The knock of the cockchafer

a small tale about big dreams

I was meant to be seeing in the new year with cousins in America, before beginning a month-long writing stint in my beloved Eureka Springs.

But since my dad became seriously ill in November, a lot of my plans have changed.

And so, when I should have been checking in for my transatlantic flight at Heathrow, I found myself on a crowded London bus, trying to ignore the guy sitting across from me muttering expletives.

It was hard not to feel dispirited. Especially when my phone pinged with a message from the airline, notifying me of a gate change.

As I peered out of the grimy window, the UK had never looked greyer or more dreary.

I miss travelling so much, I thought to myself as the guy across from me started yelling at the driver to ‘effing stop the effing bus right effing now!’ at the top of his lungs. I missed the feeling of freedom and adventure that has coursed through my veins during my 15 months of nomadic living.

A little while later, once off the bus and walking along the street, I decided to get a takeaway coffee. I could see a Starbucks up ahead but then I spied an Italian delicatessen and decided to pop in on a whim.

As soon as I stepped inside it was like stepping through a portal into Italy. The shelves were lined with bottles of olive oil and tins of tomatoes and packets of pasta, and a glass cabinet by the counter displayed an array of delicious looking hams and fat balls of mozzarella swimming in a bowl of milky-white brine.

A silver-haired man with an Italian accent greeted me.

‘Do you sell coffee to go?’ I asked.

‘I do indeed,’ he replied, ‘Although it is very strong.’

‘Fine by me!’ I said with a grin.

As he scooped some coffee into the machine I gazed around at the bottles of wine and liquers interspersed with Virgin Mary figurines. It was as if I’d stepped right into a little piece of Italy, and I felt the nomad inside me spark back into life.

Just like a sommelier, the man offered me the coffee to taste before putting the lid on the cup. It was delicious.

‘So much better than Starbucks!’ I told him and he gifted me with a free chocolate pastry.

I left the store with another gift - the realisation that just because I’m in my home country I can still keep my traveller spirit alive by seeking out different experiences.

Which brings me to New Year’s Eve…

At the start of 2024 a couple of very good friends of mine sold their properties in London to buy a 400-year-old cottage in the country.

They invited me and a couple of other London friends to come and stay to welcome in the new year and, just like my experience in the Italian deli, it was like going through a portal - but this time into a different era as well as world.

The cottage was beautiful - all sloping floors and creaking stairs and wooden beams, with a thick thatched roof on top.

We sat around the kitchen table, eating and talking and reminiscing, but then my friends started opening up about just how difficult their first year in the country had been.

So many things had broken and they’d run out of oil and had to go without hot water and heating. They’d also encountered various infestations, including thousands of bees setting up home and making honey inside the wall cavities.

It was as if nature was putting them through some kind of gruelling initiation test to see if they really had what it took to live there.

And then, one dark stormy night things came to head when they were watching TV and heard a mysterious knock on the window.

At first they ignored it, hoping that whatever it was would go away. But the knock came again, and again.

You could have heard a pin drop as my friend recounted the story and we all sat there rapt - wondering what fresh hell had come to plague them.

‘So we got up and opened the curtains and saw one of these on the windowsill,’ she said, picking up her phone and showing us a photo. This photo…

‘Holy shit!’ we all exclaimed - or words to that effect.

‘What is it?’ I asked, horrified.

‘A common cockchafer,’ she replied, at which point we all burst out laughing.

‘That’s what they’re called!’ she cried, clearly still traumatised.

And I saw that beneath the funny Withnail and I style tales of two Londoners trying to adapt to country living, they’d actually been through an incredibly tough time and their faith in their dream had been tested to its limits.

Then I looked at another of my friends sitting at that table, who has recently compressed her busy and stressful full time corporate job into four days a week so that she can realise her big dream of training to become a counsellor.

I’ve seen at close hand the sacrifices she’s had to make and how hard she’s working and how tired she gets. It’s reminded me of the years I spent trying to realise my big dream of becoming an author, back when I was a single mum, juggling about six different jobs to keep a roof over our heads. There were nights when I would sit in front of my novel-in-progress crying tears of exhaustion as I wondered if it was all worth it, and if I’d ever get a book deal.

There were so many times I nearly gave up. But I didn’t. I kept going and I kept believing. And finally the dream came true. Over and over again.

So I spent the new year urging my friends not to give up on their vision for their country retreat. Looking at it from the outside I could see how close they were to the finish line - even though the boiler had broken down just before Christmas and they had no heating and the oven wasn’t working properly. I could still see so much potential.

There was so much love around that kitchen table. And so much fun to be had in the living room, where we played the piano and drew oracle cards and watched films. And I felt so cosy in my little sloping-floored, hobbit-style bedroom. And best of all, my friends and their wonderfully quirky, characterful cottage had given me some much needed respite from worrying about and caring for my dad who, on top of everything else he’s been going through, was now awaiting test results for cancer.

‘This place is going to give you and so many other people so many wonderful experiences and memories,’ I said to my friend over breakfast on new year’s day.

And I really hope that our special new year together helped her to see that too.

If you have a big dream that is feeling insurmountable at the moment I hope this encourages you to keep going.

Why not take advantage of the current season and hunker down and beaver away on your dream behind the scenes? January and February are so not the time to launch and be loud, so take the pressure off yourself. Slowly, steadily and quietly keep stepping towards your goal without fuss and fanfare. And make plenty of time for self care too.

Slow and steady wins the race.

Slow and steady makes the big dream a reality.

Until next week, sending lots of love and positivity for the new year ahead. And some good news just in as I write this to you - my dad’s cancer tests have come back all clear! He still has so much to contend with but I’m so, so happy that he’s had some good news for a change. Thank you all for your kind thoughts, prayers and messages, they’re very much appreciated.

Siobhan