The Doctor and The TARDIS

D’ya know that feeling when you have a loose tooth and you can’t help wiggling it?

I’ve had that feeling for a while now – every time I talk about Dr Who or watch the show, my mind drifts back to the story I wrote in 2008 and I wonder where on Gallifrey I have put the bedammed thing.

Anyway, I was talking to a friend and yet again he suggested that I write a Dr Who Book.

As much as I would love to do that, I’d get into a great deal of trouble if I tried to do it myself and as yet, I haven’t had an email from The Moffat to invite me aboard to write an episode (a girl can dream can’t she?) so the likelihood of being allowed to write a Dr Who book is one of those “when-I-win-the-lottery” type dreams…

Ahem.

The conversation started that tooth wiggle off in my mind and I decided to trawl through the files on my archive/flash drive.

I found it.

After several years of discussing it, I found it. And it’s not as bad as I thought it was… memory does strange things, you know.

So I’ve posted it under the Dr Who Fanfiction section of my “Free Stuff to Read” section. It’s called “The Doctor and The Tardis” and I wrote it in 2008, long before any discussion of Gallifrey or the chameleon circuit had come up in the modern TV series.

I left it on a cliffhanger, clearly intending to write another section, but now that I look at it, I don’t want to. I don’t want to mess with the relationship between the TARDIS and her Doctor. So it’s going to stay like that.

Sorry.

Despite that, I hope you like it… and I’ll try and get round to writing a new section to the current Dr Who story I have up…

Biting the bullet…

Warning – this is partly a Pity party, but the whining does have a point… eventually.

Asking for help is one of the hardest things in the world.

All my life, I was told not to ask for things, “You’ll get what you’re given and like it.” was a common refrain throughout my childhood from a variety of people; not just my parents.

I was taught that if I needed something, I should work for it myself. So I was working from the age of 12 3/4 years old.

Yes, that was technically illegal, I didn’t care and my employer didn’t either.

I sampled lots of menial jobs in my early working life. I was a Chambermaid, a Market Seller, a Paper Girl, a Waitress, a Bar Steward, sold Fish’n’Chips, broke up fights, drifted into sleep doing data entry, tried to sell double glazing, sold computer games, tried to help people with their digital TV…

I got up early and stayed up late in pursuit of the money to be able to live in the way I wanted. I often didn’t have the money to eat from those jobs – I only just made my half of the rent a lot of the time.

It was irritating.

I earned enough (with my partner’s income as well) to be ineligible for any Govt. help (there was no such thing as Working Tax Credit then) and we ate  pasta and ketchup way too much. I already had a degree, but it was useless for almost everything I tried to apply for.

So I took a PGCE in the hope that becoming a Teacher. I passed (it was difficult) and got a NQT job to finish my training. I passed that and got a full time teaching job. Which ended a year later.

 

Ah well, there’s always supply work. I thought to myself when I tried and failed to get another full time or part time teaching job.

HAH!

I joined agency after agency. I got very little work and was told that it was because I couldn’t drive. But I couldn’t afford to learn to drive… so I was in a Catch 22 situation.

By now, I had two children to support and my partner was driving over two hundred miles a day, just to keep us in the house we were in…

Fast forward to today.

The Kids

The Kids

This is my family. My partner has been diagnosed as Aspergers. NOS has been trying to cope with both Aspergers and High School for over two years. And we have the wonderfully entertaining Princess Wriggles to enjoy.

We’re still in the same house. That’s right. 3 Kids, two adults and all the attendant stuff in a small 3 bedroom house. Just about liveable… or it would be if it weren’t for the state of the roof and the plumbing (but that’s another story).
We’d planned to put the baby into the same room as PT when she turned a year old. We didn’t count on PT possibly being Aspergers as well.

What is Aspergers?

“As soon as we meet a person we make judgements about them. From their facial expression, tone of voice and body language we can usually tell whether they are happy, angry or sad and respond accordingly.

People with Asperger syndrome can find it harder to read the signals that most of us take for granted. This means they find it more difficult to communicate and interact with others which can lead to high levels of anxiety and confusion.” – From The National Autistic Society

One of the things that those with Aspergers need is a safe, secure and above all, calming environment to recharge and relax.
Dealing with the outside world causes all sorts of problems. While an adult can find a quiet place to calm down while they’re out and about, a child can’t. Add the school environment to their daily routine and you have daily sensory overload.
So a quiet bedroom / private space is essential to their well being.

We have the space for NOS to have this. The only way we can give PT the same space and give ourselves space (TOH really needs a private space) as well, is to put the baby in our room and sleep in the living room.

Not an ideal situation, more of a last resort.

So why don’t you move?

And here is where the earlier whining is relevant. I haven’t been able to return to teaching since I lost my job. I’ve updated my qualifications and still not been able to get a job. TOH is in the midst of changing career and while he has a part time job at the moment, it’s not an ideal long term solution as it’s only temporary.

We are reliant on Benefits to help us live day to day. There is very little spare cash and what spare cash there is goes on clothes or shoes etc. We’ve not been able to save up the money we need to move.
The deposit, the rent in advance, the moving costs – when I’ve figured it up, we’d need about £3,500 to be able to do it. And every time I manage to save money, it flies out the door again on the wings of an emergency / unforeseen bill.

I’m forced to ask for help.

None of my immediate family can help – they’re in similar straits. We can’t get a Bank loan big enough because we don’t have a big enough income or full time jobs – the banks are suddenly feeling responsible!

So the only thing left (other than sleeping on the sofa) is to ask for help generally.

I’ve started a GoFundMe campaign to this end. If you feel like donating money to help our family move to a more suitable house, then feel free to click on this link – House Move  – and donate whatever you feel you can afford.
There’s no time limit to the campaign and I’ll keep it open until either we get the amount we need, or we get kicked out of the house we are in (not as far fetched a prospect as you might think.)

If you feel uneasy about donating to a complete stranger (and believe me, I understand!) then look up my books (under Kira Morgana or A. E. Churchyard) and buy a copy or two – any sales from my work will be put aside to add to the Moving Fund.

If you don’t want to do either of those, then I won’t be upset – I realise it is a difficult world out there and there are people who are worse off than we are. If you want to support the campaign emotionally / promotionally, then feel free to tweet nice things about it and/or share it on FB.

I realise that this is a bit of a pipe dream.

However, I’ve already had four lovely, wonderful people donate to the campaign already, meaning it isn’t as much of a dream as it was.

So there you have it. I’ve bit the bullet and asked for help.

The Qualities of Silence.

Have you ever been somewhere that is so quiet that you can hear your own heartbeat?

Have you ever just sat outside and listened to the world breathe?

When was the last time you turned off all the electronics in the house and listened to the house move?

Silence.

It’s an odd place.

Your own words echo inside your head and every movement or shift of your body feels louder than the world around you. The slightest noise is more emphatic than a shout and can make you jump, heart pounding before you realise that it’s not going to hurt you.

I don’t think we really appreciate silence properly.

Our lives are full of sound, a cacophony that is unrelenting and often well meaning. If you’ve ever experienced true Silence, then you’ll understand what I mean.

I’m an introvert. I can put up with the sonance of the modern world, but every so often it gets to me and I need to find Silence again.

I know that sounds odd coming from a woman who is pregnant and already has two children, two cats and a partner to look after, but that is who and what I am. If I don’t get the chance to find Silence then my mood very quickly slips and I get ratty with everyone, even my children.

reflection

Sometimes I go down to the beach and sit listening to the waves. Or I might walk up into the woods and feel the wind on my skin, the same wind that blows the leaves of the trees.  I reconnect with the natural world, but I also draw in the silence that comes with it.

I pull it in and wrap it around my heart to shield it from the eventual requirement to go back into the pandemonium of life.

My favourite kind of silence, the one that builds my defences and holds me tight against everything that tries to penetrate them is the sort of silence I get at home.

I have it today. For the first time in six months, the house is quiet. Yes the cats are still here, but they are off doing catty things (probably sleeping or eating) and they do them softly. My partner is out at his new job. The children are at school and wonder of wonders, Sprog (the one I am carrying) appears to be asleep and hasn’t kicked me for at least an hour.

I have no music on. The heating has just gone off, so the boiler roar is muted and all there is to hear is the tap of the keys as I write this, the beating of my heart and the hushed hum of the PC.

Later I will have to go back out into the world. I am going away this weekend and that means I will have to be sociable and talkative. I will draw in this Silence and use it to keep me calm when I can’t get away from people and the clamour that goes with them.

I enjoy socialising and chatting. I know that the first thing that anyone is going to ask me is “When is the baby due?”, followed swiftly by “Is it a Boy or a Girl?” (as if I have a choice over which is born!) I will answer and smile and be pleasant.

But this Silence I have now will sustain me. Until I can find it again.