
‘Twas on a Monday morning, when two unlikely friends, living quite ordinary lives, beheld their first blog and looked back at a major crossroads before launching wenark.green.com.
Roll back to December 2020, a strange month in a stranger year, stuffed with anecdotes, ennui, incarceration, one-upmanship, and uncertainty. Knee-deep in baubles, candy canes, and festive sparkles, we prepared for our first Covid Christmas and, fuelled by mulled wine and mince pies, hatched a crazy plan to write a series of cosy crimes set in cosier locations. Our idea mooted exciting times ahead. Though polar opposites, one vision had shifted two creative minds into mutual gear. We were ready for anything. So we thought. But life was having none of it and harboured a cruel plot twist.
For years, a barrage of weird symptoms had seen me trekking back and forth to clinics, but medics and their machinations drew a blank, called me a mystery, and sent me on my way. Disgruntled, life carried on, but I knew something lurked, waiting to debut. Before pen hit paper, I couldn’t use my hands, nor walk. Then came the emergency hospital admission. The poking, prodding, and probing. A vital MRI scan. A savage verdict of Transverse Myelitis. And, after further scrutiny, the devastating diagnosis. Multiple Sclerosis. Mocking. Jeering. How it brought me to my knees, driving life and Wenark Green’s writing dream to a terrifying halt.
I’m blessed with tremendous inner strength, but not ashamed to say I crumbled. In the consultant’s room, it didn’t hit me, but in the car ready for home, the enormity of one impossible stroke of stinking luck swallowed me down and sicked me up. At the time, I was struggling to deal with other life crises, but the reality of a chronic, serious neurological condition felled them. And me.
My head was a tangled mess. Once-active legs, now pillars of lead. A body wracked with spasms, pain, and crippling fatigue partied with millions of mischievous ants merrily dancing over weary feet. And that was just the beginning. My obsession to slow the progression of an unpredictable, MonStrous condition ravaged my mental health. Ambitions I’d had for years dissolved as tears I’d stoically held back succumbed to fear and a doomed future.

‘Twas on a Monday morning, when we beheld our first blog before launching wenarkgreen.com, that two unlikely friends looked back at a major crossroads in quite ordinary lives.
Roll back to December 2020, a strange month in a stranger year, stuffed with anecdotes, ennui, incarceration, one-upmanship, and uncertainty. Knee-deep in baubles, candy canes, and festive sparkles, we prepared for our first Covid Christmas and fuelled by mulled wine and mince pies, hatched a crazy plan to write a series of cosy crimes set in cosier locations. Our idea mooted exciting times ahead. Though polar opposites, one vision had shifted two creative minds into mutual gear. We were ready for anything. So we thought. But life was having none of it and harboured a cruel plot twist.
For years, a barrage of weird symptoms had seen me trekking back and forth to clinics, but medics drew a blank, called me a mystery, and sent me on my way. Disgruntled, life carried on, but I knew something lurked, waiting to debut. Before pen hit paper, I could barely use my hands, or walk. Then came the emergency hospital admission. The poking, prodding, and pestering. A vital MRI scan. A savage verdict of Transverse Myelitis. Then, after further scrutiny, the devastating diagnosis. Multiple Sclerosis! Mocking. Jeering. How it brought me to my knees, driving life and Wenark Green’s writing dream to a terrifying halt.
I am blessed with tremendous inner strength, but I’m not ashamed to say I crumbled. In the consultant’s room, it didn’t hit me, but in the car ready for home, the enormity of one impossible stroke of stinking luck swallowed me down and sicked me up. At the time, I was struggling to deal with other life crises, but the reality of a chronic, serious neurological condition felled them. And me.
My head was a tangled mess. Once-active legs, now pillars of lead. A body wracked with spasms, pain, and crippling fatigue partied with millions of mischievous ants merrily dancing over weary feet. And that was just the beginning. My obsession to slow the progression of an unpredictable, MonStrous condition ravaged my mental health. Ambitions I’d had for years dissolved as tears I’d stoically held back succumbed to fear and a doomed future.






Following diagnosis, I vowed to do everything possible to live a healthy life. I scoured Dr Google and terrified myself with utter trash on many so-called ‘supportive sites.’ Then, I stumbled upon a blog, which, though heartbreaking, offered a wealth of inspiration, motivation, and promise to help me on my way. I bought recommended books. Read countless articles. Spoke to like-minded people. By seeking the right aid, and with self-education, I’ve learned to accept. To adapt. I learned how to walk again. How to work useless hands. I turned my vision to optimistic and set about fixing my mental health.
The MS struggle can be tiresome, and symptoms often tough, but fast forward a couple of years, and here I am. The fighter and writer. I don’t fight the condition. This autoimmune disorder is part of me, and I can’t battle myself. But I can be the ‘get on with it’ type, laughing in the face of adversity and doing all I can to manage my dis-ease. Kindness starts with self-compassion and, through the OMS program, and a change of lifestyle and diet, my mind and body celebrate that selfless kindness. I’m living my story. Living my MS. Funny how that old devil killed my vision, but gave me wings to fly.
And what of Wenark Green? Well, here we are. Soaring! Two unlikely friends, who refused to let their daft cosy mystery fancy pack its bags and head to dead-end street. That whimsical pair didn’t scram but stuck with it and how. Determined. Driven. Enthusiastic as ever. Still polar. Not poleaxed.
Following diagnosis, I vowed to do everything possible to live a healthy life. I scoured Dr Google and terrified myself with utter trash on many so-called ‘supportive sites.’ Then, I stumbled upon a blog, which, though heartbreaking, offered a wealth of inspiration, motivation, and promise to help me on my way. I bought recommended books. Read countless articles. Spoke to like-minded people. By seeking the right aid, and with self-education, I’ve learned to accept. To adapt. I learned how to walk again. How to work useless hands. I turned my vision to optimistic and set about fixing my mental health.
The MS struggle can be tiresome, and symptoms often tough, but fast forward a couple of years, and here I am. The fighter and writer. I don’t fight the condition. This autoimmune disorder is part of me, and I can’t battle myself. But I can be the ‘get on with it’ type, laughing in the face of adversity and doing all I can to manage my dis-ease. Kindness starts with self-compassion and, through the OMS program, and a change of lifestyle and diet, my mind and body celebrate that selfless kindness. I’m living my story. Living my MS. Funny how that old devil killed my vision, but gave me wings to fly.
And what of Wenark Green? Well, here we are. Soaring! Two unlikely friends, who refused to let their daft cosy mystery fancy pack its bags and head to dead-end street. That whimsical pair didn’t scram but stuck with it and how. Determined. Driven. Enthusiastic as ever. Still polar. Not poleaxed.




With daffodils in full bloom and bluebell walks imminent, cherry blossoms are in the pink and trees awaken, ready to dress in their majestic best. I hear the beguiling bleat of newborn lambs kissing the air and know that spring is here. A delightful hello to rebirth and revival. Warmer weather. Longer days. Wearing its hat at a jaunty angle, the sun plays chase with clumps of cotton and beauty fills the sky. This is a time to salute my appreciation, vitality, and love for a season that never fails to charm. A time to thank the stars for positivity. For giving me a chance. I have much to do and much to cheer, not least a stalwart bestie whose support never wavered.
For Ark, for me, for Wenark Green, we welcome this major crossroads for all seasons. Our time. Our story. A confident celebration of new beginnings in two very special lives.
Thanks for reading. After while.
Wen x
With daffodils in full bloom and bluebell walks imminent, cherry blossoms are in the pink and trees awaken, ready to dress in their majestic best. I hear the beguiling bleat of newborn lambs kissing the air and know that spring is here. A delightful hello to rebirth and revival. Warmer weather. Longer days. Wearing its hat at a jaunty angle, the sun plays chase with clumps of cotton and beauty fills the sky. This is a time to salute my appreciation, vitality, and love for a season that never fails to charm. A time to thank the stars for positivity. For giving me a chance. I have much to do and much to cheer, not least a stalwart bestie whose support never wavered.
For Ark, for me, for Wenark Green, we welcome this major crossroads for all seasons. Our time. Our story. A confident celebration of new beginnings in two very special lives.
Thanks for reading. After while.
Wen x