedicated purely to my most popular blog series. Until then, I’ll leave you with this extract from Kenneth Grahame, which I find a particularly interesting take on the season. Spring might very well be about fresh prospects, but as Grahame so accurately points out, these prospects come with longing and uncertainty. Being a writer is often like “scrooging” up towards the prospect of the green grass above. But we must always continue to aspire, using “Up we go!” as our mantra…
“The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring- cleaning his little home…with a brush and a pail of whitewash. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said ‘Bother!’ and ‘O blow!’ and also ‘Hang spring-cleaning!’ and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously…so he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, ‘Up we go! Up we go!’ till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow…”
The Wind In The Willows | Kenneth Grahame