It feels a bit awkward to write something here as I feel it’s been a while since I’ve had anything of note to say.

Nothing much has been happening in my life and in fact, I don’t mind it at all.

There’s a quietness to my days and there are days where I get up from bed not really knowing what day it is. I guess that’s a good problem to have.

The days have been exceptionally cold – it’s been a winter like my childhood days. Of frosts, constant rain, grey skies and dampness everywhere but I’m seeing little breaks of spring already (a bit too soon though). I’ve been spending my days reading, reading, reading. Books are my companions.

If I’m not reading, I visit my parents twice a week and have meals with them. I’m also playing two rounds of 18 holes of golf every week which is now becoming an addiction of sorts and thinking about how I can play more. I’m getting better at it too with my handicap reducing from 50 to 40 quite quickly and with my last 8 or so rounds scoring more than 32 points which I’m happy with.

I’m enjoying the golf because it’s a game I can play against myself. For four hours, I’m out on the course and it’s all woodlands. I see trees, foxes, bird life, breathe in fresh air and walk a lot hitting a little white ball. I’m not competitive at all compared to the others – in fact, I just don’t care – but when I’m walking and hitting the ball, I’m not thinking about anything else. It’s like for four hours, you’re in this flow state and you don’t even realise the time passing. Four hours feels like four minutes before we are all back in the club house enjoying a hot drink and a meal together.

Last week I submitted a story I wrote for the Women’s Newsletter. I knew about the story of the old mansion that used to be on the grounds back in 1873 and which was demolished in 2002. No one knew about the story of the people who lived in it. A story of passion, infidelity, lunacy, a story of a Brazilian sugar plant heiress and a French explorer naturalist by the title of Compte de Castlenauand their mentally ill son who locked himself in his bedroom every night that had grilles on the door.

There’s a road sign on our golf course that points to the old road that used to go to the mansion and I had researched into the story so I wrote about this family and it’s house. I was told that even the historical committee wasn’t aware of it at all and that they may use my story to be part of the historical collection they have at the club – put up some photos etc for other members to see.

In some way, I’m thankful that I’ve resurfaced the story of Mayfield at Woodlands so it’ll never be forgotten.

All due to my curiosity of learning about a demolished mansion on the golf course I play at and then delving into that – and asking older club members if they remember the house (which they did – but never knew who lived in it).

Amusingly, people did wonder why I was asking these non- golf related questions teeing off near the 7th hole….do you remember an old mansion near here? Had you heard the story of Edward Fonseca? What about the shooting of the kid? (They were shocked thinking it was recent until I laughed and said no, it happened very late 1800s….)

I’m sure they thought me mad. Nevertheless I did what I had to do.

I’ve kept the story alive.