Uploading an Unload

Now I suppose, you have to start somewhere, having never written much more than complaint letters, it is all so new to me....I could start with a childish sort of poem I wrote during one of those lonely feeling sorry for myself melancholy moments, or maybe the, feelings you get when you start to realise life does and is slipping past you and you havent really scratched the surface....ever feel like that? The clever people will of course say " look what you've got and be grateful", well of course they are right thats why they are called clever people. If I could only hold their moments of gratefulness I would be empowered, enthusiastic, unstoppable and all other wonderful words alike, sadly I dont have those genes....but sometimes I do have flashes of them, and would love to record what I ate, how I slept, the clothes I wore, the people I spoke to..all the things that brought on that feeling...then recreate that feeling day after day.

Anyway, I dont know about you but I seldom create space for reading these days, busy busy busy, you know what I mean, (must remedy that): however I do remember a book that vividly etched itself on my mind years ago.
The author was Derek Tangye, in those pages he told of his life and toils, centred around his cottage on a cliff somewhere along the Cornish coastline. Well, I lost count of the times that I picked that book up, read the first few chapters then left it..."what a strange thing to do" I hear you say, well I suppose it was, but the reasoning behind this odd behaviour was and still is; that I thought I had heard all I needed, or wanted to. I was maybe a little morbidly jealous of this man, envied his wonderfully idyllic lifestyle, the cottage, the cliffs, the thought of those stunning bracing winds he felt on his face each winter, the warm summer days spent amongst the wild flowers, birds and his own animals. Years on I read a article about him somewhere that said of his torment. Torment due entirely to his beautiful description within this book... he had been flooded with visitors to his life; people had searched for and found him, all perhaps innocently.... trying to have a piece of that life he so graphically put into the words, on those pages.
To end this piece I can say that I did get my idyllic and all too true version of the Tangye lifestyle, a farmhouse, stunningly situated, between mountainsides, stream running past, wonderfully isolated you really couldn't have wished for a nicer environment. However, the reality was a long long rough drive to the main road inhibiting the usage, either for ourselves or wanted visitors, fuel for the open fires got harder to aquire, winters were terribly cold with the winds accelerating off the mountains, constant problems with the water, electricity supplies and phone lines, intrusions from walkers, ignorant farmer and his stock movement, and the sheer impractability of a family trying to live there. What I am getting at is: nowadays I don't use the word idyllic as in the positive.