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On the second day we walk to Trogir; a walk along a busy road but with interesting sights to see; the buildings, the wild flowers, the gardens, the houses.

It takes us thirty minutes and we’re glad to be walking on the long bridge over the water to the town to search out a refreshing drink in a cafe on the wide promenade.

Trogir is set within medieval walls.. The cobbled streets are fascinating; narrow, old buildings with Romanesque and Renaissance architecture including a magnificent cathedral and castle.

Since 1997 Trogir has had World Heritage status

Croatia JB

Croatia JB

Croatia JB

Later, before setting off on our walk back to Okrug Gornji, we sit and enjoy a local beer at a bar by the water and near the busy, fascinating market

Croatia JB

But before leaving, we stand and admire the yachts … and dream of winning the Lottery!

Croatia JB

The next day we go on a route march to Dango. The photos speak for themselves


Croatia JB


And we have a wonderful lunch at the Konoba Duga restaurant there.


At night the heavens open… we have a glorious storm that lasts until the following morning. The rain stops and we’re off walking again

Croatia JB

Over the next three days we explore the area in the daytime. At night we sit together on the swinging hammock on the balcony, reading and enjoying a glass (or two) of wine until the light goes

It’s our last night. We enjoy the final sunset of our holiday.



‘I like your writing.’ he says.

We’ve known one another for almost fifty years, been married for forty-six. But he’s looking at me as though he’s never seen me before.

He’s just finished the last book of my trilogy, Living in the Shadows. He sits back and says it again. ‘I do, I like your writing.’

I want to ask why but I know he thinks he’s said enough. And it is. He’s read all three books over the last week. I’ve not known him do that before, he’s a man who barely sits still, who loves being outdoors, loves walking. But we’re on holiday and we’ve walked during the day. In the evenings we sit and read on the balcony of this lovely apartment.

I hadn’t realise he’d brought the books with him; they’re the ones I’ve used when I give talks and readings and the first, Pattern of Shadows, is, after five years, looking distinctly tatty. I’ve said nothing about it even though it’s been hard not to watch him while he’s read; tried to figure out his expressions.

Pondering on his words later I realize why I didn’t ask him why he liked the books. It’s enough he told me. There are times when we’ve been walking, or watching a programme on the television when he’s said,’you’ve gone again… you’re thinking.’ And he’s been right; I was writing in my head. And times when I have actually sat in front of the computer writing and before I’ve known it hours have passed. I’ve dragged myself away to make a meal, to see if he wants a coffee, to flick a duster around the rooms to salve my conscience. And I see him watching me as though puzzled.

The expression on his face makes me feel guilty sometimes. But not often. I wrote in secret for years. Sometimes for long stretches of time – but mostly – when life takes over ( work, moving houses, illness, the family, other commitments) – sporadically

I’ve loved our life together. There have been many ups and downs, celebrations, disappointments, exciting times. There are not many things I would have changed – perhaps the petty arguments, the struggles in our early years when we fought to find our places in this thing we call our marriage. But those times passed and we made this ‘thing’ our own, learning from mistakes ( or making the same ones over and over again until they became a family joke/tradition/ something to be sighed over in resignation).

I know this man I met so many years ago. We were both hesitant in commitment, both lacking in confidence, both coming from parents whose marriages were acrimonious, where quarrels were never resolved.

I’ve seen him grow into the man he is and I know – I’ve always assumed – he knows me. We finish sentences for one another, I can be thinking, planning something we should do, and the next moment he says the words. We share the same sense of humour, laugh often. We make love – okay, not as often as thirty years ago but it’s not a bad record. (I’m hoping he never reads this post, by the way!). We hold hands when we walk, when we sit together. We know each other’s needs: a touch of empathy, comfort, sympathy, reassurance.

We know one another better than we know anyone else in this world

Yet, never before having read anything I’ve written, he’s now looking at me as though he’s just had the answer to a question that’s been hovering in his mind forever.

I like your writing ,’ he says again. He leans towards me and we kiss.

It’s enough. I know he understands why I need to write.

See Part 1 here.

Meet The Author...
Judith Barrow
Who Am I?

I was born and brought up in a small village in the Pennines and moved with  my husband and three children to Pembrokeshire  on a cold wet day in November1978 to a half built house.

After months of living amongst rubble we finally moved in and have settled well. I love the hills and moors of the North, but I'm happy living here with the beautiful Welsh coastline and countryside.

I have an MA in Creative Writing, B.A. (Hons.) in Literature, and a Diploma in Drama and Script Writing. I have had short stories, poems, plays, reviews and articles published throughout the British Isles.

I am also a Creative Writing tutor for Pembrokeshire County Council’s Lifelong Learning Programme and runs workshops on all genres.

When I’m not writing or teaching I spend time doing research for my writing, reading or walking the coastal path. I even occasionally resort to 'domestic trivia', AKA housework.

Oh and I love sitting in the garden ...watching my husband battling with the weeds and the tenacious daisies on the lawns.

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