Category Archives: Sophie loves Brixham

Swimming season

The unschooling diaries: week twenty-one

We never seem to manage to go swimming nearly as much as I’d like to during the winter.

I’m not a fan of indoor pools, with their chlorine and claustrophobic changing rooms, and there always seem to be more appealing ways to fill the colder days.

Summer, though, is a whole other matter.

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We are lucky enough to live within metres of not only the beach but also a wonderful seawater pool. It has struggled for survival over recent years, but with the help of an army of local volunteers (of which I am one) its future now looks bright.

So many local children have learnt to swim here in the ninety years that the pool has been in existence, and I am thrilled that Arthur is going to be one of them. He has yet to have a formal swimming lesson, but he is so completely confident in the water with his float suit that I am sure that when he is ready to go it alone he will not struggle to work it out.

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He will certainly be getting lots of practise over the next couple of months. This week, we have been down to the pool almost every day. We’ve had spring tides, and when they’ve been high the water has spilled over the sea walls and onto the deck, creating the perfect area for splashing around.

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Arthur can stand in the shallow end too, and loves the freedom that gives him. Together we have ventured deeper, practising kicking legs and blowing away the water that splashes over his face.

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We may have not got round to formal swimming lessons so far, but he is learning so much just by exploring and seeing what his body is capable of. I love that our pool is safer than the sea, but is so close to it that Arthur is still able to understand the particular power of the ocean and learn to respect the watery world that is never far away down here.

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And selfishly, too, I love nothing more than the feeling of cold, salty water on my skin when the sun is hot. We’ve been doing pretty well on that front this week: long may it continue!

 

 

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“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”

To have a beach – Arthur’s beach – on the way home from town is probably the reason I love living here the most.

He is so completely at ease there – could spend hours throwing and climbing and sitting and looking. At this time of year it’s particularly special, because more often than not there is no-one else around.

Just me and my Arthur, the stones and the sea.

Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project. 

Sunday photo: 13th December 2015

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Arthur in his happy place.

Throwing stones into the sea is still one of his very favourite things to do, but he loves to explore the beach now too: clambering over the rocks at the end whilst I watch, heart in my mouth and muscles poised to leap to his rescue if he needs me.

I sometimes lament the lack of manufactured play areas near our house, but really of course  this natural playground has so much more scope. And whilst Arthur plays I get to breathe in the sea, listen to it tumble the pebbles at its shore and lose myself in its bigness for a few precious moments before we continue with our day.

 

Linking up today’s post with Darren at One Dad 3 Girls for My Sunday Photo and Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project. 

Blackberries, bike rides and bravery

I’ve been mulling over how Arthur and I spend our days rather a lot lately. He’s coming up for three, and I am still almost solely responsible for his childcare. Generally I’m happy with this – I know there will be benefits he is getting from me that just aren’t accessible anywhere else – but still, sometimes I worry. Most of his friends are in nursery, and their parents naturally extol the benefits of that. Sometimes I worry that I’m just not fun enough, creative enough, hands on enough to have taken on this level of responsibility for my son’s education.

And then…

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Then I have days like the one we enjoyed on Thursday. We got up, we hung out and played for a while, Arthur napped and I wrote. And then we had lunch. And then we went exploring.

And I saw Arthur’s learning, his development, in every step he took. He’d been zooming his balance bike around the kitchen for a few days already, showing a confidence that had been lacking in months of experimentation. He was more reticent, out in the big wide world, but still he wanted to ride, pacing around the headland with barely concealed glee.

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He did get tired, eventually. But then his bravery transferred to another sphere.

All summer, we have talked to him about berries: the ones he can eat, and the ones he can’t; the ones we’ve grown in our garden, and the ones that flourish freely on the hedgerows. It is those that have been most significant over the last month or so: the inky blackberries that in my mind form the perfect snack yet for Arthur have been a concept just too unfamiliar to get his head around.

Until this week. When suddenly he wanted to try this delicious wild fruit, and having succumbed to its sweetness stood and gorged himself until his fingers and mouth were stained with black.

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Both of these things, the bike riding and the blackberry picking, represent huge steps of freedom for my little boy. I am proud of his bravery, of his confidence. But I am scared too, just a little. Because picking wild berries brings with it the danger of choosing the wrong ones, and lifting your feet from the floor when riding a bike means that you will one day surely fall.

But then these are precisely the sorts of risks that I need to be prepared to take if I am going to take on the challenge of educating my child myself.

He is still very young, but his curiosity is beginning to lead us to amazing places.

I just need to make sure I give it the space to work its magic.
Country Kids from Coombe Mill Family Farm Holidays Cornwall

The way through the woods

We went for a walk in the woods this week. Arthur had been asking for a while – unusually, as he tends to prefer the sea. And so once the rain had cleared and the colds we have both been laid low by had begun to recede we headed up towards the trees.

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It’s a walk we’ve done many times before. We’re so lucky to have Berry Head on our doorstep: as well as the spectacular views from the top it offers a winding woodland on the way. I had thought, once we’d wandered through our usual patch of green, that we might make our way to the cafe on the headland. As he is increasingly wont to do, though, Arthur had other ideas.

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There is a gate just off the main path which I’ve noticed several times before, but which we’ve never actually been through. Not for any particular reason – it’s just not the way we go. This time though Arthur was intent on seeing what was on the other side. He actually managed, as I hung back dreaming of a latte, to get the gate open himself. And once he had? Well, it would have been churlish not to follow.

I let him lead the way from that point, and I think the images capture the adventure that followed better than I can in words. He was so fascinated by everything he discovered – things to look at and smell and touch and hear. Occasionally he threw a glance in my direction to check I wasn’t too far away, but essentially he was lost in his own little world.

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The finale to Arthur’s explorations was suitably spectacular: at the end of this little avenue he discovered what he could only imagine was a spaceship. Not long after this last pic he made a dash for my shoulders – there had been plenty of exploring for one day.

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This particular adventure clearly left quite an impression on him. He has talked about the ‘big and strong’ spaceship in the woods as he’s drifted off to sleep the last couple of nights. I can only imagine the wonders he has been seeing in his dreams.

 

Country Kids from Coombe Mill Family Farm Holidays Cornwall

Summer is here!

I’ve decided I’m calling it.

Admittedly it’s early days: as I’ve been writing this post the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard has been accompanied by the rain spattering the window panes. White horses skitter across the bay, and the leaves in the trees are being buffeted by a wind too strong to be called a breeze. But that’s just part and parcel of the season here in Devon.

And looking at the week in balance there is no doubt in my mind that we have crossed the boundary into summer.

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It’s half term of course, so the streets of Brixham are filled with holidaymakers. Dangling lines over the harbour wall to tempt crabs into their buckets, clutching ice creams which drip deliciously over little fingers.

On Breakwater beach paddlers are venturing deeper and deeper into the sea, delightedly splashing in the icy water and sometimes taking the plunge and diving in for a swim.

It’s that for me that marks the transition into summer most clearly. I am still a fair-weather swimmer. I aspire to being one of the hardy souls who takes to the sea all year round, but I’m not there yet. This week, though, I made it in.

We’d managed to tire the toddlers out with stone-throwing, and leaving them dozing under the watchful eye of friends we headed for the water.

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And it was glorious!

Pretty feckin’ freezing, obviously. We’d hoped to have a dip in Shoalstone pool, which whilst it wouldn’t have been warmer would have at least given the option of jumping or diving in. But pump problems combined with excessively low tides put paid to that, so we scrambled over the rocks instead. Feeling my way through the shallows I almost gave up, but my stubbornness took over and saw me through till that all-important moment when numbness takes away the worst of the cold and you can just concentrate on how wonderful it is, floating in the salty sea looking back at the shore, cobwebs of all varieties well and truly blown away.

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We’d hoped to have another dip yesterday, but the sun wasn’t shining quite so brightly. It didn’t deter Arthur from paddling up to his waist – I think swimming kit is going to be an essential part of the arsenal when we head to the beach from here on in!

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The clouds cleared as the afternoon went on, and the beach was still busy when I walked back from my council meeting at 9 o’clock last night.

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So yes, I’m calling it: summer is here.

Stay tuned for more watery adventures over the weeks and months to come!

My word of the week is summer.

The Reading Residence

Evening light

Is it just me, or do the evenings all of a sudden seem to have got lighter?

I realise that *technically* the lengthening of the days is a gradual thing, but I swear this week someone has just flicked a switch. Suddenly we’re finding ourselves sitting down to dinner in broad daylight, and I’m having a hard time explaining to Arthur why he has to go to bed before it’s got dark…

Toddler sleep habits aside, it is pretty wonderful.

There is nothing that screams to me that summer is finally coming more loudly than when the days begin to stretch out beyond the afternoon. And it is when living here, in our beautiful little seaside town, really comes into its own.

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What with all the hectic we’ve been juggling recently we’ve really appreciated being able to go out as a family in the evenings more easily, wandering into town and soaking up the views. There is a sense of excitement and anticipation that all three of us share as we venture out just at that point when normally things would be winding down. Arthur has taken the evening strolls in his stride, enjoying another burst of energy and of course the obligatory beach time.

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We even got to sit outside at Rockfish for a bit the other night, gazing out to sea as the fishing boats trundled through the twilight with their catch. Arthur was absolutely transfixed as he watched the fish being docked – he hasn’t stopped talking about it since.

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There is certainly something incredibly liberating about the extra hours of daylight this time of year brings, and it’s making me ever-more excited for the summer.

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My word of the week this week is anticipation.

The Reading Residence

What I’ve learnt from standing for election

On a national level, this feels like the most important election we have participated in for a long time. Recent weeks have been filled with optimistic anticipation, a sense that things might really have been about to change for the better. I have been buoyed along by a surge in interest and engagement from people whose views sit firmly on the left. Now that the results of the parliamentary election are in, I have been brought sharply down to earth. But I still have the little corner of hope carved out by my last minute leap into local politics.

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For the first time, I will be able to say that I have not just talked the talk about the importance of engaging in politics. I may only be standing for our little town council, but suddenly, in the face of a national picture which is so far removed from my political values, that feels like the first step in a journey which may have considerably wider scope than I’d previously imagined.

I will not know until tomorrow whether I have been elected. But whatever the outcome there are some important things that I have learnt along the way.

1) There are a lot of people out there just waiting for a reason to get involved 

Politics, on every level, is pretty intimidating. I’ve toyed with the idea of being a councillor for years, but (aside from the difficulty of finding time for it alongside a teaching career) I never really knew how to take the first step – or even if I really wanted to.

For me, it took an encouraging nudge from a community figure I admire against the backdrop of a group wanting to abolish our town council to make me realise that I needed to stand up and be counted. A couple of my fellow candidates fall into this category too, and we have brought with us a swathe of people who, were it not for knowing people standing for election, might not have taken much interest in what was going on locally – or indeed nationally. And others who were always interested, but who (like me) had been seeking an outlet for that political drive.

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There’s definitely a need for more people to get their voices heard. It’s been a while since I did anything where I was categorised as young, but suddenly – despite the fact that I am closer to my fortieth birthday than any other milestone – I find myself representing the youth voice. There’s clearly some work to be done there. Not to mention the one third of people eligible to vote in the UK who once again failed, for whatever reason, to exercise their democratic right in this election.

But overall it’s actually been quite inspiring – the thought that, for all the uncertainty we’re now facing as a country, there might just be hope for the future in people who have previously felt disenfranchised and are ready now to stand up and make their mark.

2) Campaigning requires seriously comfy shoes (and a decent sling)

This may have been naive of me, but I honestly had no idea quite how much legwork was involved in an election campaign. Our town council elections are admittedly unusual this time round in that there has been some stiff competition for the available seats. And as a result, in the four weeks since I came on board as a council candidate, I have walked about 100km delivering leaflets.

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Up and down hills and endless flights of steps, dodging traffic and dogs, all whilst wearing my toddler. I didn’t have much time to think about the wisdom of it all this time round, but if I do this again I’m certainly going to look into how much influence this trekking actually has. I would like to think there is more scope in social media – I certainly had some great interactions on twitter and Facebook.

But there is, admittedly, nothing quite like actual face to face conversation – and with the turnout at local meetings being so low there is still much to be said for the power of turning up on people’s’ doorsteps.

3) Sticking your neck out really attracts the trolls

I don’t know if this is a general thing or whether we have an unusual number of resident trolls in Brixham, but I was bemused to see the onslaught of online abuse I received within days of standing for election. Both on twitter and in the comments section of our local paper I found myself targeted with some quite unpleasant – and borderline libellous – attacks.

I’m not one to bow to bullying, and fortunately once I’d lodged complaints with the police, with twitter and with the local newspaper editor the nastiness seemed to die down.

It did all make me wonder though why people would want to put themselves through it. I never even said anything controversial – just the mere act of standing for election was enough.

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I had an interesting chat with Sarah Wollaston, my (now re-elected) local MP. She is no stranger to online attacks herself, but said that from her experience it’s often a lot worse – and definitely a lot more personal – the lower down the political food chain you get. The problem with that is it could genuinely cut peoples’ political ambitions off at the knees before they even have time to get started – it’s one thing to say that people just need to develop thicker skins, but it’s clearly a massive block to engagement for anyone who would rather not be subject to abuse.

4) The system is not easy to navigate with kids in tow – but it’s not impossible either

My first meeting in the course of this campaign I attended with my two-year old. It was in the evening, and his dad was working late. With no-one else around to look after him it was a case of take him with me or not go at all. I’m really glad I took the decision to go – and that he slept in the sling for the majority of the meeting – but I definitely got some strange looks.

If I am elected, then I think I’m just going to have to get used to those. As someone who has chosen not to go back to work outside the home but rather combine full time motherhood with writing and other endeavours I don’t have easily accessible childcare. I can’t afford to be paying someone to look after my son so I can attend council meetings or voluntary engagements, so unless it would be noticeably disruptive for him to be there he will be coming along for the ride.

And there is of course the precedent set by Licia Ronzulli, the Italian MEP who has challenged people’s perceptions of the place of children in the world of politics.

5) Finding the right words counts for an awful lot

Having come into the campaign to stand up for Brixham council so late on I have repeatedly felt a long way out of my depth. My teaching experience, and prior to that many years of drama and debating, has left me with the skills to stand up and say my piece in front of a crowd, but that did not stop my palms from sweating and my voice shaking when I actually did it.

I certainly don’t think I’ve said anything particularly extraordinary – talk of working together, of giving people a voice, of looking to the future rather than being stuck in the past – but when I have spoken it has seemed to strike a chord. From the vitriol of the online haters to the people stopping me in the street to say how glad they are that I am speaking out it is strange to realise that my words have had an impact.

I suppose it’s like the blog too really – whether spoken or written it is always satisfying to hit on just the right way of putting something to draw people in. I just need to make sure now that I have the knowledge, understanding and integrity underneath it all to deserve people’s trust.

 

Suffice to say I have been surprised by how tough but also how exciting the last few weeks have been. I shall find out tomorrow whether it has all been enough to save the town council – and indeed to get me a seat on it – but whether it has or not a political spark has definitely been ignited within me. And I am intrigued to see where that may lead.

 

My word of the week this week is democracy.

The Reading Residence
You Baby Me Mummy

Brixham: the next big thing?

When we first chose to move to Brixham, almost four years ago now, it struck us as a place with so much potential. That has only been confirmed by the people that we’ve met since, and the exciting businesses and events that we have watched grow out of the community. I’m only just beginning to work out ways in which I can contribute to this, but I still felt a swell of pride when I read the feature on the ten best up-and-coming seaside towns in this month’s Coast magazine which put Brixham at number one.

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As part of Leigh’s birthday celebrations last weekend we were able to treat ourselves with meals at not one but two of the brilliant new restaurants that have opened up in the town.

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First, Bistro 1909. Up until the end of last year this was Brixham Deli – it was the only place to get a decent coffee when we first moved here, and a real sign that there was maybe more to this sleepy little seaside town than met the eye. When its owners, Roy and Gill, decided it was time for a change it was hard to hide my disappointment at first… But the restaurant they’ve created in its place makes it more than worth it.

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Delicious locally sourced food cooked to perfection – Leigh declared the pate the best he’d ever had, the steak and mussels were seriously good, and the chips are, I have decided, the best in Brixham. The setting is classic and cosy: custom made leather banquettes, industrial chic lighting and old Brixham photographs. With their own twist on a traditional formula they have hit upon something that works very well indeed. We’re already trying to work out when we can go back…

The other place we had to try – this time with Arthur in tow – was the latest addition to Mitch Tonks’ Rockfish chain, right above Brixham fish market.

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There’s been an understandable buzz about this place – it has after all been a long time coming. Mitch Tonks lives in Brixham, and has had his eye on this site since it first went out to tender. Unfortunately Torbay Council had other ideas, and we ended up with a really disappointing restaurant in there for a while – all style over substance, with no attempt to make the most of its unique location. Every time I looked at it across the harbour I grumbled with a sense of missed opportunity, so it was brilliant to see the site finally occupied by a restaurant that does it justice.

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It looked great, the fish was (of course) supremely fresh, and the atmosphere was buzzing. We shared a fruits de mer starter which was a real treat (it was Leigh’s birthday after all) and then went for classic fish and chips to follow. I’m very glad they offer the option of replacing batter and chips with grilled fish and salad as again this is somewhere I imagine we will revisit often!

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In conversation over both of these meals the subject of how our town is changing was never far away. It is one that is naturally taking on increasing significance with the possibility that I will soon have a role on the local council and actually be able to play an active part in the decisions that shape Brixham’s ongoing regeneration.

There will definitely be some difficult decisions to be made.

Brixham is regularly compared to nearby Devon towns like Dartmouth and Salcombe. In a lot of ways it has much more in common with them than it does with the other two towns in Torbay. But when we chose to move here, it was precisely because it wasn’t like them: it has a thriving, year-round community, fed to a large extent by its fishing industry. It attracts a diverse range of tourists, not only those with huge amounts of money to spend. And it is still reasonably affordable as a place for young families to bring up their kids.

Lots of the changes that we’ve already seen have been incredibly positive: the new selection of local eateries, the coffee shops like The Bay Coffee & Cake Company and Millie & Me that mean I no longer need to wait until I’m in London for my flat white fix, tired drinking establishments transformed into inviting pubs like New Quay Inn and The Manor. Shoalstone Pool is going from strength to strength, our theatre is full of ambition and ideas for the future, and Brixham YES is doing increasingly impressive work with young people and their families.

But there have been conflicts too, particularly around proposed developments which appear to meet the needs of some but for others cut right through what they perceive as the heart of our community.

As Brixham rises to the challenge of becoming the next big thing, we must remember that it’s not just its physical heritage and charm that needs to be protected. It is the local community that gives our town its soul, and as we continue to move forward we can only do so together.

The campaign continues

This week, I have mostly been writing tweets. Facebook posts too. I have been working on how to convey my message as clearly and succinctly as possible to support and promote the #StandUp4Brixham campaign – and generally it’s working pretty well.

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There’s been lots of work on the ground as well – since my leaflets were completed last Wednesday  afternoon my iPhone estimates I’ve covered about 30km going door to door with Arthur in the sling. There was a meeting last Tuesday evening that Arthur also had to come to, and on Saturday we had a hustings event to talk to members of the public. It’s been nerve-wracking getting out there and speaking up, but I’ve enjoyed it too.

The social media side of things is an attempt to engage with people who might not normally be interested in local politics. The campaign has a growing Facebook page and twitter account with nearly 200 local followers between them. I’ve appreciated the support of local businesses with more established accounts sharing and retweeting my posts. And one of my tweets attracted the attention of my local MP and ended up in the paper. So far so good as far as profile-raising goes.

But there has, perhaps predictably, been a less pleasant side to putting myself out there.

It started with the comments at the end of articles on the local paper’s website, where amongst other things I was labelled a ‘rather sad individual who spends all of her waking hours gratuitously criticising [the leader of the Abolish Brixham Council group]’. Other commenters leapt to my defence, but it was a strange feeling to be insulted and accused of something I haven’t done by a total stranger.

Twitter has been even more intimidating. There are four accounts that have repeatedly targeted me through replies to my tweets, with exchanges like this one:

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(BRATS, incidentally, is a group of local residents who campaigned against a Tesco development in the town centre. I have had no involvement with them despite numerous suggestions to the contrary.)

The tweet which sparked all this off  – and more besides – was a link to a letter which had been published on a local news website. I really wasn’t expecting it to be so controversial.

There’s a lot that is strange about the accounts in question – the similarity between their names and the lack of followers for example. Were these exchanges happening on my personal account then I would not hesitate to block and report them. But I’m not sure exactly how I’m supposed to respond in my current role as council candidate – I am obviously very keen to engage with interested Brixham residents, but I have to admit that these communications are beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.

I realise as well though that, on the grand scale of things, there’s not really anything desperately offensive going on here. Twitter does seem to be a place where some people hide behind a mask of anonymity to behave in a way that they never would face to face.

So I will soldier on, draw on my years of experience working with challenging teenagers, and try not to take it too personally. One of the things it is clear could be improved about our local council is the quality of its communications and its transparency in working with people in its community. And I refuse to be intimidated out of my attempts to do just that.

 

Muddled Manuscript