Jennifer Pittam

Photo by Jennifer Pittam Masks on Public Transport, June 2020 So early in February I spent a weekend with my father, who had recently been in hospital with a strange virus that we came to know as 'The Bug From Hell.' Like a kind of influenza, it seemed to have no runny nose or other cold symptoms, but jumped straight from high temperature, via loss of taste and sense of smell, to a barking cough and the most severe chest infection within 10 days. After a short, concerning period in hospital, he threw off the bronchitis. Feeling well but with an ominous scratchy cough, I left him and flew to Belfast for a long court case. Photo by Jennifer Pittam My Last 'Normal' Picture before Lockdown Photo by Jennifer Pittam The River Lagan, Belfast - View from my Bedroom Window How strange it seems, 12 weeks later in #Lockdown, to be working as a Clerk of the Court from my front room in London, hearing bail applications on Zoom instead of travelling all over the British Isles...

So my Creativity Course got off to a roaring start and the first thing we have to do is learn to write 'Morning Pages'.  Writing Morning Pages is a technique in which you empty the subconscious, sort of vomit it onto the page, at least once a day. Preferably you do it first thing in the morning, without thinking, judging or editing your work.  It's not a new idea - one wonders whether artists and writers have been at something similar since the first troubador hiked his wares at the castle gate. Since the first troubadour... There are various famous works one could learn from - the journals of Virginia Woolf, to name but one, and Dorothea Brande's brilliant classic 'Becoming A Writer'. Out of print now and hellishly expensive, it's still worth looking out for. DB gives those wonderful pep talks so redolent of old black and white movies. "If you fail repeatedly at this exercise, give up writing. Your resistance is actually greater than your de...

This week I've been in Birmingham for a huge court case.  For those unfamiliar with Britain, Birmingham is a city in what we call the Midlands - quite literally, the middle part, geographically, of the British Isles. Photo by Jennifer Pittam The view from my hotel was tranquil and uplifting, unlike the court case which was gruelling and difficult to listen to. Safeguarding my own mental health, I took my writer's notebook to the Birmingham Museum of Art. Here I learned far too much about the punishing air-raids of World War II, when the city was reduced to rubble by enemy bombing. Photo by Shutterstock.com Birmingham Blitz, WWII  It was very moving to see the black and white photos of the civilian population, who continued to work and maintain the country when their homes and businesses had gone. Many were mothers, left at home whilst husbands and sons served in the armed forces. As always in war, the civilian population in  the enemy country suffered i...

Kennington's Gorgeous Bats It's been a glorious week in London, just as late spring 'should' be. By contrast, there are ghastly things looming large in the world, and a fair percentage rock up in my courtroom. The  lunch break is my sanity check, and I  head to Kennington Park bearing salad box and writer's notebook. Stress  falls away - thank the Lord for riotous flower beds, sculpted lawns and centuries-old London Plane trees. The Sculpted Lawns and Ancient Trees Photo by Jennifer Pittam Kennington Park  was common land for hundreds of years. It's first recorded officially in the 1600s. There were village settlements, semi-wild forest and the River Effra, a proud Celtic tributary of the River Thames. The first Queen Elizabeth sailed her barge down the River Effra to Sir Walter Raleigh's Brixton home, but now, like both of them, the River Effra's six feet under the ground. The Lost River Effra I wonder whether Sarah Elston walked on ...

It's a week when British temperatures rise from near-freezing to idyllic. Just miles across the English Channel, the Notre Dame Cathedral burns, and I travel to the north west of England for a court case. Bolton le Moors Photo by Jennifer Pittam I've never been to Bolton le Moors before and, as always, I look forward to my trip. For a writer, it's great to have somewhere new to see. Writing tutors tell you time and time again, 'write about what you know'; took me years to realise that also means 'write about what you come to know'. Bolton turns out to be a town of immense age, with a proud history in the cotton trade. James Arkwright invented the Spinning Jenny here,  so my Stanford's Guide tells me, and the building is now a funky record shop. The Grammar school was founded in 1516. James Arkwright invented the Spinning Jenny here... Photo by Jennifer Pittam I didn't find the school but I loved being so near the parish church, St ...

This week I saw the first flight of swallows come screaming into Kennington Park as I took a much-needed breath of fresh air.  I just love to see them arrive, so streamlined, so keen to be here. In London, this is the season of sudden squalls, of instant hailstorms followed by beautiful, blossom-fragranced days. It's been a bit like that in the mother of parliaments, too. Almost three years ago, 23 June 2016 to be precise, our Prime Minister, David Cameron, put the question of 'in or out' of the European Union to a democratic vote by the British people. We weren't prepared at all for such an important referendum, except with shameless lies and deception by both sides of the argument. We voted to leave by 51.9%  - hardly a huge majority. Whilst I'm grateful to live in a democracy, and I don't underestimate how precious that is, quite frankly if there were still a pillory in London I'd like to lock that hapless former leader inside for an Easte...

Last Few Days in Cornwall - photo Jennifer Pittam So I'm here in Cornwall for the last few days before I have to pack up and go back home to London. I am fascinated to discover that the Alverton was once a nunnery - the Order of the Epiphany. An epiphany (from the ancient Greek) is, apparently, a manifestation, or an experience of sudden and striking realization. The Hotel Was Once a Nunnery One of the manifestations I want to see whilst I'm in this beautiful land is more writing.  It's not that I lack will-power as such - I write copy for yoga mats and running shoes with zeal and application. Yet, in the year since my mother died I've found it so hard to get back to my historical novel.  The book is based on a story she told me; one of those from London's East End. When she went, my inspiration seemed to take a dive, in spite of encouragement from friends and attendance, rather erratic, at JoJo Thomas's Creative Writing Workshops. JoJo Thomas...