Author: hilary jocelyn

 I realize, as I write down some of my life’s adventures, that perhaps I am like a cat, with the proverbial nine lives.

I’m not sure what happened next, but suddenly I was running, pounding the Glasgow pavements methodically, as my rainboots jarred to the ground.

The peace lasted a few sacred minutes and then mama began to flail. She let out a blood curdling scream that was more suited to Halloween than April Fools’ Day and then cried out. “It’s coming!”

Slowly, I begin to bond with this little cat in the stable. I sing a Scottish song to her when I bring her food, and she pricks up her ears.

I slipped and I stumbled, falling inelegantly, as I tripped over the snow, landing somewhere on my face or elbow, many times over.

I have been lost more than a few times in my life. I mean physically lost. The kind of lost where I really do not know which way to turn no matter how hard I try.

I work on the sixth floor of an old building, and as I meander up the metallic staircase, I often pretend that I am breathlessly lumbering up a mountain

The place had an air of vibrancy and hope, and the crowds of people gathered there were smiling gleefully, and greeting each other joyfully, as if they hadn’t seen each other in a very long time.

By about halfway through the fourth day, I was definitely beginning to fray at the edges. My thoughts began to hover unhappily on the reality of the miles and days we had yet to go. We were after all, not even halfway in.

I eagerly gathered my freshly charged battery operated chainsaw, a pair of sharp cutters, my work gloves and crucially, a pair of safety glasses. I was ready for action!

The music gets faster and more urgent and we all become so dizzy we can scarcely stand up