New Year's Eve 2012

It's finally New Year's Eve, I jogged for 20 minutes this morning.  Back/hip, still not good, going to resort to drugs today, some kind of anti-inflammatory should help.  I'm here with my coffee were it's warm and light, outside however is damp, dull and dark with high winds throughout the night and this morning.

I have a little shopping to do this morning then Bee and I are heading out for lunch at Ness Gardens and a nice walk, it's become a bit of a tradition over the past few years, if Bee is home, we go for a walk around the gardens on New Year's Eve or as close as we can to it.  After that, I'll be home watching TV until it's time.

Like I said in another post, 2012 was full of angst but today, I'm thinking of the happy moments and all the times I had a smile on my face, all the times I laughed out loud.  I had some really good times and I wonder what 2013 will bring me.

So, fast forward to just after noon when Bee arrives to pick me up.  We head to Ness, park up in an empty car park and proceed to read the notice on the door, I have to add at this point that it isn't usually closed on New Year's Eve.  So, the visitor's centre, through which holds the restaurant and the entrance, is closed until January 1st while it has some work done, however 'Friends of Ness,' (that is, members,) can access through, 'the Friend's Gate.'  This is where the notice should have continued with, '... which is located ...' but no, no idea where the secret, (it's apparently secret because we couldn't find it,) gate is located.  We walked up and down the length of the grounds and came across numerous gates, all of which were padlocked. 

After 45 minutes of searching, we're about to give up after yet another hopeful option is once again, a dead end when... (I must pause here to warn you that your mostly law abiding friend may actually be a criminal... now...) Bee pipes up with, 'do you think we could squeeze through those conifers?'  The conifers are tall and spaced close together so they are growing up rather than out.  I place my hands through and between two young trees and open out my arms, we could probably, actually squeeze through.  I go first then take Bee's bags and she follows, after a swift brush down of our coats, we're in and I feel like I've just broken into somewhere that I shouldn't be, like... Fort Knox.

Ness is a huge garden, the car park can be full but you may only pass two or three people in about 4 hours however today, it's a little eerie to begin with, we are totally alone, no sound, not even the waterfalls are falling.  We don't do our usual route because the ground is so sodden and so we stick to the pathways, we park ourselves on Mrs Singh's bench, (all of the benches are dedicated with a small plaque, Bee wants one when she leaves,) and we have a beautiful view.  It's bright, the sun is right ahead of us and low, we can see the rolling landscape below with the pond glistening at the very bottom. 

At this moment, the two of us produce miniature wines to toast the New Year, I think I started that about 3 or 4 years ago and now it's tradition, we're just enjoying our wine when a couple approach then another then another, we're both desperate to ask how they got in but if we did, that would give us away and expose our creative entering.

Moments later and it's as if God has flicked a switch, it's suddenly dark, the sun is gone and although it's only around 2pm, the light is gone, it's dark and the sky looks like it's about to bring forth torrential rain.

I'm home and showered and I've even done my hair again, (so easy at the moment,) I put a wash load in, watched the Auckland fireworks for New Year on the Internet, check that CJ is okay and has plans then phone to check in with J, her dog Molly is not well, (that's the one that C called 'dog' when she was little,) she is whimpering in pain and had to pay a visit to the vet today.  Molly has pain in her back but hopefully has just pulled a muscle, she's on pain killers... fingers crossed.

I'll have Jake Gyllenhall to keep me company this evening, (in the form of the 'Prince of Persia', not in person, sadly,) then a few minutes before midnight, I'll head outside with my coal, silver, salt and bread, (I hope it doesn't matter if the bread is straight from the freezer,) then I'll watch a few fireworks then let myself and the New Year in, take pain killers for the back/hip situation, then head to nod. 

Happy New Year Chick xxx

Four Chirstmases

Let me save you the trouble, I love Reese Witherspoon, but with regards to this film, don't bother x

December 30.5

Yesterday afternoon, I phoned my cousin to wish her a belated Happy Birthday, there is a large age difference but in another time, I think we would have made great friends, she talks so straight to me, talks to me like a friend, no frills, no pleasantries, very straight and just what a person needs. 

When I asked what my cousin would be doing for New Year, she told me then added, 'New Year hasn't been the same since your Mum's.' Mum always used to throw New Year's Eve parties and I'm not sure what the protocol was, I just knew, when I was a kid that at New Year, everyone showed up, my sisters, their husbands and kids, my cousin's, their kids, sometimes their kids friends, neighbours, it was just an open house and so exciting, I spent the whole day waiting for everyone to arrive. 

Around 11.50p.m. I would hurry everyone to get their coats and usher them out of our back door, through the garden, down the path, out of the garden gate, follow the path around the back, to the front of the house, we'd then walk around and around the grass verge in front of the house linking arms usually with my brother's-in-law George or Jim or my cousin's.  Someone would have the car radio on so that we could hear the official count down, we'd all stop at the appropriate time, link arms and hold hands, countdown out load from 10 - to - Happy New Year!  Kiss everyone 'Happy New Year' then sing 'Auld Lang Syne' before allowing the male with the darkest head of hair to knock on the door, in his pocket he carried coal, silver, bread and salt.  The rest of us would line up behind the chosen one.

Mum would always stay in, she was the one who opened the door to the New Year and we'd all file in, one by one, wish her 'Happy New Year' and kiss her on the cheek.  The kids, of which there were many at the time, nieces, nephews, cousins, they all, one by one, fell fast asleep on Mum's bed or fell asleep then were carried to Mum's bed, and ended up, covered in coats until it was time to load them into cars for them to be driven home.

As the years went on, the dark hair turned grey and eventually, people stopped knocking on the door just after midnight. 

I can't remember when the last one of those nights was, but I don't think I've felt part of a family since that last night.  Part of a whole family that is.  It all began to unravel shortly after the last one.

December 30th

It's December 30th  and here at least, it has finally stopped raining, the sun is trying to shine, it's still cold but it is still December, so... well.  I slept pretty well but my back/hip, whatever it is, that painful lower left quadrant, kept disturbing me, not sure what I did yesterday but those two physio sessions are now a very distant memory, in fact, it's as though those miracle sessions now never happened.

I'm here at my usual Sunday morning haunt, I've had a lovely coffee, read a little, wrote a little, people watched a little, chatted to the girls behind the bar, after this, I need to recycle then I've been invited for coffee with my nephew CJ and Bee may call in after church.

So CJ and I discuss the coming year, our aims, mostly his and it was unsaid, but we both know that I am going to be his head coach for the coming year, I'm proud to do the job.  I will be Burgess Meredith's 'Mickey Goldmill' to Sylvester Stallone's 'Rocky Balboa.' Amongst many plans, he is going to get into peak physical condition, aiming to run a few 10ks and I need to find him a new hairstyle, see the power I have?

Later I'll be heading home to sort, (if my back/hip allows,) and iron, my life is so exciting.  Bee doesn't call in, she overslept and didn't make it to church, think she is still jet-lagged.

Looking Back

So we're nearing the end of 2012 and let's not beat around the bush, it wasn't the best was it?  Full of worry and stress and sadness and of course saying goodbye, whether that was to incredibly special people, who could never to be replaced, family, dear friends, jobs, people that made us happy, made us feel special, made us feel secure.  It was a year of loss for us, but mostly for you.

Christmas is about spending the day with those that you love, if you can, and we both did that.  My day was planned with military precision so that I could see everyone I was supposed to, but it all worked out and I had a lovely day.  I spent our Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, also with those that I love, except instead of presents on that day, I got one of my at least, bi-annual lectures.  The person who lectures me does it from a place of love and I know that he means well but in reality, he hasn't a clue about my true situation and I just want to tell him that he is quite frankly, talking out of his hat, but I would never do that... because he means well and because he cares.  So I sit there and take the berating. Why do I live in a property with that many bedrooms when there is just me?  Why this? Why that?  I sit like a scolded child because otherwise, I would point out that actually, he doesn't understand me at all and all of his seemingly good suggestions are actually supremely flawed and totally inaccurate for me but I would never point that out because then I would make him wrong, so I take it and I'm close to tears but I suck it in, until the next lecture.

The journey home was not good, heavy rain, a mostly hour long, downhill journey with so much surface water on the roads, I didn't feel like I could feel the tarmac, I dropped my speed to 50 for most of the journey, even that wasn't slow enough.

After calling in at my eldest sister's on the way home on Boxing Day, I finally got home about 5pm, phoned my brother-in-law to wish him a belated Merry Christmas, he was working on Christmas Day, watched some TV and then went to bed and slept in fits and starts waiting for my alarm to go off ready for work.  I did that thing several times where you hear your alarm go off, and you wake with a start, but the alarm was only in my head.

Work wasn't too bad on Thursday, think I was on my own for the first 1.5 hours, I left at 2pm board out of my skull.  My two 'nearest' people, J and Bee are both unavailable.. via the phone, so it's just me this evening.

Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve and I woke early but after a good nights sleep.  I've come out for coffee  and brought with me an old journal, and an old issue of Elle magazine.  The journal makes me laugh out loud (slightly embarrassing,) and the Elle has so much reading in it, it's two years old but no wonder I haven't managed to part with it yet.  You see, this is why I have trouble recycling my magazines.

I jogged for 25 minutes this morning at a pretty good pace, got a text from my friend Lisa to say she was on her way to work after all, that was at 6.40am.

I'm having a lovely and peaceful hour, (just listening to 'Summertime' on the Starbucks sound system, it's much preferred to their choice of Christmas music this year which seems to be some kind of Tudor/Gothic ensemble, not my taste at all.)  I'll be heading back into the insane traffic soon, well, not much traffic but people driving insanely, I'll just give everyone a really wide berth.  The rest of the day will be spent dropping off presents and packing reading for tomorrow.

Going to be a long day, my sister Bee is staying overnight after midnight mass, she'll get home around 12.35 so that's when I need to stay up until, then I need to get as much sleep as possible before I have to get up to make breakfast then drive to my cousins.

Wedding Belle

It's December 23rd and it's such a different day today from yesterday.  We must have had 48 hours of solid rain but today, there is a light wind and the sky is powder blue, it's beautiful, and so mild so I'm wearing a long sleeved t, a gilet and my jeans, (and a bit of Swarovski, well you have to don't you?)  Surely this ensemble is unheard of in December? 

I read a little and write a little over my coffee then it's the Sunday paper purchase and a bit of foodie things then home.  I jogged for 20 minutes this morning, same as yesterday but it was easier today and I did a great stretch afterwards, I feel so sorry for my body and I know I have been neglecting it, the stretches feel great. 

It was great to chat last night, so glad you called.  I feel like the time difference and, well, life has really got in the way these past few weeks when I wanted to check on you the most.  Now that I've confirmed which medium is best for you to read what I write, I'll make more use and will send you messages more often.

So I'm heading home to wrap presents and after that, I expect a visit from Bee, I haven't seen her since I deposited her at the airport en route to NZ on November 20th, will be good to see her.

My main news from last evening is that my cousin, (always felt like a little brother,) PQ, has finally got engaged to the lovely Kate.  I have to confess that I had a sneaky feeling in my water that an engagement was imminent and I bought a card a few days ago.  I won't tell them that I bought a 'wedding' frock in the summer... just in case.  It's blue, floaty and romantic, perfect for a Spring/Summer wedding, if it's an Autumn/Winter wedding... I have a problem.  Seriously, I'm so excited and so looking forward to a lovely day.  They are a wonderful and perfect couple and this will be the last family wedding bar one for about the next twenty years, so it will be very special indeed.  Finally... some happy news.

Twas the Week before Chirstmas

It's the week before Christmas.  The weather is much milder but much wetter than the previous recent weeks and parts of the country are experiencing severe flooding but... all okay here.

Each work day has passed pretty quickly, (huge difference from the initial few weeks since I started the job,) but, more bad news on the work front, won't bore you with the details but in summary, we're now faced with losing our jobs next year, not under one set of rules, but under 2, double the threat, but what can you do?  Still, if one more person tells me, and the rest of us, 'not to worry, just enjoy Christmas,' I may lose my rag.

I've watched quite a few films during the evenings this week, 'Walk the Line,' never seen that before, did not know Johnny Cash's story at all prior to the film, great film, Reese Witherspoon and of course, Joachim Phoenix were brilliant, sobbed through 'Steele Magnolia's'... again, 'The Wedding Date,' love that film and 'Day and Knight,' Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise both good, film not terrible but don't think I'll be watching it again. 

I came home on Friday to find that a neighbour's kid is still using my address for his college mail, (I do think it's an honest mistake but it's driving me nuts now, I have asked politely if he'll correct the mistake.)  Also, for the second time in a week, a Christmas card which is destined for an entirely different address, has been delivered to me, same card... twice... not my address.  The only thing that is the same, is the house number, amazing, I will put the same card, back in the post tomorrow... again. Everything is just so annoying at the moment but it's probably just me.

So I'm standing in the supermarket this afternoon, in the frozen aisle, staring at the array of oven chips, I'm looking for 'Asda's, Rustic Oven Chips.'  I scour for several minutes the multitude of different versions of oven chips.  The irony is, I rarely have them, but when I went to have some last weekend... I had five chips left.  'What have you lost?'  A Supermarket person arrives behind me and obviously recognises the look of a woman who can't find what she's searching for.  'Asda's own, Rustic Oven Chips,' I declare.  'I was at a wedding with you... Donna!'  'No, I'm... oh, Donna's wedding?'  'You sat at our table, it was....'  'It was 8 years ago last August, wow, you have a great memory.'  I profuse.  (I remember it well, it was a very special year for me and it meant the world that Donna and Gary had invited me to join them on their special day, which also happened to be my birthday.)  I wouldn't have known this man from Adam, I feel like bleep, put my make up on 10 hours ago, so of course there is hardly anything left by this time, yet he remembers me from 8 years ago when I was 8 years younger, done up to death and in a posh frock.  I can't decide if I'm flattered or gutted, only you can decide if this is good... or tragic.  Do let me know.  Donna's sister is expecting a baby any day now and so is my new friend's daughter, she's a few weeks early but the doctor's have told her to get herself ready.   I wish him well with the new Grand-baby and I will make sure I look out for him in the future.  How the heck did he remember me? 

It's Saturday and I spoke too soon, some flooding around here, had everything crossed as I drove through some flooded roads but my little car kept going and didn't cut out, my Close is flooded but it's not threatening our homes and at 2pm, the rain finally seems to be easing off.

Frosty

So the week wasn't terrible, well, Monday to Friday anyway.  I can now, finally do some tasks in work, (not for the lack of under-training,) but I can actually do some things on my own now which means that the days don't stretch on like they're each a year long.

It's cold, -1, -2 degrees and home is only comfortable if the heat is constantly on low.  Friday the rain pours like it's the end of the world and it's dark all day, but milder than it has been all week long.

Saturday, I head out for my coffee then home to blitz like there is no tomorrow, cleaning, hoovering, tidying, ironing, putting clothes away, bleaching, sterilising, you name it and it was done, I positively sparkle, (apart from the two, mostly unused bedrooms.)  So Christmas can arrive tomorrow as far as the cleaning is concerned, this place looks great, even if I do say so myself.

Saturday night and I spend a lovely few hours with an old friend.  It's so great to talk and while I mostly listen to my friend's hopes and fears, they could be my words.  Good company and made me laugh a lot, reminded me of how often that happens... not that often.

Despite the company, I'm still in bed early so it's a win, win situation, gosh I do love my sleep, especially at the weekend.

Sunday and it's bright and cold, I have another busy day ahead but this is one filled with writing Christmas cards and catching up on emails and phone calls, and getting back to reality.

December 8th

It's Saturday 8th December, I have a huge list of stuff to do, to buy and to accomplish.  Day begins around 4am, I've only had about 5 hours sleep but I'm wide awake.  I can't get back to sleep, so I eventually get up and jog for a mere 10 minutes but better than nothing then I head out to J's, I need to drop some stuff of at hers in case she needs it today, I head out to the Supermarket to stock up on essential, weekend provisions then head out for my coffee.  It's a very quick Christmas blend at Starbucks today.  Mr Regular is late arriving, he's only just arriving as I'm putting on my coat to leave.  'You're leaving early,' states Mr R, we are both, creatures of habit and so it's noticeable when we deviate.  'Lots to do today, see you soon,' I offer, then I'm off.

I recycle then head to attempt to choose a Christmas tree at a local garden centre.  Think I've told you before but I really do think that choosing a Christmas tree on your own is one of the most depressing things you can do, maybe it's just me but that's what I think.  So with this in mind, I need to be stealth like, get in, choose a tree, get out, as quickly as possible.

Mr Gleave, lovely and patient owner of the garden centre, once again helps me to choose, he holds up trees while I stand about 6ft away to view, it's very difficult doing that when you're Christmas tree shopping on your own, I've done it and it's tricky.  Doing it on your own means, plucking, propping up and stepping away, trying to get a good look before it topples over, very tricky indeed.

I'm early this year.  Usually, I'm choosing my tree a week before Christmas, but it's the 8th, so it's probably prime choosing-a-tree time.  This is verified with the abundance of couples choosing trees round me.  Mr Gleave is pulled away for other duties and so a helper is enlisted to help me choose.  After about five minutes, I dismiss the helper, I felt like I was wasting her time and, I felt under pressure to choose a tree but as the helper said... it has to be the right tree for you.

Anyway, after about 20 minutes, I found, "the one."  I have paid and I'm now ramming it into my car when Mr Garden Centre arrives to tell me that I'm putting it in the wrong way, who knew?  We put the tree into reverse and then re-load... the right way. 

I arrive home, unload the shopping, struggle with tree, put the car into the garage, pull on the garage door to close and I hear a twang, a ping and then the lurching metal sound of the garage door, half up, half down, heading towards me and pivoting at an angle.

There isn't a sole about.   The door is too far down to get the car out, I can neither push it up nor bring it down and I'm worried that it will totally leave what's left of it's holdings and will hit the car or me or anyone I can find to help me... of which there is no-one, so far.

Next door but one in one direction are out, I don't know them that well but neighbours help each other don't they?  And I do say 'Hi!' whenever I see them.  Next door but one the other way, is Fay, she's about 5ft tall and 7 stone, so between us, not a whole amout of height or muscle going on, which is what is needed at this present moment in time.  Good enough, Fay comes out to prop up a corner while I get the car out.  We both wrestle with the door for about 10 minutes, but it's useless, it's heavy, off it's runners and is barely hanging on.

Brother-in-law and nephew are both in work, there is literally no one else I can call, I am totally stuck and totally alone.  I think about having a wobble for a moment when it dawns on me how alone I am but then I decide to save it for later.  At that moment, my garage was open to the world and to anyone who wanted to take anything, I was faced with having to leave the car out overnight... may not have a car by tomorrow.  So I fire up the laptop and Google; 'garage door repairs north west.'  Two companies pop up, the first one doesn't do anything for me so I phone the second.  I've phoned a land line but obviously get through to a mobile.  I begin to speak then get cut off.  I call again and get voice mail.  'Leave your name and number and I'll phone you right back.'  I do, and Pete does.  It'll cost me £90, he can be with me in under two hours and if he can't fix it, there is no charge.  Two hours later and the door is as good as new.  Better than new, I feel like Wonder Woman because it only needs the force of one finger for it to glide open or closed.

I'm traumatised.  I know that it sounds ridiculous but whenever anything 'big' happens or breaks, my first concern is how much is it going to cost and how will I be able to afford it?  It's stupid but it's really stressful. 

The day continues in the same vein and I blow Christmas tree lights, knock over a framed print from New York, the glass doesn't smash but the frame breaks, been a pretty expensive day.  JR phones me because I email every weekend, didn't mail last weekend because I was so poorly, so far this weekend, I haven't had a chance to mail but she's leaving in the morning so phones me to make sure I'm okay.  By the time I've told the tale, I'm blubbing slightly, but JR isn't a blubby person, so I quickly pull myself together, I'll be fine tomorrow, just slightly traumatised by the day.  'Lemony Snicket, a Series of Unfortunate Events' springs to mind.  Things come in 'threes' but I'm now, well, I'm way past three.

Claridges

No, sadly, I have not been to stay at the iconic London Hotel, established in 1854 and loved by Royalty, although, at least one nights stay is now on my bucket list.  There is a wonderful new BBC television series which takes us behind the doors of Claridges for the first time in it's long history. 

I adore, in no particular order; tradition, history, British-ness, (I know that's made up,) great customer service, strict attention to detail and well, the fact that people care what you think.

I have a keen eye for detail, although I have never once received a thank you for completing my hotel comment cards, (they are mostly positive, but I point out the tiny things, only a guest would notice like a sticky tap or a slightly rusty shower rail.)  I love tradition, I just love history, this may be due to the fact that most of my history is, well... old, my grandparents were born in 1884, mind blowing, isn't it?  So you see, I have a very soft spot for the 'old,' one that will never be erased, plus, I get excited when something was invented or arrived prior to my Grandparents, then I know it's really old and well worth getting to know, case in point... Claridges.

The documentary was so interesting.  The General Manager is a lovely man, who happens to be German.  This is slightly jarring at the beginning of the documentary, I didn't know if he was German or Austrian or something else, there was just a mere hint of an accent, but he wasn't British and Claridge's is, well, so British.  But then you listen to him, hear his discreet manor, his love for Claridges, witness his attention to detail and get to know him.  He is brilliant, discreet, has a charming personality, has a keen eye for detail and aesthetics, he is the perfect man at the helm, and I'm actually quite proud that he is in charge of this precious cargo.  He is a caretaker, there have been many General Managers before him and hopefully, there will be many after, but only after a very long and highly successful stint for this particular General Manager.

All of the staff featured, are exceptional and if I were a General Manager, I would be very proud to have them as part of my team, and representing me but more importantly, representing Claridges.

At the heart of the opening story, was an American couple, the Melchor's, a truly charming couple, totally captivating, you could easily imagine spending hours chatting with them and never once having your attention flit elsewhere.  Now in their late eighties, they have been visiting Claridges for over 40 years.  The couple were lovely, the attention, respect and love shown towards them was extraordinary, it was a wonderful thing to be captured on film, forever.

All Kinds of Cold

It's Thursday and it's cold, it's zero degrees and I have one, a cold, the type were if someone put their hand over your mouth, you would suffocate.  On top of that, my bones are cold, despite the layers, and the heating, lots of heating.  I hate having a cold. 

Friday and I sneeze my way through the day, I have never sneezed so much in my life.  I'm not exaggerating when I say I sneeze twice, every five minutes, throughout the day, it's exhausting and most certainly annoying.

Saturday, I feel terrible, I veto breaking my personal best by almost 3 weeks and decide not to get my Christmas tree, I feel terrible and simply don't have the energy to lug a tree home, or have the heart to decorate it.

Sunday, I feel better but exhausted, arms and legs weigh twice as much as reality.  I get up, head out to Starbucks, have a quiet, uninterrupted coffee, then head home, still without tree, I don't feel that much better.

The temperatures continue to plummet, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, we begin the day at zero, or slightly below, Thursday, my garage lock is frozen for a few sticky moments, Friday is slightly milder, thank goodness.

Cold continues to dwindle, but it takes days, a week in fact.

Airport

Saturday continued and JR and I flee the V&A, jump a cab and make our way to theatre land's Drury Lane and 'War Horse.'  Since JR told me she had tickets for us, I have avoided, on purpose, the story, yes, I know it's a famous book and film but I have avoided, I didn't want to spoil the theatrical experience when I was 'this' close.  I didn't know any of the actors but they were all brilliant.  The set was amazing, the depiction, so poetic and fitting, elegantly and respectfully portrayed.  I kept thinking of my Grandad who was in France in WWI, at the same time as the setting of the play, you can't help but imagine.  I had been warned to have tissues at the ready but apart from one scene, were I almost wobbled, I was good.  A brilliant performance, I really need to see the film now or read the book.

H&M had to flee from the theatre as soon as possible to get home for an evening out, JR and I wandered leisurely around a bustling Covent Garden in the rain then headed for 'Byrons' on Wellington Street for a burger to die for.  I am very picky with my burgers, this was perfection.

Sunday was a leisurely walk, a swift one I should say before the weather changed, followed by a coffee, followed by lunch at the Churchillian pub with H&M, it was lovely, after being cold for hours, I sat next to a roaring log fire, it was gorgeous.  Great friends, great meal, great pub.

M and JR deposited me at the airport, H stays at home to hopefully have a snooze after a busy few days.  I'm in the airport, checked in and I'm now sitting at the bar, I've never sat at the bar here before but my usual table is taken and I don't like anywhere else that I can see.  At the bar, I sit on one stool, have my bag on the stool next to me and my carry on parked on the opposite side, next to the next stool.  A man is immediately behind me playing on the, I don't know what it's called, some kind of game which flashes lights and makes noises?  He is there when I park myself and he is still there when I leave, over an hour later.

So I've just ordered my second Pinot Grigio and soda after my flight was delayed, the Asian waitress brings over my drink and I pay her for the drink, plus £1 tip.  Her huge smile is instantly lit, you would think I'd tipped £100, not £1, 'I'll put the lottery on!'  I think I just made her day.  So I'm sitting at the bar, not too uncomfortably, flipping through my US Elle magazine with SJP on the cover, when a rugged, handsome and extremely well built man waiting for his flight to his next job, (I got that from the phone call, I wasn't listening in exactly but couldn't help overhearing.)  I offer him the stool with my bag on for him to use for his stuff, I decided I was being greedy commandeering three bar stools at the same time. 

Handsome man is some kind of carpenter, joiner, builder, from what I can gather, after lengthy phone call, he gets out his iPad, I continue flipping through Elle, call me old fashioned but I love print, I love the sound of pages flipping, the smell of ink, the irony is not wasted on me as I type.

Handsome man and I are now sharing a bar stool, lady from airport approaches both of us and asks us to complete a survey as, my, our flight is delayed.  'Mind completing a survey, sir?  Madam?'  I quickly decide this is a rouse, surveys are quickly handed out to delayed passengers to ask questions about their delay, when in actual fact, the time it takes to complete said survey actually fills some of the time you're delayed... clever huh? 

We're delayed about an hour but flight is eventually called and we take a bus to a runway.  Last to board the bus is a woman with a tiny baby in a buggy.  It's standing room only,  I have my arm looped around a pole to steady myself, woman locks on the brakes and holds on to a pole herself.  A couple of minutes later and we leave the bus and step onto a windy and rainy runway.  I've asked woman if she needs a hand with one of the two enormous baby bags she is toting but she says she is okay and instantly a female airline person arrives to assist.

Everyone slowly makes their way to the steps of the plane in a pretty orderly fashion, I'm next to board when airline person asks me if I can wait until she carries baby on board and then gets back off.  I don't mind at all and so a few minutes later, after standing in gale force winds and rain, I board. I'm in my 3C when 3D approaches and I get up to let him in.  I accidental brush my arm against 3D's arm, 'sorry,' 'no worries' says 3D.  Why is he pretending to be a lovely Australian? He's not Australian and only Australian's are allowed to use 'no worries.'  Pretend Aussie gets out his iPad, does everyone in the world have an iPad?  He's looking at manuals for light aircraft, airport performance and accident ratio.  Is he kidding me?  Why doesn't he just watch 'Final Destination' and be done with it?

V&A Goes to Hollywood

JR and I leave base camp at 9am, we're driving to Ruislip Gardens, parking up and getting the train/tube in to Central London to attend V&A exhibition, I am so excited.  Pretty smooth sailing until we hit were an accident which had occurred then of course, traffic was slow moving, but only for around 10 minutes so everything was fine.  We park up and head into the railway station then proceed to freeze on the platform for a few minutes with me hopping up and down to keep warm then the train arrives, we're going to go over ground and then underground, so exciting.

JR and I disembark after about 30 minutes, I think at Holland Park, then we make our way to the next line, only the next line is closed.  The tube is closed and it tells us to make our way to the bus stop and to allow more time for journey... bit late now, or we would have.  We leave the underground for daylight and JR decides after being rained on for all of 2 minutes, to hail a cab, I am 100% behind this decision, I have no desire to get soaked then spend the rest of the day, damp and cold.

We hop into a trusty London cab and buckle up, it isn't a long journey... but would have been on the bus, soaked otherwise.  After 5-10 minutes in slow moving traffic, we alight at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum.  There is a very special Hollywood Costume exhibition going on which I am very excited to see, I told JR about it months ago, not thinking I'd be around to see it, but here I am, and she got us tickets to view, very important to book in advance.

I was blown away, I could have stayed there all day, I'm going to list some actors/actresses, films that I can remember and maybe a comment.  Please bear in mind that it took almost 2 hours to make it around the exhibition, the last part and the best was sadly rushed and I did not take any notes, so, I'm relying on my distinctly faulty memory.  That said, this is what I remember...  

Norma Shearer           'Marie Antoinette'
Marlene Dietrich        (tiny and short)
Meryl Streep               many costumes including 'French Lieutenants Woman', 'Mama Mia,'  'Lemony Snicket,' seems like a tall lady, imdb quotes 5ft 6", looks taller
Nicole Kidman            Petite       'Moulin Rouge'
Vivien Leigh               'Gone with the Wind,' tiny waist, taller than expected though
Bette Davis                  tiny
Glenda Jackson
Vanessa Redgrave       tall
Daniel Day Lewis        'Gangs of New York,' slim
Johnny Depp                'Sweeney Todd,' slim
Helena Bonham Carter  'A Room with a View,' (this was a dream come true, from one of my favourite films, the white dress 'Lucy Honeychurch' wore, the one in which she was kissed in the field by her love, very emotive, think dramatic score coming to crescendo.)
Marilyn Monroe           'The Seven Year Itch', iconic, white pleated halterneck by William Travillia
Natalie Portman            'The Black Swan,' tiny, childlike
Edward Norton              'Fight Club'
Robert De Niro              multiple costumes, including 'Casino'
Brad Pitt                        'Oceans Eleven' / 'Fight Club'
Elliot Gould                   'Oceans Eleven'
Dame Judi Dench          'Shakespeare in Love'
Gwyneth Paltrow           'Shakespeare in Love'
Kirsten Dunst                 'Marie Antoinette'
John Wayne                   huge, broad chest
Charlton Heston             tall and broad
Raul Julia                       'Adams Family'
Christopher Reeve          'Superman'
George Clooney              'Oceans Eleven'
Charlie Chaplin              'The Artist,'  incredible to see
Jake Gyllenhaal               'Brokeback Mountain'
Heath Ledger                   'Brokeback Mountain'
Angelica Houston            'Adams Family'
Glenn Close                     '101 Dalmations'
Hedy Lamarr
Beyonce                          'Dreamgirls'
Kate Winslet                   'Titanic,'  the dress and hat Kate wore as she arrived to board the Titanic, slim and tall, estimated size, UK 12
Leonardo Di Caprio        'Titanic'
Christian Bale                  'Batman'
Sharon Stone                    'Basic Instinct'
Reece Witherspoon          'Legally Blond 2'
Judy Garland                    'The Wizard of Oz,'  the blue and white gingham, tiny
Warren Beaty                   'Dick Tracy'
Harrison Ford                   'Indiana Jones'
Kate Hudson                     'How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,' Canary Yellow evening gown also on display a Harry Winston diamond cluster necklace with yellow sapphire drop, exquisitly displayed in it's own beautifully lit, glass box.  Estimated dress size, UK 6-8
Bruce Willis                     'Die Hard,' the vest and trousers  combo
Tippi Hedron                    'The Birds,' two piece skirt suit
Kim Novak                        'Vertigo,' two piece suit by Edith Head
Audrey Hepburn               'Breakfast at Tiffanys,' black sleeveless evening dress, just tiny, estimated dress size, UK 4
Johnny Depp                    'Pirates of the Caribbean'
Keanu Reeves                   'The Matrix'
Renee Zelwegger              'Chicago,' estimated dress size, UK 6-8
Dame Helen Mirren          'The Queen'

I  adored every second, even chatting to one of the security guards over the importance of back stretches.  The genius aspect was, before every costume was a screen showing the very same costume in the original film.  It was an amazing exhibition and a day I'll always remember.  Just magical.

Old Lady

So, you remember the old lady in the airport security queue?  5ft 5" grey/white, short, curled back hair, typical old lady style.  Dressed like an old lady, comfortable, hint of tweed in the skirt department?  Well, we've landed at Southampton.  JR is not there to pick me up yet and so I stand at the drop off/pick up segment of the car park for about 15 minutes.  It's a positive wind tunnel, if you will, after several minutes, I decide that my curled locks will just about be a rats nest at best by the time I am picked up and so I load up the hood on my jacket and tuck my locks inside. 

I am not small am I?  I'm 5ft 6", stocking feet.  I have boots on, so, 5ft 7".  Hair is up so maybe, 5ft 8"?  Long story short, I am hardly invisible, am I?  Standing tall and next to me is my bright red, carry on case.  It has extending handles which, well, they're extended, tall and upright so my case is what?  3ft 6"?  We are a non-invisible duo, standing neatly together.

I am standing at the pick up point, a very windy pick up point, looking away from oncoming cars, and oncoming possible lift, due to wind situation, and so I see sneaky wheelchair bound old woman, walking towards me.  'That's funny,' I think.  Saw said sneaky old woman, a) standing in security queue, and b) sitting in wheelchair, waiting to board plane. 

Sneaky old woman, is bounding towards me, tunnel vision, within the wind tunnel, she's closing in on me... closing in... and walks straight into me and my carry on, my bright red, carry on, me... all 5ft 8" of me.  She bowls over my carry on, it hits the deck like , well, Ali decking... anyone.  My carry on, fell to the floor with one hit.  'Oh,' said old woman, 'it's fine, it's fine,'  I kind of shoo the old woman away, not sure what I was trying to do but it was all a bit awkward and so I shooed.

Old lady walks a further 30ft, ties on a silk head scarf and gets out mobile phone.  I have decided, that old lady, is an impostor.  I have decided that old lady, is in fact, a covert spy.

Did old lady accidentally walk into my carry-on, or did she walk into it deliberately?  Did she just knock it over or did she deposit poison, or a microchip?  If I'm dead in 24 hours, contact Scotland Yard and ask them to get a flight manifest, pronto.

Southampton

I am off to Southampton today to catch up with my lovely friends down there.  I sleep well then decide to snooze for a further 20 minutes, so indulgent of me.  I finally rise and kick off the day with door stop toast with butter and Manuka honey and several vats of decaff.  I jog for 20 minutes then hit the shower, manage to do something with the head, then head out to Starbucks and some me time.  I write a little, but it's not for publication, I just need to mull over the past couple of weeks and try to get some perspective on recent events.

I don't get home until 11.30ish and realise that J is picking me up for the airport at 12.45ish, I still have to have lunch, iron and pack.  Luckily it's soup and bread for lunch, I don't have much to iron or to pack, I have my weekend packing down to a fine art and can pretty much do it on auto pilot.

J is a little late, which is good today.  We head for the airport around 1pm and the traffic is kind and free flowing.  After a slight parking trauma, we park up and J insists on joining me for a coffee inside the airport.  It's lovely but I'm always a little antsy when I know the next thing I need to do is head for security.

I kiss J goodbye and make her promise to text me when she gets home.  There is a massive queue for security and it's hot, and slow moving.  The Polish man behind me is anxious to get to his flight and keeps knocking into me which is annoying and making me more hot.  After 30 minutes, I'm about 6 from the front of the queue when the Polish people behind explain that their gate closes in 10 minutes and could they jump the queue.  We all of course let them go, and at least I'm not being constantly bumped into for the remaining few minutes in the queue.  I look around the queue, the lady behind me until the queue splits in two, has been separated from her two friends who are about 12 people ahead, we chat a little, the man in front of me has an enormous rucksack on his back and I spot an old lady on her own and wonder where she's headed for.

After 35 minutes I get through security, I pick up a US Elle magazine as it has one of my hero's SJP on the cover and I purchase my traditional, pre-flight wine.  No sooner have I flipped through the mag and hurried my wine, than my flight is called. 

I make my way to gate 51 and sit for 15 minutes waiting for the call to board.  After 10, the old lady I saw in the queue for security arrives in a wheelchair, I think that it's odd but maybe she can't manage the steps?

I'm safely ensconced in my seat, my usual 3C.  I don't know what it is about the flight down but 3D is rarely taken and today it's free so that means I have sole occupation of the middle arm rest.  4E and F behind me are free also, bliss, I am so antisocial, but I don't care.

I've brought my journal to write, love to write on the plane but can't do that until we're safely in the air and I can pull down my miniature table.  Until that time, I have a book to read.  When the cabin crew lady comes by with the trolley to ask me if I'd like anything, (silly question,) she tells me that she needs a new book, saw me laughing and asked what it was that I was reading?  'It's Danny Wallace, Awkward Situations for Men,' I say excitedly, 'it's very funny, you have to get it,' I say showing her the cover as if to convince.  Have to say, she doesn't look convinced but trust me, it's very funny. 

I first came across Danny Wallace columns in the free 'Shortlist' mag for men which I used to pick up for my buddy Paul.  It's a man's 'mag' and Paul would pick up 'Stylist' for me, we'd exchange every Wednesday, but not before I'd read the Danny Wallace article.  He often had me in stitches, crying with laughter... they both did, and so when I saw DW on the book shelf in my supermarket, I couldn't resist.

We'd only been in the air for a few minutes, just about levelled off when we dropped out of the sky, my stomach lurched, do you remember that feeling when you were little and the car you were in drove over a humped back bridge and you left you stomach somewhere behind?  The pilot has already warned of turbulence, it's a very windy day both in the North West and in Southampton, so it's to be expected.

I'm on one of those tiny planes with propellers, we've taken off 15 minutes late but arrive 5 minutes early, such is the strength of the wind.  The neon sticky tape is still on the floor, still ready to guide us all in case of emergency... crash landing, that sort of thing, you can't beat a bit of neon sticky tape in an emergency.

I have a packed weekend waiting for me but I'm really excited, it's like heading for family, that you like.  So excited.

It's 4.10 and the light is fading.  It's about 15 minutes to touch down, we're above the clouds and this always looks like heaven to me.  So lovely.  So peaceful.

Johnny to the Rescue

My working week this week, is Monday - Wednesday and I can't think of any other description for it, except for... it sucks.  It may be me and how we're all feeling but Monday isn't great, Tuesday, I leave home at 6.25am.  I arrive at the car park at 6.33 and it opens at 7.07am.  I'm frozen and I've lost 30 minutes.  The day gets worse and I end up with a lump in my throat desperately trying not to cry for the best part of the afternoon.

The day is the worst, we have a meeting, I try not to speak because my music teacher Miss Matthews once told me, or at least said in my presence, 'if you don't have anything positive to say, don't say anything.'  So because nothing I could add would be positive, I barely spoke.  Unfortunately, the one contribution I did make, upset someone and they made it very clear that they were not happy with me, to say the least.  I have to add that she's not a happy or sociable person anyway, so it didn't take much.

I spent most of the day in silence,  because that's how work is, no one speaks to you, apart from my friend who sends me instant messages from the next bank of desks and who cheers me up, I'd be totally miserable without him.

I finish work as soon as I can and head for B's, I'm taking her to the airport for her trip to NZ.  I've had a really crappy day but must not offload or cry to B.  I'd love to be on a plane tonight and I am so jealous but I summon my inner Dame Judi Dench and act as if I am not.  B has done pretty well when I arrive around 3.15pm to take her to the airport.  She has a well earned reputation for running behind schedule but even if she's been up all night, she's pretty close to being ready.  She spends the next 45 minutes writing birthday cards and anniversary cards for me to post, and taking out rubbish before we leave.  She also gives me ninety Christmas cards to stick postage stamps on the front and return address stickers on the back, after I've done that, I need to post them early December.  Can I just say that no, the labels are not straight and she should be lucky I stuck them all on and didn't just tell her I'd done it ;)  Took me an hour.  Any recipient will instantly know that B did not stick those stickers, her stickers would have been perfectly straight.

So I deposit B at the airport and wave her in then hit the motorway home again.  I get home around 12 hours after I left then promptly sliced and diced my finger while I was making dinner.  I'm not overly squeamish but found myself saying out loud, 'you're fine, it's fine, don't look at it, it'll stop bleeding in a second.'  Think it could have used 1 or 2 stitches but I stuck it together with a plaster so it'll be fine in a few days.  Sore though.

I have to rewind  to Monday.  I pulled a muscle in my back when I was in school, around the age of 13 maybe?  I remember my Mum coming to pick me up and I'm not sure what happened after that but it's always been a weak spot since then.

I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis in 2004, I think, maybe 2005.  Anyway, I had an x-ray on my neck and OA was confirmed in my neck and shoulders, 'significant deterioration' was mentioned and that it was unusual in someone my age.  After a really painful and tricky 6 months, it eased off a bit in my neck but my back has continually got worse.  My GP said no to an x-ray on my back about 2 years ago because if I have OA in my neck.. it will be in my back apparently so it would be a waste of time, but she did recommend Pilate's. 

I trust Pilate's, I know it's excellent for core and therefore back but for a while, I couldn't afford Pilate's classes in monetary terms or in time due to my early starts.

23 months ago, I contacted a local physio clinic to enquire how much a session would be.  My back has been pretty bad for at least 6 weeks and in the end, I wondered if this is how it is, then so be it, I'll carry on as I have done but if there is something I can do to help it, then I want to try.  I decided to contact the physio clinic again and book an appointment.

And so I booked an appointment for a physio session.  My session was Monday.  The building is prominent but the entrance discreet which I loved.  The receptionist was welcoming and professional while simultaneously telling and showing a trainee how to deal with a new client and what to do. 

After 10 minutes of filling out a chart and drinking a de-caff coffee, Johnny arrived.  A slim, tall, Irishman with a very comfortable manor and easy going personality.  I was expecting to feel uncomfortable with a male physio because frankly, as you know, I attract weirdo's.  Not Johnny though, he is an exception, he made me feel totally at ease.

Long story short, my left shoulder is practically glued to my left ear.  It's very high, much higher than my right, as is my left shoulder blade.  I have a weakness in my left back, even lying down, my right back muscles protrude, can only imagine it's because they've been doing all of the work?  For a minute, Johnny thinks my left pelvis and hip my be higher than the right and I try hard not to laugh because all I can think of is Rachel from Friends and Dr Bobby, who thinks she has one leg shorter than the other.

After a brilliant display of my flexibility, (I can touch the floor and  not just my toes... with ease and no groaning,) good news is that my left pelvis and hip are the only left things not higher than the right.  So after analysing me and my performing a few stretches and gentle moves, I get 30 minutes treatment.  After just 30 minutes of the magical Johnny, I actually feel better.  I sleep like a log and the next morning, I sit up in bed, without wincing, for the first time in years.  I'm a little sore, but only like I've exercised and not like I've been run over by a bus.  My next appointment is over 2 weeks away and I'm a little disappointed, I'd go back today if I could.

I have stretches to do and the main problem with those is actually remembering to do them.  I need to adjust my chair in work and how I sit on it and I need to concentrate on my posture as I'm very rounded.  So I'm wandering around, (when I remember,) presenting my chest to the world like a proud peacock and I feel very self conscious... but my back does feel better.  Johnny is a genius.

N&G4EVA

Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of my Nanna and Grandad, they're looking at my while they sit on the steps of a hotel on the Isle of Jersey.  The black and white photograph perches on a wicker basket to the right of my fireplace.  Did I tell you that I never met them?  They were long gone before I even arrived, you probably know that. 

I have no real idea of either of them, I only have what I have conjured in my head, never bothering to check facts or to see if I'm hot or cold.  Remember that game?

OK, so Grandad.  He was wonderful.  He was a handsome teenager and he only grew more handsome with age.  I'm not biased, trust me, he was a handsome man, with a fabulous head of hair.  He was a war hero, he went to France in WWI, got blown up, spent a year in hospital then returned home to his family.  My Mum was the favourite, she was 'Babs', the baby.  She was a Daddy's girl and my mum had excellent taste, so my Grandad must have been wonderful. 

Nanna was a force to be reckoned with, from what I can gather.  Mum and Nanna didn't always see eye to eye.  I secretly think that it's because they were very alike.  They may have butted heads but I adore my Mum, and if they're so alike, how can I not adore my Nanna? 

My Nanna was an entrepreneur in the early 1900's, she owned her own fruit and veg shop.  Isn't that amazing?  Long before women's rights, long before equality, there was my Nanna, can't tell you how proud I am. 

So I am totally enamoured with the two of them and I love them even though I've never met them.  I do know that I'll eventually meet them though.  They may not think much of me so far but trust me, I make a better impression in person, they'll love me... eventually.

I need to show you a pic of when they were younger too, they are amazing x

Children in Need Day

It was the annual 'Children in Need' extravaganza on Friday.  Work, despite the cloud hanging over the building, entered into the spirit of the day.  We had cake sales, picture sales, raffles and Pudsey Zumba, which is the same as normal Zumba except I wore my Pudsey ears for it, I sweated like a lunatic but it was great and I really enjoyed it.  Within half an hour of Zumba, I am full of sneezes, I spend the rest of the day, sneezing two or three times every few minutes, it's ridiculous.  Maybe I'm allergic to Zumba?

Last I'd heard, we raised about £500, not bad eh?  I only watched a little of the TV evening but I had to share a couple of special moments.  The first is a children's choir put together by little Aled Jones of 'The Snowman' fame, over 2000 children from 15 locations across UK and Ireland singing one of my favourite songs, Simon and Garfunkel's 'Bridge Over Troubled Water,' and the story of a little girl called Ellie who broke my heart and made me want to do more. 

Had to share with you Ellie's story, it broke my heart.

Dame Shonda

I've said it before, but it deserves mentioning again and I will probably reiterate in the not too distant.  Writer and creator Shonda Rhimes of "Grey's Anatomy" fame, is a genius.  SR would be a Dame of the British Empire by now... if only she were British.  That woman, and her team of writers are pure genius, absolutely pure, liquid, gold.  They must be a collective collection of feeling and sharing people who have witnessed life and all of its sadness and all of its love, I feel like I want to buy them all a muffin.  I'd hug them all but I'm too reserved.

I can't go into detail because there maybe someone... (you) reading this who hasn't seen an episode yet, but I can tell you that I felt like I'd lived through every detail of season 9, ep1, particularly Mark's story and ep2 also had me sobbing like a baby, this episode was particularly brilliant and poignant.  It is so real, so expertly portrayed by the cast and very heart breaking.  It's the attention to detail that gets me every time, detail which is delivered by an outstanding cast.

The cast I have known and grown attached to, will be a little depleted in future.  I will miss them from the Grey's family but know they'll do well outside.

Grey's is real, makes you think, is funny, it absorbs you for the entire episode and sometimes,  you just need a good cry.  I've told you before and I'll tell you again... you need to watch this.

Stunned

It's Tuesday November 13th and we had an announcement in work this morning to advise that our building is closing.  I've been in the job for 6 weeks, and it's closing?  I should be able to do them under the trades description act don't you think?  They advertised for a job at a specific location, that clearly did not exist.

There is hope that there will be jobs in Manchester but I've just left a reasonably safe job in Liverpool to save on travelling and time and now I'm potentially having to work in Manchester... which is further away, that's if I get a job, there are no numbers yet on how many jobs are going for us to fight over and I'm up against people who have worked there for 20-30 years... good luck with that.

I'm mad and stunned.  Walked out of the announcement talk after 5 minutes.  The bones of the decision had been delivered; site closing, 1000 jobs to go, what else was there to know?

Wednesday, midnight and I woke up... livid.  I feel that the department has been negligent and dishonest towards the new starters, takes me over an hour to get back to sleep.  The department should have made it crystal clear that this was a possibility, before I accepted the position, they didn't.

Wednesday morning, and I attend a Q&A session, I explain that I have been with the department for 6 weeks, have just left a reasonably safe job to come here, that although I don't believe anyone in the building knew of the pending situation, I do believe that higher grades knew something was afoot and that they have been unfair and negligent to those of us who have only just arrived... from safe places.  Also, calmly mentioned that I was livid.  The first thing the department head told me was how professional I was being but the truth is, you get listened to much less and make far less of an impact if you rant like a banshee, I have learned that over the years.

More details are coming out, rumour has it that it could be 6-12 months before the office closes.  As for jobs in Manchester, there is no confirmation of the numbers yet, there may not even be a job for me there.  I text J to tell her to put the lotto on.

Thursday and I receive eleven emails from old Liverpool work buddies before 8am, it cheers me up no end, they are the best.  My extreme ex-boss is looking into seeing if I can go back.  I don't want to go back, but I need a job, so I may have to. 

11/11

Today is Sunday, my friend Carol texted last night to ask if I'd be at Starbucks this morning and so we arranged to meet.  Carol is a tall, pretty, whirlwind who manages to speed up time.  Any time you're with her, it just whisks by.  We chatted at breakneck speed to cram everything in, in the little time we had.  It was lovely to catch up. 

After a brief shopping expedition, (French Connection... no purchases.) I observed the two minutes silence for armistice day in my car, listening to sounds from the Cenotaph at 11am from BBC Radio2 and largely thinking of my Grandad who was severely wounded in WWI.

My Grandad was in the Home Guard in WWII, due to age and disability.  Have you ever seen "Dad's Army?"  It was a show from the 1970's, it's a classic which sadly isn't shown much any more.  The comedy is based on the Home Guard of the Second World War, one of the character's was "Jones," played by Clive Dunn. Clive Dunn played old codgers for the best part of this life, he played old even when he was far from old, but this week, at the age of 92, he passed away in Portugal.  I have very fond memories of this actor and all of the kids TV programmes he was in, I think it's quite fitting for him to leave us this week.  A former serviceman himself, he will be remembered.

In the wake of Doctor-gate and the Manuka Honey debacle, I'm wondering what else can I do to help myself, I have a week and a half before I head down to Southampton for a catch up with friends.  I'm thinking I'm going to factor in oily fish and leafy greens, as that's all that's missing from my usual, pretty healthy diet.  My doctor really can't say that I'm not trying.

Having said that, I'm considering, (and I have been for the past 24 months,) going for physio.  I've been for my "angels wings," (that's shoulder blades that stick out to you and me,) but my back and neck are no fun.  It may be the arthritis but if there is anything I can do to aid sleep and lessen pain, then I'm all for it.  I'm very close to booking an appointment.

I've totally lost the plot and so, back to Remembrance Sunday, and after my little bit of shopping, I head to darling nephew CJ's for coffee after my invite arrives via text .  All is not well, Cooke, the cat, seems to have been in a fight with something and is lethargic and craving CJ's bed, so much so that CJ, being the soft touch that he is, when Cooke was sprawled in the middle of CJ's bed last night... darling nephew slept on the sofa, some woman, somewhere, will be extremely lucky to end up with him, I mean CJ, although Cooke is also an asset. 

CJ is obviously worried about Cooke and the pair will pay a visit to the vets tomorrow and I wait with baited breath for an update.

Egg and chips for lunch/tea and then B arrives, very late afternoon as she's been dropping stuff off for the church fair next weekend... she's away all next week.

Bee brings me my annual, single persons Christmas hamper.  Normally, although it's given with love, it's usually pretty depressing, microwave turkey dinner for one etc, I'm exaggerating but everything in that basket is a reminder that I'm on my own, single portion of this and single portion of that.  But no, not this year, due to lack of time, B has several holidays booked, back to back, and the fact that B usually chooses things I would never eat and I usually end up giving them back before they reach their expiry date in January, this year's hamper is a small bottle of Baileys, haven't drunk that in years but sure I can help it down with lots of ice, a bottle of wine and £20 to go shopping with for Christmas food.  Best hamper ever and I'm sure I'll buy lots of consumables with that, so far on my list are cheese, crackers, paxo, cranberry, turkey, bread, crisps, wine.  I know... the high life huh?

All Better?

So I went to the see my doctor on Thursday afternoon.  I really like her and she's good, but she is a big believer in natural remedies and don't get me wrong, so am I, but for instance, the last time I went because I was in agony with my back, and had been for weeks, she recommended Pilate's, I know that's good for you, I've done it, but our friend Sheila went with the exact same thing, she was given muscle relaxants to help her through the pain.  Anyway, I knew it would be a waste of time but you hear adverts or read them all the time that tell you not to ignore persistent symptoms, which is why I went.

So I begin... I wouldn't normally bother you with this, but I've had it for 5 weeks now, I sneeze, I have a bit of a sore throat, my glands are up a bit, I have a bit of ear ache, I'm sweaty, I feel run down.  I take paracetamol and ibuprofen all the time.  I take Berocca daily, (fizzy Vit C drink,) I eat fresh ginger almost daily, hot chilies, garlic, lots of fresh veg, I workout. 

I'm advised that my throat and ears are okay, I must be picking up one infection after another, (it's true that there are lots of germs flying around in work with coughs and colds,) and have I tried Manuka Honey?

That's it.  Manuka Honey.  I know, that it has healing properties, a woman I used to work with swore by it, but would it have hurt to give me some antibiotics AND told me to get some Manuka Honey at the same time? 

I didn't have the energy to protest, I look like hell, I know that Dr's are pushed for time but I'd hope if I were the doctor, I would ask a few more questions to investigate what wasn't said.

Anyway, I left the surgery and headed for the nearest supermarket for the honey.  I've been having the honey for three days now, no noticeable change for the better... so far, but I have faith.

Nightmares

I am glad that the working week is over, it was long and trying and no fun at all, the highlight of my week was when the friend that I used to sit next to in my old job mailed me for an update, it was great to hear from him, and he made me smile from at least twenty miles away.

I have swung between sleeping 9 hours a night to 5 then back again, I've felt jet lagged all week, I really must try harder to re-adjust my body clock to my new timings.

I had an appointment to donate blood on Tuesday after work, I wasn't sure if I should go or not, but I feel guilty when I don't go and I didn't know how much of not feeling great is just sadness.

So I roll up at the church I was confirmed at, which is were they are collecting donations.  I've made an appointment rather than just sit and wait forever and it's like a military operation.  I'm whisked through for the pin prick test to see if I'm good to donate.  The droplet of blood the nurse extracts is plopped into the solution and is the most ropey looking sample I've ever seen in my life, it barely stays in droplet format and instantly frays around the edges, it floats for a few seconds then begins to descend to the bottom, not because that is what it's supposed to do, but rather like it doesn't have the energy to stay afloat.  "You're good to go!"  "I am?"  I'm shocked.  I know that if the droplet sinks, that is good, but did not expect sinkage today. 

Anyway, I'm in and out in thirty minutes.  And, can I add that I was chatted up over the orange juice by a quite handsome man?    And I looked like hell, so I get bonus points for that right?  I'm wiped out that night and cannot keep my eyes open past 8pm, which was bad news for the friend I was having a text conversation with.

Friday night I have a wine or two, make myself stay up until 9pm then head for bed.  Been having nightmares all week also, last nights dream was weird, but not a nightmare.  The last one I can remember is that my friend JR decided she wanted to go and clean Richard and Judy's house, (you know the married TV presenters?)  This is all without their knowledge, and I'm not in any way shape or form implying that they need a cleaner, anyhoo, we're there, I'm watching while JR scans for dust, when Richard arrives back in a Land Rover, unexpectedly, I think JR wanted to be in and out without detection.  It's a big old country house in the middle of a gigantic field.  The next minute, I'm on a cruise ship, (cannot think of anything worse,) with terrorists on it...okay, maybe that.  I'm walking past piles of people who have been shot and I'm playing Russian Roulette getting in and out of lifts, not knowing if I'm going to get into a lift, with a terrorist with a gun.  Before you ask, I have not been watching Speed 2, I haven't even seen it.  The nightmares don't wake me up traumatised, but it's not exactly restful sleep.

Strictly Tearful

 

 

 

Andrea Bocelli performed Nessum Dorma on the Strictly results show last Sunday evening.  I love Andrea and I love this music, it never fails to bring tears to my eyes, not difficult to do today.  Beautiful performance.  The professional dancers are Karen Hauer and the delightful Pasha Kovalev

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

It's November 5th and as well as being date of the famous Guy Fawkes plot, it's my Mum's anniversary.  It's nine years today, feels like yesterday and feels like one hundred years ago. 

I've booked the day off work as I usually do.  I'm fine, but fine is not necessarily something you want to inflict on work colleagues, especially new work colleagues.

I don't sleep well, as is usual at the moment.  I get up early and jog for 20 minutes then I head out for coffee.  I'm welcomed by Fay with a giant hug which she rushes around the counter to give me, as soon as I'm in the place, she's on duty today, barista extraordinaire.  I'm in the mood for peace, my tranquil time in my usual seat, in my usual window, you know the one, and I chat with Fay too a little in between pesky customers, a very welcome distraction.  I've switched to my seasonal Chai tea, it's spicy and hot and I always have it around Christmas, it's steaming and I can cup my hands around it and really get warm, it's early I know, but I just felt like it.  After around 30 minutes, Fay brings me a bagged up cranberry and orange muffin to make me feel better.  What can you say, but thank you, but I knew that it was love in the shape of a muffin.

I'm home by 10.45 and within minutes, J picks me up, we head out to Ikea then to M&S and pick up a few things, pillow cases, vases, candles, a loaf, a thermal top... for me.  I'm really not in the mood but we're both on autopilot and wander around like we have no where else to be, we don't actually.  It's another cold but bright and beautiful day, the sun is just gorgeous.

J drops me off around 3pm, I load up her car with my recycling and off she goes.  I finally tuck into my orange and cranberry muffin and Fay was right, it worked a little magic, and it was lovely. 

I feel so sad today.  Not just because of the day, it's a culmination, my heart aches but more for you.

Sunday

It's Thursday.  The working week has been pretty frustrating, left to flounder again but people are busy and they don't have time to train me, so I'm not annoyed with them, they maybe should not have been given the task of training me, or have accepted it, if there was no time.

I enjoyed our chat this morning in the darkness, all that was missing was your smile and me being able to give you a hug or to try to make you laugh.

I have so many balls in the air at the moment, it's only a matter of time until I drop one. 

I'm still struggling a bit to write here hon.  I want to write something but my heart's not in it.  Last Sunday it was cold and crisp and today, Sunday, it's bright but cold, it was the same on Friday, such a beautiful day, blinding sunlight and rich golden leaves as far as the eye could see.

The past few weeks have brought incredible sadness and incredible reminders of love.  The only thing you can do at times like these is to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Sooner or later, the path will begin to get easier again, I promise.

Family

It's Sunday, and in light of recent events, I have made an extra effort in contacting those that are special to me.  One of those efforts, resulted in a phone call to my cousins N & I, I don't normally phone, I usually email. We chatted for over an hour, it was as if we saw each other yesterday and that not a moment more had passed since.  It was lovely.  We chatted about family and my new job and my 'love life,' such that it is.  Started talking to N, we chatted about all kinds then I got passed to I, she is so straight talking and so true, she always makes me think and laugh, she is a mirror, not necessarily a mirror you want to look into, but a mirror, non-the-less.

When I was little, I thought I came from a big family, truth is I don't.  Or, I don't now.  We are a small band, that fact alone should make us closer but it doesn't.  I've just counted and there are twenty three of us, that includes the lost souls who have joined the madhouse.  Enough to fill a small room you would think.

Truth is, because of family issues and disagreements, we'll never again be in the same room together, literally, at least not in my lifetime.  I love those twenty three and hope they each find peace.  Life is too short.  

So, where does that leave me?  I'm guessing that all I can do is tell the people that I love, that I love them.  It's not easy, I think, and I'm trying to gain some perspective here, for instance, my nephew is around 26 years old, gosh he'll kill me, I've only recently had this conversation with him, I seriously can't remember how old he is.  Anyhoo, my nephew, who is 26 or 27, grew up with his Mum and Dad telling him that they loved him, all the time.  I think my nephew was the first person to tell me that he loved me.  It was quite a moment.  It was awkward, I didn't know what to do with it, it was like a floating elephant hovering over a sentence that lasted forever.  But it's OK now.  My nephew and I tell each other we love each other all the time, and it's normal.

But what about the rest of the family?  Our relationships are not always easy, would I turn to them in an hour of need?  Not necessarily.  Do I love them?  I do. 

So, ten minutes ago, my darling nephew phoned me.  He was early for his date and nervous and so we chatted.  I gave the best pep talk I could muster and after announcing he had two weeks leave to take, we agreed we would have a cinema date sometime during that two weeks, then told each other... you know.

24 hours later and shocker, the date went well, well of course it did, I had every confidence.

Loss

For the first time, in a long time, I don't know what to write. 

The past four weeks have been a whirlwind huh?  You coming home, (it will take me a long time before I stop saying that, you do realise?)  You returning to NZ, your actual home, and then the past few days, just waiting.  I've never felt further away from you, than I do today. 

Friendship, as if we need it spelling out, is about the good times and the bad.  The 'bad' is an unfortunate consequence of living this amazing life, this life we take for granted. 

I don't think there is anything I can do or say to make you feel better, some journeys, we have to make alone, we heal in our own time and the process will not be rushed.  Anyway, even though I'm over here, in my head and in my heart, I will be holding your hand every step of the way. 

Joan of Arc

So finally, after much procrastination and many excuses, (no money for petrol, dodgy car, no free day, working overtime etc,) I finally rolled up at my cousins for a lovely afternoon and evening.  A few months back, we'd had a conversation, she had unearthed her wedding dress, (I think I was aged one at the time of the wedding,) and I told her that I'd love to see the real thing and for heavens sakes, don't do anything with it for now, (just in case she was in charity shop mode.)

So after I'd landed and we'd had lunch and chatted, L disappears and comes back with a black bin bag filled with white crumples.  The wedding dress conversation was long gone from my memory and I thought she was bringing out a continental quilt for some reason, loosely tied to the fact that she's just got a new bed.  L gently draws out the white crumpled mass and it unfurls into a slightly creased, but beautiful wedding dress.

The design is called "Joan of Arc."  High, lace trimmed neckline, the lace, about 1.5 inches wide forms a mandarin collar and comes down from the centre of the neckline, all the way down to the hem, a horizontal lace trim of equal width, encircles just underneath the bust, kind of empire line, the lace of course makes the shape of a cross.  The dress itself is a very heavy satin, white, with tiny ridges, I forget the name though.  It's beautiful, and doll like, my cousin was and still is, tiny.  I proclaim that it's vintage, 'you could sell this.' I offer, 'not that you should, but you could.'  'Who'd buy this?' L asks, the answer to that is loads of people, it's a classic design, it's elegant, and if you're 4ft 11", it would be perfect for someones big day.  But it's not for sale, because I said so.

I must add that the under slip was also in the bag, it is a white silk, full length, pretty shapeless undergarment, but safety pinned to the hem, is a tiny, blue bow, which I delightfully found.  'Look at this!' I gleefully exclaimed. 'Who gave you this?'  'Probably your Mum.' In an instant, I knew that it was Mum, it had Mum, all over it, that was the type of thing she would think of.  That bow had hardly seen the light of day for forty years, and yet here it was, a perfect and tiny, lucky blue bow... complete with safety pin.

Rocky Road

I am a huge fan of "Rocky."  The original one, (circa 1976.  I was 6 for most of that year and my sister B for whom I wore a maxi dress with great bell sleeves to her wedding... did not marry until '77, this is a pretty big milestone for me, so I wonder how old I was when I watched this movie for the first time?)   Anyway, I love every minute of it, where Rocky blocks the door as a shy Adrian tries to flee on that first date and then they collapse in an embrace to the floor, to the final fight with cries of "Adrian!"  I sob, every time.

I confess that I have not watched the franchise, I don't even know if I've seen "Rocky II," but I caught wind of "Rocky Balboa" this week and decided to record.  It's a film by Sylvester Stallone and I was both transfixed and totally blown over by the sentiment. Over 30 years have passed since that first chapter, and maybe that's why it was so powerful to me, because I had not seen the in between.  Every day between that first "Rocky" and this one, showed on the face of Stallone, his face is both worn by time and care, I was torn.

I loved the flashbacks but really missed Burgess Meredith, the iconic coach, sadly he passed away in 1997, nine years before this latest instalment.  It was like watching a family movie though.  Adrian was gone but she was still present in Rocky.

How I long to watch B's family movies, she was the only one in the family with a cine camera and I think we're talking about a time frame of between '72 and '76, but I'm guessing.  I've been asking for years to re-watch and begging to have it all converted to DVD before it perishes, it does that you know?  The film dies and disintegrates.  If I do ever get to watch those home movies again, maybe I'll recognise a bit of a very young Jack, but I do wonder who she will stare back at. 

It's All in the Jeans

I have been on the hunt for new and fabulous jeans for a few weeks now.  Despite an Internet search and seriously wearing down my shoe leather, I have been unable to find jeans, sans elastine.  I miss jeans, real jeans, old fashioned jeans, proper jeans.  I miss pulling on a pair of slightly too snug and slightly too stiff jeans, and one, short, car ride later, or one brief sit down in them and then they fit perfectly.  I do not want my jeans to cling to my thighs like I got caught in a torrential rain shower and got soaked to the skin, I need a little give and Lord knows, we all need a little give and take.  The search continues.

The Leaving of Liverpool

I've worked in Liverpool City Centre, (gosh, I remember Day One, 5/2/07, pounding past the historic Town Hall, bustling along with all of the other city gals and thinking I was like Melanie Griffith in "Working Girl," only minus the running shoes.)  5 years and 8 months later and here I am, ready to leave, almost ready to say goodbye.

So, after 5 years and 8 months to the day, it's time to leave my place of work and my friends and move on to the next chapter.

My "big" boss, Sarah, fair, rational, approachable, supportive, challenging.  Don't get me wrong, she's no picnic but if I could choose a boss in all the world, it would be Sarah, she's off in the coming week and sent me a lovely farewell and keep in touch email and card.

The week chugged on, the days, both long, and short, busy enough to make the day pass reasonably quickly... but not quick enough, still, my last day is zooming towards me at break neck speed.  On the one hand, I'm dreading my last day and on the other, I'm ready to go.

Thursday was a bit fraught trying to finish off work and tie up loose HR ends, I'm supposed to be winding down but no, I'm a basket case.

Friday, and in order to have a few drinks with anyone who feels like joining me, I take the bus to work.  That is such a simple statement but in fact, it involves me pre-ordering a taxi to get me from my home to where the bus leaves for work.  Taxi arrives a couple of minutes late.  I get into the car and three minutes later, (probably less,) and after handing over a £5.20 fare, (I am still recovering from that extortionate fee,)  I arrive at the bus terminal.  I am of course early, but I'm around 20 minutes early.  It's cold and the wind is blowing, and the bus is 5 minutes late.  So, after 25 minutes, the fingers on my left hand are the colour of white marble.  It's very unattractive.  So I have faith that the bus will eventually arrive because I have a bus terminal buddy.  He is youngish and is transfixed to his phone, I spy when we get on the bus and he's playing a football game.

Bus arrives thank God and I think at least it'll be warm on the bus.  It's not warm on the bus.  There is no warmth on the bus from either the driver or the heating devices.  I have especially brought my iPod with me to keep me company and distracted.  I alternate between James Blunt, (I'm in the mood,) and Michael Buble, he's always good for company.

Minutes later, I don't know how many, I was too traumatised at getting the bus, could have been 35, could have been 45 minutes later.  People seem to be alighting on mass, so I get up, I think I'm at my destination.  I ask the driver when I reach him; "is this the stand to get the bus home?"  "No, you need number 8, over there."  I say thank you and alight, then turn, "this is Liverpool One, isn't it?"  The driver looks at me like I have two heads, then nods at the polite lunatic.

I get off the bus and look around.  It's still pitch dark, I see the "John Lewis" sign and I know I must be in the right place, but I have no idea where I am, I mean, I know where I am but my bearings are shot to hell. 

Geography and bearings have never been my strong suit, but I know my short comings and I am not too proud to own up to them.  I look around and instantly spot a man in a high viz yellow jacket.  "Excuse me, I have totally lost my bearings, I need to head to Old Hall Street."  High Viz man was polite, didn't make me feel like an idiot and pointed me straight to my destination; "you are probably better heading out past the Hilton and up the dock road."  As soon as he said that, I knew I would be okay. 

The wind is at least force 10 as it usually is on that road.  I am laden down with bags of goodies for work, my handbag and my large umbrella, thank heavens it's not raining as I'm not sure I could have coped with brolly up too, against the wind, with the heavy bags.  I reach a point up the road and decide to cut through, partly because I thought I almost knew where I was but mainly to get out of the gale force wind. 

I take a right thinking that I know where I am, but I'm not where I thought I would be.  I'm okay, I know I'm not far out.  I look at the pavement and I look around me, I wander past "The Slaughter House,"  isn't that a great name?  It's a pub and it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside, I'm not sure why, there have been a few publicans in my family and in the family of my brother-in-law George and I'm not sure if that was one of their pubs or if the name just rings a bell. 

I start to think about my family and my roots.  This is where I'm from, did my Nanna, my Grandad walk these pavements?  My Mum, my aunts?  My Grandad's Dad even?  How come it feels so much like home, when you don't fit in?

So I consider myself a Liverpudlian.  I was born in Liverpool, my first three years were spent in Liverpool, my Mum was born there, my Nanna, my Grandad, how far back do I need to go?  Yet, I've always felt like the outsider.  Not, I hasten to add because anyone made me feel like an outsider, I just do, always, anywhere, even with family.

I've spent over 5 years, not trying to fit in, just being me and feeling like I didn't quite make the cut.  And then I left, quickly, I was supposed to give 4 weeks notice but because my new place wanted me quickly, they agreed to let me go in 3.

I hate fuss, I hate attention being on me, so telling everyone I was departing was delayed and my going for drinks after work on my last day announcement... was even more delayed.

My last day whizzed by, my desk was decorated with Good Luck messages and balloons galore attached to my chair.  I tried to make myself useful in the morning, went out for a long lunch, I got a coffee, flipped through a magazine and wandered the streets.  I got back to work with my stomach in knots and after about 10 minutes, my Manager put me out of my misery, she had opted to save me from the embarrassment of a presentation.  I would have died and she knew it, I'd had an upset tum all day just thinking about it.  Well it was either that or the bug I'd caught from my buddy Paul who sits next to me, who'd caught it from his son.

Anyway, I opened my card and it contained cash, I put the cash to one side and started to read the sentiments, they were all so lovely, the giant card was crammed with beautiful, scrawly writing, and I loved every syllable.

The end of my day quickly came around and I headed for the pub with about five work mates.  After not very long at all, more work mates began to arrive, I think I counted nineteen people, some of my friends couldn't make it, sickness/holidays etc, some didn't work that day or had kiddos to pick up.  I felt so touched and so accepted , I was an emotional mess, and it was my friend Paul who set me off.  I was doing so well, then when Paul had to go, he did that thing that men do, they push you away and clear their throats.  What I can't cope with is men who cry/try not to/pretend not to cry.  For all his teasing and jibes over the past 18 months, I know that he'll miss me.

My enduring memory of the evening is that I was, after all, despite what I felt, accepted.  The people of Liverpool are, as I always knew, the salt of the earth.  My heart ached as I left them, and I will keep a very soft spot in my heart for them, forever.

After hugs and kisses with the remaining half dozen, I legged it, for the 8pm bus and made it by about 30 seconds.  An hour later and I get off the bus at my home town and follow a man down some steps, I'm texting J who is waiting to pick me up from the bus terminal and take me home, as I walk and I'm not really paying attention as I step.  Seconds later and I'm in pitch darkness and on a main road, not sure where I went wrong but I'm on a busy ring road.  Anyhoo, I phone J and several, "where are you!" later's and I plod my way carefully around the ring road and head in the direction of where I should have been while carefully avoiding oncoming cars.  I am exhausted, happy, tearful and sad, but mostly happy.