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Stammering has more than once held me back from what I want to say, but for many more people it stops them from leading the life that they want to, or from being who they want to be. That’s no grandiose statement, either; it really can take control of you, and effectively take away your voice. Which, as much as I may not admit it now, was what it was doing to me, until I became a member of the Starfish Project.

Spending three days with fellow stammerers, you learn the basic costal breathing technique,, and how to manage the feelings around stammering. Through various exercises and lots of chatting (something many stammerers haven’t been able to do before, remember), many people begin to find their voice at last.

It’s much more than a residential course spent at a hotel in the Sussex countryside. You meet so many people who understand what you’re going through and are about, and who you would not have met before; you immediately become one of the Starfish family. The first course has a fee, but after that, repeat attendances are free, and as a ‘refresher’ speaking from experience, you get so much more out of the second time than the first, because you are helping other people, just as other people helped you.

The Starfish Project is the passion of Anne and David Blight. Born from a vision in 1999, Anne moved away from the more well-known McGuire Programme, and started to teach her stammering toolbox of approaches to eight to 10 people at a time. Even though she has never stammered herself, she seems to know the frustration and occasional pain that stammerers feel. Making no claim to cure stammering (as that cure is non-existent), it’s quite literally breathtaking what results the course can have.

Just take these situations as examples. Some attendees haven’t been able to order a takeaway pizza, buy a coffee, or ask for what  they would like in a shop, as the stammer has always taken control of the situation. A mundane, everyday task very often becomes a herculean one. To see these people overcome their stammer and finally get some self-belief and reclaim back their lives is truly inspirational. But, every stammerer is as individual as their stammer, and the way if affects them.

I first became a member of the Starfish (Supportive Training And Recovery For Individual Stammerer’s Harmony) family some five years ago, and went back the following year as a refresher, but, like some distant and lost cousin, have been away for some time. There’s been no logical or genuine reason for that, although I think that being a covert stammerer and sometimes hiding my speech problems meant that I didn’t practise either the technique or the thinking as much as I should have done. My covertness often lead to complacency; my speech wasn’t as difficult as other people’s, so should I worry that much?

But, you know what? In those four years, my speech was, at times, as difficult as other people’s. So, I made the resolution to go back on a course this year, and although something came up on that particular occasion, I was heartened to read of a workshop day, right on my doorstep in Chelmsford. That was on Saturday, and after a fantastic day meeting over 40 other Starfishes, I’d like a think that I’m once again on the way to becoming a not-quite-so-distant member of the Starfish family.

I’ve joined the Essex support group, which handily meets in Chelmsford every fortnight; my first visit was last night. They’re a lovely bunch, and very supportive of each other, making hopping on the getting back train and staying on it so much easier. It’s good to be back, too, and the ‘comeback’ visit down to Sussex will happen, I’m sure of that. This week has been a little strange at times, though; as it seems that even just talking about the course – always in an excited and energised way – makes me stammer.

But, all of us know that everyday won’t be perfect, and if we have a good day, we have a good day. And, if we don’t, it’s nothing to beat ourselves up about. At the moment, I’m taking each day at a time, and setting myself minor goals, almost rewinding to the start of that first course. It’s been hard, and you do sometimes forget, but if you continually think Starfish, then just like the stammer has been, it becomes a whole new way of life.

We’ve been on time 90% of the time!

We know that what you want most from us is trains that arrive and depart on time. So we’re delighted with our latest punctuality results – with six successive months over 90%.

Plans are being put in place to reduce both the number of disruptive incidents that occur and the impact they have on passengers’ journeys. And we’re also looking at options to increase the number of seats at peak time to increase your comfort.

Source: National Express East Anglia 

Really? If this week is anything to go by, National Express East Anglia knows nothing about being punctual. I’ve only been on the trains four days this week, but out of eight journeys, four of them have been delayed or late arriving at their destination. That’s a 50% punctuality rate, falling some way short of the company’s claimed 90% for the East Anglian Mainline service.

I know what you’re thinking; that’s not a very seaside-y picture up there is it? Well, that’s because it wasn’t a totally seaside-y holiday. We’ve just spent three days near the north Norfolk coast with Steven and Anthony, and although the days weren’t all full of sandy beaches, the coast did feature quite a bit. With unseasonably warm and sunny weather, it could well have been the middle of summer. Of course, it also made three nights under canvas last week much more bearable. They hadn’t been before, but our non-camping friends enjoyed it so much that they may will chuck the tent in the car again next year.

For camping virgins they did very well with their kit. The stoves and pans were fast at cooking, and the tent was the perfect size. We’d bought a new six-man one, which once it had taken four of us to get up, was in all honesty, more than a little too big. Two small cars could easily have fitted inside with room to spare, although it did make for cosy evenings with all four of us sitting around the table to eat by wind-up lantern. There was room to stand up in it, too, which easily beats crouching down to do everything in the two-man tent. The only downside was the lack of groundsheets and broken poles, which made putting it up more interesting (and longer - Steven and Anthony’s 80 minutes was positively speedy) than it should have been.

The groundsheet problem was easily sorted, though, with four well-chosen tarpaulins from a local army surplus store. They were essential. At night, it was so misty, that the moisture from the ground was rising and making the inside of the canvas roof wet, making it appear to rain in the open spaces of the tent. September was definitely the latest camping should be done, with April probably the earliest. But, there are new poles winging their way to us as I write this, so we should be able to use the marquee, sorry tent, again next year.

It was a relaxing three days. There were slow, starting with a tea and scrambled eggs on toast breakfast, followed by gentle ambles to the north Norfolk coastal towns. Cromer welcomed us for a spot of geocaching, while we rode the charming steam train from a bygone age on the Poppy Line at Sherringham, which took us to Holt for a spot of lunch. There were laughably over-the-top (some of us laughing more uncontrollably than others) cliched tea rooms, and stone-skimming on the pebbles inbetween, with strawberries and cream fudge and card-playing by candlelight to be remembered, too.

Just as the campsite website recommends, we relaxed, unwound, and forgot the stresses of day-to-day life. And with two all-male couples, was it camp camping? Certainly not. That was Carry on Camping, which we watched after we were home on Sunday evening.

The last few weeks (or months) have seen fewer posts on these very pages than in the past. There are many reasons, but it’s mostly that recently blogging has turned into busying. But this week, that busying took on a new meaning, as we moved down most of my belongings to the house. Me moving in was going to happen eventually, but this week it turned into reality, as Nik and I packed two car loads most days from Sunday through to today and buzzed the 40 miles to and from Chelmsford.

There are just a few bits and bobs left. But, if anything, after two days of lugging my library of motoring magazines up and down six flights of stairs, I’ve realised that I’ve left it 18 years too late to put the brakes on my collecting habit. But, it’s better late than never, so although it may be a herculean task, I’m going to sort through them and only keep the glossies. The everyday weeklies are being ditched, but will be scanned and kept digitally.

The thing about busying, though, is that it makes you so tired. I moved into the flat on my own over four days, and even though it was only from literally up the road, it was tiring. This time the driving hasn’t helped, and we’re looking forward to our three days of camping in north Norfolk, starting tomorrow. Moving always signifies the end of an era, and this time is no different. But just like the moving, it’s behind me, and just like the few days of camping coming up, we’ve got many happy times to look forward to.

Dan helped me fulfill a somewhat forgotten lifelong ambition yesterday evening. I was obsessed with Volkswagen’s original Beetle when I was a little boy, and looked forward to owning one when I turned 17 and passed my driving test. That dream was never realised, partly because I didn’t pass my (second) test until I was 18, and partly because when I did, my grandparents handed me their then 14 year-old Polo. Which, as those who know me would testify, got me becoming obsessed with Volkswagens of another kind.

But, with over 21 million examples having found homes across the world, I can see why the little car endeared itself to each and every one of them. Dan’s 1972 example was towards the end of the model’s production run in Europe, and although production ceased totally in 2003, the car was fundamentally the same as when it was introduced some 65 years earlier. Some even doubted if production would ever end, but Volkswagen called time on it’s air-cooled legend, after a prolonged stay of execution, with the car living out its retirement in South America.

There are too many Beetle facts, figures, and stories to go into here, but my own on Saturday night was memorable. I’d been a passenger in one of the bubble-shaped cars a few years back, and even then it lived up to its legacy. It’s actually a very small car, even though I had previously thought that the bolted-on and protruding wings made it rather large; you can see why Americans noted its smallness when they took it to their hearts in the 1960s.

Inside it’s very cosy, and with no room for luggage, quite impractical. The windscreen is close to your face, and there’s absolutely no crash protection. The steering is best described as vague, and the brakes are near non-existent. But, with the noisy flat-four engine chugging away behind you, all seems to be forgiven.

All of a sudden all of those idiosyncrasies seem to not matter. You are immediately transported back at least 30 years, and all the memories of loving the car in my childhood came flooding back. The first Volkswagen shows I ever attended were because of the Beetle, and Herbie was my favourite movie star when I was a young and impressionable lad (my mum took me to see the series of 1970s Disney films starring the ‘Love Bug’ in the cinema at the time of their release). Even my love of Polos and other modern-day water-cooled Volkswagens stem from the fact that the Beetle introduced me to that iconic interlocked VW badge.

So, I have a lot to thank this little car for. And, although it would be nice to have a restored late Sixties example, or a late Seventies GT Beetle under a dust sheet which could be flung back for those few and far between sunny Sunday afternoon drives (from a wooden double-door garage of course), I have to be realistic. For now, I’ll continue to admire the little cars from afar, and remember that, for once, something legendary is actually deserving of its status.