A golden gateway to a Victorian Christmas framed the Tredegar House, located in Newport. The walls surrounding the 17th century mansion concealed Christmas trees, decorations, presents and an odious gentleman. “Bah,” said the angry gentleman, wearing a white nightgown and cap.
Scrooge sat in Tredegar House counting gold, and bringing a distinct chill to the room. The embers in the fire did not warm Scrooge’s welcome. He stared, in disgust, at his guests and did his best to make them feel unwelcome.
“I hate Christmas! There’s no point in all that nonsense,” sneered Scrooge at the suspicious children passing by.
A young boy stamped his foot on the oak floor. “I like Christmas. I’m getting a new bike,” declared the fair-haired boy. He looked up at his father for reassurance.
Scrooge placed his arms lovingly around his piles of gold. ‘Humbug!’ he repeated constantly in his ‘grating voice’.
I heard the guests’ ‘laughter and good humour’, and this melted the frosty reception of Scrooge. I heard parents retelling A Christmas Carol and explaining the character of Scrooge. It was wonderful to observe literature brought to life through this interactive approach.
A child, called Beth, joined in the fun and declared, “Bah, humbug” to all the members of staff positioned in each room. A toddler playing with a wooden train set, in the nursery, was reluctant to return it. The cook invited everyone to stir the Christmas pudding, as she explained the glorious Christmas feast the family would have enjoyed. The quantities of food consumed in the grand house did make me wonder how that would have contrasted with the average Victorian Christmas. But the thought didn’t linger too long, because I was distracted by the sight dark-haired fellow, pacing up and down the court yard. Later, I saw the gentleman at the writing desk. I peered in his notebook and it said, ‘Scrooge to honour Christmas’.
Many thanks to the National Trust, staff and volunteers for organising the festive experience. Archways, gates, gardens and rooms were decked with Christmas cheer. Not even Scrooge could freeze the glorious atmosphere at Tredegar House.
Following the visit, I decided it was time to decorate my own home. I confess I watched Miracle on 34th Street, as I decorated each Christmas tree. I heard Valentine Davies say:
“Well, this is the Imagination. And once you get there you can do almost anything you want.”
I do hope the children visiting Scrooge found their imagination in that cold room, and will tell the story of their experience.
Please see all my adventures at Handbag Adventures and my blog at jessiecahalin.com.
On the whole people are very accommodating and let me take photographs of their shops, museums, pubs, gardens, houses etc. For instance, the porters on The Grand Hotel, in Brighton, were happy to let me capture the glamorous setting with my camera. I needed the photographs for 
During my adventures, I have learned to smile at the museum curators and carry on. Unfortunately, I was chastised for photographing Churchill’s writing desk. Though, I was delighted to be informed that Churchills would ‘fight me on the beaches’ if I dared to take photos. Another curator pretended not to see me taking a view of the garden from the window. One antique shop owner looked at me suspiciously when I declared, ‘I need pictures of old spades etc to display as murder weapons.’ I intended to use these in a murder story lark developed, on Facebook, with 
Walking through the Beacons, I decided to write a blog about the inspiring environment. I spied an opportunity to throw a stone in the water to represent a big splash. The splash would represent a thought or an idea. Unfortunately, I was chased away from the lake by the people who were fishing for trout. I did ask if they would like me to ‘sling my hook’ but they weren’t amused.
The most frightening experience occurred when I was taking a photo of a street sign for Muddles Green. That day, I was in a muddle with editing so the sign was perfect. I stood in the middle of the quiet country lane to snap the image. A motorbike almost ploughed into me as it raced around the corner. It was worth it when lots of authors connected with the message.
With Hogmanay knocking on the door, and my new hiking books in the hall, I have been dreaming of Scotland. I yearn to greet Robert Burns’s Highlands in the summer. Stories and adventures are sure to be waiting in the ‘green vallies’ and ‘wild- hanging woods’. Alas, my neighbour, Hamish, has warned me of the ‘hungry beasties’ – the mischievous midges. And I hate the blighters, as I am sure to become their breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Exploring the literature about Scotland, I found ‘One Woman’s Search for Enchantment in the Modern World’, by Signe Pike. Pike explains:
Perhaps, dear old Hamish is introducing me to the magic of the Highlands; and is referring to the beautiful spirits hiding in the lochs. I can hear something whispering, ‘A dinnae ken’, to me. Viewing online images of Scotland tempts me to explore the ‘brooding’ wilderness sculpted by nature. Like a warrior blogger, I must face the midges! And my brother suggests keeping some citronella spray in my handbag. Does this deter the midges, or would it be like marinating myself for the blighters’ lunch? Any advice is welcome.
So, while searching for the perfect romantic bothy, I have just found a bothy bag. This is a survival bag that transforms into a tent. Perfect! I can fill this with books for my adventure. And if the midges appear, I will simply hide in the bothy bag and read. Please recommend some books set in Scotland to prepare me for my adventure.
I can recommend the 
Once the bothy has been located, I will then begin to plan a menu for the end of year celebrations. It is a tradition for the family or friend member, with the darkest hair, to open the front door to let the old year out. This becomes a struggle as our hair turns grey, but I like to refer to MacLeod in the Highlander:
It was like opening a book jacket into a giant book, when I opened the door into ‘
Passing through magical corridor from the main bookshop, I heard a little boy saying, “Wow!” to his mother, as they followed a staircase down into the children’s section.
A gentleman, wearing a white shirt and waistcoat, looked up from his book. “Oh dear!” he declared. “I think there’s more seating upstairs.” he muttered, into his book.
Clearly, this bookshop has been set up by a true book lover who values time to read, chat and eat. The ‘Book-ish’ cake menu has been designed to tempt the reader to stay. I chose The Queen of Hearts’ Bakewell Tarts. ‘
Indeed, I was delighted that Sara Gethin’s book, ‘
My Twitter and Facebook friends will understand my delight when I was handed my treasure in a brown bag that read, ‘BOOKS ARE MY BAG.’ I also discovered that the bookshop opened in the same month I launched my Books in my Handbag Blog.
While waiting to board the creative train, I watched YouTube footage about how to engage in social media. I wish I had known about 
Once I had boarded the creative train, some wonderful people waved me off. The first review request came from 
On my creative journey abroad, I stopped off to meet 
Finally, I realised the creative train isn’t out of control. Sometimes, one shouldn’t worry too much about the final destination, but one does need to interact with others on the journey. ‘