Sharing for Six Sentence Sunday

I'm uncharacteristically shy when it comes to sharing my writing, which feels a bit foolish and irrational, so in an attempt to get over this I'm now going to share more. It’s not so much whether anyone reads it or not but getting it 'out there' or rather up there, on this blog, I feel will be good for me to get over whatever makes me so irrationally reluctant.
 

So, thanks to Twitter, and I can't credit whoever or wherever I first saw this mentioned because it was one of those 'now you see it now you'd can't find it again' tweets - I'm going to join in 'six sentence Sunday' which means each week I'll share a short bit of something I'm writing on here. 

For a bit of context my main WIP which this weeks comes from is a non-fiction travel memoir type book based on a back packing trip I took with my son this year. It was my first ever backpacking trip at the grand old age of 41 and possibly one of the last holidays I'll go on with just me and my boy - now he's nearly 17 he’ll be off backpacking with his friends rather than me before too long. 

It is by no means a travel guide, in fact at the moment I'm calling it the Duff Guide to Prague, Budapest and Vienna because I am no travel expert, we got lost, we got on the wrong train, we missed some of the obvious touristy bits – but we laughed and had a lot of fun. It's as much a reflection and examination of our relationship, I've been a single mum bringing him up on my own for most of his life, we have a great relationship which is inevitably changing as he gets more grown up and is moving towards adulthood and independence.

So… without further ado... here's my first Six Sentence Sunday...

Near the bar a cheer went up as a grinning man grasping four pints made it to the table with only minor spillage. The crowd of follicly challenged, substantial bellied blokes wore football shirts bearing nicknames based on their very own USPs, which mostly seemed to involve sizes and/or bodily functions - like Gassy Gaz and Jimmy the Giant (who was of course 5ft 2").  Nearby sat a complementary half dozen women with various coloured poker straight hair and matching orange skin. Their t-shirts showed more of a team spirit, shrieking in loud pink letters that they were on Donna’s Hen Tour: Mayhem in Malaga. They too were in high party spirits, matching the lads' keen appetite for sparkly lager and bacon butties.  We were at Newcastle Airport - it was six o’clock in the morning.

(My eagle eyed reader may notice I've actually posted this on Monday rather than Sunday - this is correct and due to the fact that my iPad seems to have fallen put with Blogger and does not want to play with it any more!)