Mummy at the School Gate

No buy year and old ladies!

2024-05-19T10:10:00.002+01:00

The ‘no buy’ year was probably a bit ambitious.

I managed January, February, March, and April, but come early May I’d succumbed to a few purchases that didn’t meet my laid down criteria. However, I did take most of it back. In the past I’d think I ‘might’ use it, but it would often remain in my wardrobe until I realised that it was still there….gathering dust. I could honestly say to Mike when he asked if my dress was new “what this old thing? I’ve had it years!”

Right now I’m wearing my oldest, most unflattering clothes. The plan is to wear them out, as in wear them until they’re threadbare, ripped, stained and unusable. I’ve managed to wear out a pair of jeans which have worn at the crotch, however, I’ve managed to repair them using a darning method. As they’ve worn they actually look really cool. Soft, battered and fit like a second skin. I don’t think they’re long for this world but I actually love them more. My navy blue cords are becoming threadbare at the bum. I’m not sure they can be salvaged. My white tee’s are now grey…I couldn’t possibly wear them, so they’re now being used as cleaning cloths. Old socks are becoming dusters. I’ve now a ton of dusters! No excuse for the dust now is there?

Ah well, I did manage to snaffle a bed jacket which is lovely and warm now the heating is off. I have memories of my grandma wandering around the house wearing her bed jacket over her clothes. I’m probably the same age as she was when she wore hers, so maybe it’s an age thing. Which brings me onto my next point.

When do women start looking like their grannies? How does it happen? Do we lose interest in fashion? Do we stop looking in our mirrors? Or is it comfort? Or is it finance?

I suppose it’s no coincidence that when we reach our mid to late 60’s our finances take a nose dive. If we’re drawing our pensions there’s very little left in the pot for those little luxuries that we took for granted when we were gainfully employed. No longer are we able to pop into the local boutique and spend ££££’s on items we ‘might” wear and leave them hanging in the wardrobe waiting for for that event that no longer exists for us. Maybe it’s comfort.

First you go for the elasticated waist…just for ease of whipping them down when you need the loo rather rapidly. Who needs zips and buttons when they were a bugger to do up in the first place! Or maybe it’s the type of fabric that washes well….and doesn’t need ironing or gather copious amounts of dog hair. Then it’s the shoes. Heels? Sod them! I can’t walk in them without looking like the leaning tower of Pisa and the fear of breaking my ankle! Then it’s the tops and t-shirts. The jeans are now so tight that the muffin top shows through making me look like a sausage tied tightly in the middle, so on goes a cardigan or a loose jacket and in a nano second I’m looking like my grandma…all because of comfort.

My body shape has changed so all of those clothes that I loved 20 years ago (yes, I still have them) no longer look the same. My life has also changed. No longer am I whisked out to dinner. No longer can I plan for the next event. There aren’t any, anymore. I’m ok with how my life has changed. Mike would be sad, but he’d understand. Mind you, he wouldn’t be happy about the lack of make up.

I’m currently looking through my wardrobe at all the clothes that still have their labels attached. They no longer fit in with my lifestyle. Most of them no longer fit! Some have just been purchased to look at. I love beautiful clothes and will often take out a garment and dream of the places I could wear it.

Mostly, my lifestyle is either in the garden or out with the dogs. The youngster is a bit feisty so the most hard wearing, non rippable, weather proof clothing I can find is the way to go. So today it’s combats, walking boots, t shirt and a hoody! I might even practice wearing a red lip!

Perfect wear for all my needs!

January - My year of no buying

2024-01-20T09:28:00.005+00:00

Not sure if it’s a complete failure or whether I’ve done absolutely brilliantly. (Yeah, I know it’s only 20 ish days through the month). So far, I’ve bought absolutely nothing for myself but plenty for the mutts; new leads, halters and treats. I’m convincing myself that these things are essentials. They are, aren’t they?

I think twice, maybe three times before I purchase, which is a good thing, isn’t it? And those sales! How have I resisted?

I just really need to pat myself on the back…I feel so virtuous! Mike would be so pleased with me. He'd be cheering me on from the sidelines yet secretly relieved that the bank account was looking healthier.

My wardrobes are fit to bursting. I could wear different things every day for a year and still have clothes over. Boxes under the bed filled with clothes. Bags in the garage and attic that need to be either sent to the charity shop, shoved on Vinted or remodelled. Eek… I don’t fancy their chances at being remodelled. My last attempt ended up in the bin. I had such high hopes.

I did the weekly shop this week. Lidl first. I bought only what I truly needed, not what I might use. Then onto Sainsbury’s. It was probably the first time I actually shopped thoughtfully. I only bought what I intended.

No extras. I didn’t even venture into the middle aisles. I even impressed myself.

Normally, I’d chuck anything I fancied into the trolley without checking if I actually needed it, so to see any almost empty trolley was a bit of revelation. What do I actually need? I’m not only looking at whether I need those items but also how much they actually cost? The prices have rocketed over the last couple of years. I used to drink Koko milk. It was reasonable at £1.15 (or £1 on special) but now it’s around £1.85, so I’ve stopped buying it. Heinz Baked Beans? £1.40 a tin? It’s supposed to be a basic, FFS!! I managed to buy some Lidl brand Ristretto coffee pods. A bargain in comparison to Nesspressos!

Oh, I had to buy a new lid for the lavazza milk frother that Benny Poo had swiped off the counter top, that I needed for my morning Latte. Chewed to buggery! It was an essential otherwise how could I start my day?

New Challenges Ahead.

2024-01-16T11:24:00.004+00:00

2 years on.

Life has stood still.

Like everyone who has experienced loss it can be hard to snap out of the deep pain that accompanies each day. Today, I went for a long yomp in my favourite place with the pup, Benny Poo. The other two are getting on and travel at different speeds so stayed in the homestead. For the first time in almost 3 years, I felt a sense of peace. It made my heart swell. I haven’t had this feeling in so long. That’s a good thing. A small sliver of hope in a sea of sadness.

I’ve not been working so haven’t had the luxury of distraction or the dosh. We took voluntary redundancy during the pandemic thinking we’d continue with our business. That dream died with Mike.

I’ve been so lucky not having to worry about money or where it’s coming from but now I have no income so I’m eating into our savings. Probably should think about getting a job.

I’ve been clearing the house of the stuff I’ve never used or things I’ve just stored. You know, the things you ‘might need’ but can’t find when you do need them or forget you’ve got them until you come across them in the search for other things.

I had a chip fryer and a juicer, used once then packed away. I swapped them for a tin of quality street and two bars of Cadbury’s fruit and nut. Didn’t do much for my hips or the burgeoning double chin but I felt better for bartering rather than selling. I seem to be eating my way through grief.

I’ve been to the charity shop and have offloaded the stilettos, strappy dresses and ball gowns which will never, ever see the light of day in my life. Half of them have still have tags attached or never been worn. My wardrobes don’t seem to look much emptier and I still have the attic to go through…I mean, how many coats do I need?

What do I actually need that I don’t already have?

Nothing is the answer.

The pup has ripped my fave cords. I’ll just try and repair them. I’ve already repaired some favourite jeans which had thinned with wear. Quite proud of myself.

Instagram and influencers have been the bane of my life in recent years. I wasn’t sure what influencers were, but I realise now they work for the devil! Making me part with my cash for a dream! I know it’s their job but they’re sales people and most of them are bloody good at it.

Which brings me on to my next project/challenge. My year of ‘no buying’…anything!

Obviously, I need to buy food and essentials to run the homestead. Who knows, the washing machine might need replacing, or the cooker (unlikely, since I don’t cook that much). I have 4 vacuums so it’s unlikely I’ll need to replace them!

I know it’s only early January, but it really has made me look at the way I shop in all areas of my life. I have a plethora of shampoos, conditioners, moisturisers, cleaning products etc so I’ll need to replace them as I use the surplus supplies, rather than buying more! I suppose like most of us I’ll pick up a bottle of something to make my life sparkling.

I’ve tried not to do a ‘top up’ shop and use the items I have. I’ve noticed that when I pop out for some milk, I generally throw in a few extras so my shop becomes £30 rather than the £1.50 I’d initially anticipated. I did have an idea a few years back of boycotting supermarkets on a certain day, just as a protest to reduce their plastic waste, but I lacked the enthusiasm to encourage others to do the same. It wouldn’t work if it was just me. I also thought sending back all the packaging back to the head office of each of the supermarkets. Bag it up, stick it in a bag with no stamp and post it! I even have all of their addresses! I get so far then lose momentum. Story of my life!

I’ve noticed that it’s made me stop looking at the sales online. Generally, I’ll pop onto COS, Toast or even H&M just to see if I can pick up a bargain. It’s not really a bargain because I never needed it anyway! And what I’ve also noticed is the quality of the items, these days. Clothes that I’ve had since my 20’s have lasted and still remain in my wardrobe (in the hope I’ll fit into them), whilst the recently purchased knitwear have bobbled so badly, I don’t think they’ll last another season. The quality is appalling and that’s down to the mix of fabrics…and they’re not that cheap! So now I’m not even looking.

Amazon probably has been my downfall. I need something. I weigh up the pros of going to the store and picking it up myself…time/fuel and work out it’s cheaper to get it on Amazon the next day! I don’t think about whether it’s good for the environment, my pocket, the employees, I’m just concerned about getting it at the time they said. I’m low on cable ties. I haven’t actually run out and I probably won’t need them for a while so I won’t buy them until I need them…or use twine!

I’m not buying second hand or vintage. It defeats my purpose. I may swap and I might sell but I won’t buy.

I’ve encouraged the child to do the same. He’s been spending like a man with a gambling habit (grief induced, I think) and he’s agreed to do it for 6 months. He says, so far, he’s stopped scrolling insta, Pinterest for new things. It’s given him time to do other things instead of diving down that rabbit hole!

Not sure how interesting it will be for other people, but for me it’s essential. I need to stop buying to fill the grief hole and I need find things fulfilling …and free! I love walking and I love my dogs! This is going to be a breeze!

I’m breathing but still drowning.

2023-06-17T10:49:00.001+01:00

Many of my draft posts in the last 15 months have been desperate, sad, depressing and full of self pity. In essence, all about me. A outpouring of all my grief. I haven’t posted them because I guess they’re like a diary of my sadness. Yes, I’m sad. Yes, I’m grieving but really no one wants to read a post that’s so self absorbed, yet sometimes I feel it’s the need to know that others are going through the same.

I joined a few online groups in the early days and in all honesty, I find them hard to read. I don’t join in because it’s much of the same. People post because they’re feeling at their lowest ebb. That’s not to say that tomorrow they’ll feel ok or slightly different. It makes me feel better knowing that others are in the same boat as me. Not that I want anyone to feel how I feel, but I know I’m not alone in my desperation. Every day is a different day. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not.

In the very, very early days, someone sent me a poem. It was about how grief is like being in the sea without a raft. The waves are huge, some knock you over, some allow you to breathe and give you respite until the next one hits. Yes, it’s like that. Someone else said it’s like your grief is a tennis ball in a jar. Initially the the jar is small and tight for the ball, but as time goes on, the tennis ball goes into a larger jar and there’s space around it. The grief remains the same size, but as the jar gets bigger the grief is surrounded by air. Same kind of thing, I guess. It’s nice to have comparisons. It’s nice to know that you can breathe.

Talking of breathing…I went to a retreat last week. Not your normal yoga or pampering spa break but a completely different type of ‘getting in touch with yourself’ sort of break. Lots of meditation, breathing, ecstatic dancing and mindfulness (although we did call it mindless and thoughtless. They couldn’t really call it a Thoughtless Retreat, could they? They wouldn’t get many takers!) It wasn’t too much but enough to make a bit of a difference. It wasn’t spiritual or religious based and was meant to be relaxing and zen. I came back completely knackered! It’s an exhausting business relaxing!

It probably wouldn’t be for everyone, but the facilitators were kind, caring and didn’t probe, which worked well for me.

I think I may write my next post on the experience. It would be good to get back into my other world again. Not moving forward, but creating a different but positive environment for myself. I can hear my voice a little clearer. I’m not sure the procrastination has been shelved, but at least I can see the dog hair that needs vacuuming!

What has helped you through periods of despair?

Grief, Fear, Sleep, exhaustion and other stuff that goes with it.

2022-07-23T13:15:00.002+01:00

April 2022

Two of them I have a lot of, while I have very little of the other.

When Mike was ill we slept a lot, heavy and sound. We’d wake up surprised that we’d both slept so well particularly when we were going through such an awful, horrific process.

Now, I wake up exhausted. I wake maybe 3-5 times each night. Sometimes I actually get up and go in hunt of food (usually chocolate). My face shows the lack of sleep, and my bones feel it. I can’t understand why every part of my body hurts and why I drag myself about in utter exhaustion. I take the dogs for a walk and can barely put one foot in front of the other. Halfway through the walk, I really don’t think I’ll be able to make it home. I’m not old, and I’m not ill so where has all my energy gone? I’m not tired just exhausted. TV box sets have been a god send. My son and I will sit and watch one episode after the other. Game of Thrones, Succession, Vikings, Sons of Anarchy, stuff I’ve never seen but stuff that gets us through the evening without thinking or crying. We’d go to bed after midnight after watching 3 or 4 episodes.

I can’t even be bothered to dress properly. Very often, I’ll put on the clothes I wore the day before…and the day before that. My hair gets scraped back into its most unflattering pony tail

I’m writing lists. Things that need to be done and ticked off. That way I know at least I’ve achieved something during each day. I write the mundane…like brush my teeth, wash my hair, (write a list!) just to make the list a bit longer and also because I’ll probably forget. Ticking them off helps.

They say that grief is energy sapping so I guess I’ll always feel like this. It’s not even as if I’m doing much of anything.

I’m trying to keep our business going but that’s difficult especially since I know nothing about it. Fear of getting it wrong. Fear of actually doing it. Fear of everything. I’ve never experienced such fear and anxiety. I wake up in the night and I’m scared. Not of anything in particular, just scared of going on without him. Of him not being here by my side like we’d planned.

July 2022

I didn’t think I’d be able to get this far without falling apart. I haven’t done so yet. I’m ok. I’m ok with being miserable for the rest of my life. I laugh occasionally, but it’s usually something someone has said that’s completely inappropriate and macabre.

The business has taken its toll on me. I started off well and it kept me distracted but as time has gone on I’m more reluctant to tackle the things I know I don’t know…and that’s a lot of it. Most clients have been understanding but the time has come when they expect a service I just can’t give. So far, I’m just ignoring everything. The calls, the emails and everything that goes with it. I think I’m done.

I’m sleeping better. I take magnesium every night which seems to help and the weighted blanket that stops me from wandering the house…and eating!

For some reason, I’m obsessed with clearing out. I seem to be downsizing. I don’t want Luke to have to deal with my shit if something happens to me. It’d probably all end up in the skip anyway! There’s so much paper, files receipts!

I’ve had to do things I didn’t want to do, like get the house valued for probate, write another will. I have to think about things like selling the Defender, the trailer and the equipment for the business, which is stored in the garage. I haven’t touched his clothes. I can’t. So they still sit in his wardrobe.

I haven’t sorted his final resting place yet, but I know I need to. I will, but I’m not ready yet. I don’t feel ready for much, but I will be.

There is no manual.

2022-03-13T08:29:00.002+00:00

January is bleak at the best of times…only now it’s bleaker than I ever thought possible. I wonder how I’m going to get through this awful, horrific time. I know I will, but I don’t want to. Words aren’t enough to express my thoughts. I veer between black humour and absolute fear.

My beautiful husband passed away on Jan 1st. We’d never been a fan of New Years, and now he’s really made sure I’ll never celebrate another!

It’s not how I thought I’d react. People have been so kind, want to spend time with me yet I just want them to leave me alone. “Do you have people to support you” is something that’s now often asked. I have loads, yet I don’t want anyone else near me. I know when my mum lost Dad, she needed to be surrounded with everyone. I don’t want anyone. Mostly everyone gets on my nerves and I think I’m only trying to make them feel better.

I’m fine.

I’m ok.

I’m good.

I’m not.

I told him, I’d kill myself. I’d lay down and never get up. He wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not that easy to die when you’re breathing.

I need to remember, everyone else is hurting too. But they don’t cry at the same time as me. Is there something wrong with me? What would it say in the manual?

Probably, “Try to force out a few tears as it will make them feel better.”.

They’ll hug me at that point too. To make themselves feel better? Actually, their tears do make me cry, then I can’t stop. Where does all that water come from?

That’s the thing with tears. It’s not like a tap you can just turn off. It doesn’t make me feel better. Just knackered.

I went up into the attic to get my skis out for the son’s g/f to borrow. I opened the ski bag…and there they were. His skis. He’ll never use them again. Bam! A tightening in my chest and a wail.

You see, there is no manual to help you through it, even if you wanted it. There’s no manual that tells you how to change the different lightbulbs, jumpstart the car that hasn’t been used for months, clean out the filter on the washing machine, Rod the drains.

There is no manual that will tell you what to do now, when all the plans you’ve made with him disappear into thin air.

It’s now March. I’ve gone 10 weeks without seeing him. I haven’t killed myself yet. I probably won’t.

Our son dreams of him every night and wakes exhausted. I’m jealous. I want to dream of him too, but I don’t.

But I think of him for every second of every minute of every hour, every day.

What do I do now?

Blips and Bumps along a hard road.

2021-10-28T22:00:00.000+01:00

It's now October and so much has happened that previously would have been terrifying. They're now just memories of things that have just happened along the journey.

Every day is a blessing. Every day that is normal is even more of a blessing.

Days after we met with "Our warrior" things rapidly descended into madness. I can't think of another word to describe it. It was early May. Mike started experiencing excruciating pain in his back. He couldn't move without crying out. He made it to bed but the pain was getting worse. It was almost like his back was constantly in a spasm. Regular pain killers weren't cutting it, so at midnight I made the decision to call for help. I was mindful of Covid, especially with Mike now being vulnerable.

I guess there's a first time for everything. I'd never been in the situation of calling emergency services and I had no idea how to do it. I phoned 111 and explained the situation, that Mike had recently been diagnosed with Oespogeal Cancer and I didn't know what to do. 111 passed me over to 999 and within10 minutes an ambulance pulled up and three paramedics jumped out! All I can say is that they were next to amazing. Kind, compassionate and understanding. Mike kept apologising for calling them out but they brushed it aside and treated him with such care.

They were with us for a couple of hours. Mike was reluctant to go into the local hospital, but they weren't able to give him pain relief without knowing what they were dealing with. They had no idea how bad it might be or what it might be. They gave him a relaxant and waited for it to kick in.

Chatting with them whilst waiting, we were convinced that we were wasting their time and felt guilty that we had called them. Maybe Mike just needed to rest. "Oh no" said the paramedic treating Mike. "It's nice to meet normal!" Then went on to tell us of the time he'd been called to attend an address where the patient reported a heart attack. Obviously, they rushed to the scene where they found the patient sitting at the table with a COVID test in front of her. On asking the patient she said "I had a heart attack as my test says I'm positive".

The other said that she'd been called to an address of a stabbing. On arriving they were told that the householder had woken and believed that he'd been attacked in his sleep. The police were there when they arrived and were escorted in to see a man in his vest sitting nursing a cup of tea. Apparently he was convinced he'd been stabbed as his dream was so realistic!

They took Mike into hospital overnight. I picked him up the next morning and immediately emailed "The Warrior" asking for advice on what we should do. Within hours, I received a call from his team telling us to make our way to the hospital where they would investigate further.

Mike was admitted. He was there for 14 days. They found that the cancer had already made it's way into his vertebrae and was now collapsing which was causing the excruciating pain. Andy (the Warrior) called on another expert who would repair it. In the meantime, they needed to wait for a "balloon" from Holland to place the cement in, which would repair the rib. I wasn't able to see him due to COVID but we FaceTimed daily and he wasn't in a good place. He was in agony. He had to lie still, unable to move. Had we not had been lucky to have met our man, we have no doubt Mike would have been paralysed.

While he was under they placed a "port" in his chest so that they would be able to start the chemo.

I called BUPA, asking for advice and making sure that I had the relevant codes for treatment. At that point I wasn't sure what I needed to do. We hadn't contacted our GP. We hadn't needed them at that point and I'm grateful that BUPA has fulfilled our needs so far. They have been amazing!

Our warrior.

2021-08-09T13:35:00.001+01:00

I have no idea what day we’re at now since the initial diagnosis, and I have no idea how we’ve made this our ‘new normal’ so quickly.

We’re no longer sobbing helplessly. I’m no longer in a whirl of fear and despair. We’re now getting on with it.

It was a bleak week. The days were overcast and dull. Our life on hold. On the day of our consultation with our chosen oncologist at The Cromwell Hospital we feared that he wouldn’t take us on. We thought we’d be turned away and left on our own. We sat in the Genesis suite waiting.

Then...out he bounced. Introducing himself, I knew we’d made the right choice, or maybe the right choice had been made for us. He wasn’t dressed how we’d expected. Not suited and booted in his saville row suit, but casually in jeans and trainers. He was as young as I’d expected, but with an energy and an aura I knew was well placed. We couldn’t see his face as it was covered with the obligatory mask, but Mike said later, that his eyes were shinning...and they were!

We sat in his consulting room and went through the very short history. He looked at the paperwork we’d sent and said it was perfectly treatable. He would take Mike on and he was now our oncologist and that he would organise the CT/Pet scans and MRI’s. There were no sad eyes, and no compassionate pauses. Mike sobbed. He needed to hear that something could be done and he knew we had our warrior.

The relief was overwhelming. It was as if a huge rock had been lifted and we could see some light. We left far lighter than when we arrived. As we left the hospital, the sun was shinning and I could see our son waiting. He face was etched with stress, his shoulders stiff and hunched but when he saw us smiling those shoulders dropped and he knew something good had happened. And it had.

The cancer is still there, and I know we’ll have hard days ahead, but we have someone who has our mindset, someone who wants to power through and someone who’s a ‘can do’!

In the meantime, we were still awaiting a call from the original consultant.

Day 1-16 - Cancer -Where do we go now?

2021-05-15T08:59:00.005+01:00

It’s incredible once you start speaking to people. Everyone knows someone who’s been struck by cancer. They know someone going through it now, or they someone living with it daily. We’ve been overwhelmed with support and kindness and knowing we’re not alone really helps.

I have no idea of the normal process for anything medical. We’ve never needed it.

My brother had needed urgent hospital treatment, but unfortunately the NHS was pretty poor at that time and were unable to support him. It was a horrible experience and once the consultant heard that we were moving him to a private facility had said “I didn’t know they were prepared to pay”. That shocked me. Should it matter if you had money available? I vowed that we would never be in that position again. I took out private medical insurance so that we’d have to go through that. I’m certain that 20 years later the position has changed. I have nothing but admiration and support for the NHS. They have certainly kept this country going and they work so incredibly hard.

Initially, we went to a private Dr because of Mikes back pain. We couldn’t get an appointment with the local NHS Dr, and to be honest we hadn’t used them in years, so this was the simplest, quickest and easiest route. The back pain had been getting worse. Blood tests came back normal and an X-ray showed nothing abnormal. Mike then mentioned to the Doctor that he’d sometimes have an issue swallowing food...like it was getting stuck in the chest. He was referred to a Gastroenterologist really very quickly. The next day he had an gastroscopy. The surgeon told Mike at the procedure that he was 75% sure it was cancer. I clung to the 25%, that it wasn’t. He was immediately called in for a CT scan the next day. That evening, they called asking Mike to go in for another consultation.

I’d been sitting in the car on these visits to the hospital during diagnosis and tests. I knew I wasn’t able to go in with him due to COVID, and rightly so. Mike phoned me asking me to meet the nurse at the front doors. They wanted to speak with me too. The consultant sat behind his desk with his steepled hands and looked at us with his sad, pitying eyes. I could only see the nurses eyes as the rest of her face was hidden by the mask we all wear now. She too, had the ‘look’. I looked at Mike. His eyes were clouded with the thoughts racing through his mind. He wasn’t looking any where except inward.

“It IS cancer” said the consultant. He paused...for a long time. I don’t know what for. Maybe they were expecting me to scream. I usually have questions, but at this point I was rendered speechless, and I’ve been speechless ever since.

The consultant told us that they’d refer us to the oncologist, but we wouldn’t hear from her for a week as she was away. Don’t know where she’s going, we’re still in lockdown! Mind you, I can’t blame her, a week away in a cottage somewhere would be a welcome change to the ravages of disease she must see every day. I guess he could see the panic on our faces, as he said it wouldn’t make much of a difference...the week wait.

I, fortunately, begged to differ and fortunately we have private health care. We knew we couldn’t rely on others to make decisions for us, we knew we needed to move quickly. It was a bank holiday weekend so 3 days were lost to us already.

The drive to the oncologist and treatment suite they had recommended could take an hour each way and as we reflected on the journey home, it was too long a wait and too long a drive. The drive there would be debilitating enough for Mike, without the treatment. He was still in pain and it was getting worse. Did we know what therapies this oncologist could offer? Would we agree with her? We needed someone near, we needed someone now, and we needed to be in London, but how the heck do we find someone that would suit his needs? It seemed, even at this seemingly early stage, they’d given up on Mike. Would we find that same attitude in all of the others?

Mike and I, oddly think as one. When he thinks something, I’m always on his page and vice versa....except when either of us are annoyed or angry, then the other one offers the alternative which calms the other one down. It’s always been like this. Luckily. As we talked on the journey home, we knew we wanted a “can do, will do”, we wanted someone with fire, positivity, an oncologist with access to every possible treatment, who’d researched and someone to give us hope.

I jumped on the Internet (that amazing tool that gives you so much information that is so abused and used for purposes that can drag you into a deep worm hole!). I looked at the private health website for hospitals that could help, then looked for Drs and oncologists that dealt with the specific cancer area. I checked where they worked from and I checked what therapies they use. Looking back, I probably didn’t go down the most conventional route, but I knew it didn’t matter now. It would take too long to go through the NHS, another referral, more scans...more waiting. We’d decided to wait for the original oncologist, just incase the others didn’t work out.

On Friday, I fired off a few emails to the few Oncologists I’d narrowed down, and waited until Tuesday. There was nothing else to do. At 9 am I opened my emails and had replies from two explaining that it wasn’t their area, however one recommended the third. By 9.20am, the third’s private secretary had called and squeezed us in for a face to face consultation in 2 days time despite a full day of consultations!

Fingers crossed and another journey starting!

Day 7 - Today was a good day.

2021-05-07T18:43:00.000+01:00

I’ve stopped crying. I’m not sure for how long, but today was a good day. It was a good day in the sense that we acted normally in this totally bizarre and odd new normal. How many times have we said that this year? New normal? So many phrases that seemed trite and strange are used regularly to describe any crazy situation we find ourselves in.

We’d finally been able to tell our son that his dad has cancer. It made it real. He cried. He was shocked. Our 30 year old son who adores and admires his dad always thought he was invincible, but it’s freaked him out beyond belief. I guess it’s the same for everyone when told of something that happens to other people. We’re always shocked and terrified when we hear something we never expect to hear. He’s a great dad and he’s a lucky son to have him. He knows this.

We haven’t got to the stage of treatment yet. We have a vague idea of what to expect. We have no idea of the grade or stage. Oncologists haven’t been appointed although the consultant has referred us to one, I’m not convinced it’s the one for us. She’s on holiday for a week so no appointment has been made. We’re left floating in the wind. Nice eh? Now it’s research, cancer fighting foods and supplements.

We also need some sort of normality now. We need to take a bit of control back.

Today, we went to The River Summer House at Oakley Court. L (our boy) wanted to take us as a treat. Our first real outing in a year! Mike and I, had been chatting about taking the odd day off, before to spend time together so this was a great first day out although tinged with a bit of despair, but my handsome husband made me laugh as he normally does and for a few hours we were normal.

We sat in a stunning Yurt in comfy sofas, and along with other guests, served by young, hip staff with a vitality for living. The sides were up so we could view the Thames and the day trippers passing by. Walkers on the other bank stopped and pointed. Probably wondering what event was going on. Running along side the bank were small docks, each with their sofas and umbrellas with security men patrolling to ensure that the boaters didn’t stop off and invade us! Outside the Yurt in the grassy level massive green and white striped day beds. It wasn’t quite warm enough to strip off to sunbath, but the opportunity was there to lay down in your coat and hat and get a few rays! I surreptitiously took a few photos on my phone, but L said he’d kill me if I posted them! To protect the privacy of the guests he said! Ah well. I can look at them in the privacy of my own home.

Now I need to wait for the bank holiday to be over, before I can contact anyone. Thankfully, we’re with BUPA. I need to check out the oncologists to see who will and can help us....but today was a good day!

Onwards!

I’m no stranger to death so cancer can go f**k itself!

2021-05-02T09:05:00.004+01:00

Hmmm, doesn’t sound too uplifting does it? It doesn’t really matter because this is for me...and I am no stranger to death. Really. Not my own, but like millions of us around the globe I’ve had loss. I’ve suffered from grief and I’ve prayed that it would never happen again. But it does. It’s inevitable. With life there’s death. Always. And it’s those who are left behind who suffer continuously.

I’m not incredibly self indulgent (unless it comes to buying clothes), but as this blog is for my thoughts it’s my indulgent spot where I can say what I want, not that I’ve not censored or held back on posting. If you looked into my drafts you’ll see 100’s of posts that I haven’t posted. I’m not really who I say I am. The things I’ve written about have happened, but 10 years ago I needed an outlet for something that happened and mummyattheschoolgate was born. It helped me through a rough patch.

I don’t have three children. I have one son. I’m not 40 something, I’m older. I feel younger. I have a BH and he’s exactly as presented. He’s real. The children are all my son. The au pairs are real, the friends are real as are all the experiences. I needed to hide my identity to protect myself.

But now, it’s time to step into the light and be real. My name is Jaki. I’ve been married to Mike for 36 years...and I’ve loved every single moment of it. We’ve laughed through it all. It’s always been our default position. Something terrible happens...laugh.

Life is beautiful and life is real. It always has been and always is. Sometimes we hide behind a facade to pretend that things are ok, but sometimes we need to let the mask fall and know that it’s ok to be real. The pretence stops. As for me, I’ve always hidden. I’ve not always acknowledged that fears are ok. Hiding is not always the best way to be. I’ve always needed to be strong. To be seen as strong, put on a happy face and just get on with it...and after this I’ll probably carry on doing the same. I’ll put on the happy face in public, and when I’m alone will scream and cry into a towel or a pillow. Anything to muffle the pain and noise. It helps.

And now, the question is “Why this post?”. The honest answer will be “My husband, the love of my life, has cancer” Bleak. Stark. My heart is broken.

I’m already grieving and I can’t stop crying. I can’t pretend this isn’t happening and I can’t pretend I’ll be ok, because I won’t. I’ll get past this week and we’ll have good days I know. I’m wasting time by jumping straight to the end. It’s not over yet, but I need to get that headspace straight.

Now is not the time to completely drop the pretence. It’s not alright and it won’t be fine, but for my beautiful husbands sake and for the sake of our son, my husbands family, my family, our friends, I need to be ok. I need to be the strongest I’ve ever been. No pity party here. We’ll get through this, and we’ll come out the other. We have to. We have no choice.

We are Warriors.

Alternatives to Baking powder?

2021-01-31T10:19:00.002+00:00

Recently, my ma (who is 87, donchaknow) decided to bake some scones. Now, she’s been a pretty good cook all of her life and attention to detail and minutiae of all things cooked knows no bounds! We’d all rather eat with her, than schlepp down to that Michelin starred restaurant we have on our doorstep when summoned to join her for a nosh. She’s that good. My dad was the master of triple cooked chips...before it became a ‘thing’. Summer BBQ’s always featured his skill...and his own take on Kentucky Fried Chicken made it impossible to not turn up!

Growing up, every Christmas Eve would find us in the kitchen, baking mince pies..at midnight! It was our tradition. Obviously half of them would disappear into the ether as we tested them fit for consumption.

Christmas Eve would also find us decorating the house in the vibe of Santa’s grotto. The walls would be covered with silver foil, the ceiling festooned with paper chains. Every nook and cranny would be filled with glitter and glitz. The 7ft Christmas tree chosen each year by Dad would be unveiled and was covered in baubles and tinsel..only to topple over because we’d only decorated the visible side. Something that has taught me in adulthood that the back view is as important as the front for different reasons!

Anyway, back to Ma and her baking. She’d called me earlier in the day. She was on a baking kick and had planned her attack! She was just missing some baking powder and would I have any? I didn’t, as I’m not a baker but I’d pop over later with some. Of course I forgot but Ma is too polite to mention it a second time.

Later that day, she called again.

“Don’t worry” she said. “I found some in the back of the cupboard so I made them. Don’t bother coming over to taste them. They’re disgusting. They’ve gone an awful grey colour. I think the baking powder must’ve gone off.”

“Throw them away.” Said I.

“Oh no,” she replied in the ‘war spirit’ voice she uses. “Can’t do that, it’s a waste. I’ll use a bit of butter and jam and they’ll be fine”

The next day, I popped over for a visit. I made the tea whilst she wittered in the background. I caught the tail end of her ramblings “..and I ate the lot. I wondered where my rooting powder had gone!’

I spun around, knocking over the milk in the process.

“Come again?” I asked.

It transpires, that both her baking powder and rooting powder come in similar cardboard containers. The rooting powder had fallen into the sink so she’s placed it on the window ledge to dry out but the label had become vague and washed off. After a while she’d forgotten what it was so assumed it was her baking powder so popped it in the ‘baking cupboard.

Bonkers!

On another note, she’s just had her COVID vaccine. She’s worried about the long term effects and the change on her DNA. I’m not sure her worries are best placed if she hasn’t freaked about what she actually has put into her body! If she grows another arm, I’ll pit that down to the rooting powder!

2021, New Years Resolutions and the future. 2020 can sod off!

2021-01-01T09:52:00.003+00:00

If you made a New Years resolution last year and kept to it, you really should give yourself a big pat on the back. If it was carving yourself some time, out of your busy life then it should’ve been easy, what we’ve all the time we’ve had, BUT, if you’re like me and procrastination is something you struggle with then you’ve only yourself to blame.

Because I’m no longer gainfully employed, I’ve spent the last year binge watching Netflix, TV series and anything that looks remotely interesting. I’ve spent a year where I’ve scoured the online shops for clothes I don’t need as I’ve nowhere to wear them. I’ve painted all of the rooms in the house and only stopped because I ran out of walls. I’ve cleaned cupboards, Kondo’ed the buggery, out of everyone’s wardrobes, baked bread and realised that I’ve been spending a fortune on cardboard. The things I’ve wanted to do, planned to do because I don’t have time ..I didn’t. Not anyone’s fault but mine.

It’s not all been selfish and about me. I visit my Ma most days. I either stand in her garden or behind the shower screen my bro has rigged up in her living room. She misses the hugs and kisses from her grandchildren and often we have to shout at her to move away when she gets too close. Her eyesight and hearing isn’t too good, so it must seem like blurry shapes with muffled shouting and waving from a distance. I don’t think she has any idea who we are. I gave her an iPad last year for Christmas and it’s been a godsend for her. She won’t do FaceTime as she hates seeing herself and I understand that. She’s old and doesn’t want reminding. I won’t answer any FaceTime calls unless I’m fully made up with hair washed, and top half clothed. She’s been shopping like her life depended on it...and there’s only her and her dog! Every week she gets a delivery from Waitrose. It looks like she’s feeding a small army! She gets anxious and upset if she can’t get a delivery for the following week and sends me in errands for her goats milk and quails eggs. I’ve shopped for Bro. I’ve tried to keep everyone’s spirits up and during lockdown made it my mission to make things as easy as possible. Which wasn’t always easy.

When I was a kid my resolutions were simple.

1. Be kind

2. Wear my scarf to bed every night to keep my hair straight and not looking like a matted carpet.

3. Don’t eat chocolate

So this year although not strictly a resolution but a plan, I am pledging the planet, my pocket and the eco system not to buy any new clothes. It won’t be a hardship as I don’t have any money to spend. My wardrobe is full to bursting with things I’ve never worn. I will try as much as I can to shop from my own wardrobe and if there’s something I need, I’ll buy charity shop or second hand. I’ll mend, make refashion, although I know my sewing endeavours usually end up in the bin!. I’ve unsubscribed from every shopping website I’ve used over the past year. I’ve removed the shop apps, and have removed anyone who promotes products on FB and Insta.

I really don’t need anyone to tell me what I really need as I’m very, very vulnerable at the moment and am teetering on the edge of whether I can really do this. It will only take a pretty picture to entice me to part with my pennies.

My other pledge is to all those things I didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t do last year.

1. Go to the gym

2. Finish my novel

3. Don’t eat chocolate

4. Take more photos

5. Be kinder

Thankfully, our generation have never experienced anything quite like this before and like us all, am praying that something like normal will emerge over the coming months with the various vaccines. It’s flippin’ amazing how hard they’ve worked to achieve something like this in such a relatively short space of time and I hope and pray we’ll all see a future.

So, in an effort to keep to my plan (and in true insta style) I’m attempting to floor lay, in a pleasing and artistic manner, my outfits of the week...which shall be fun...or not!

So, good riddance to 2020. 2021 has started with a whimper but hopefully it’ll be better than the last one...like no one said ever!

It's nearly Christmas! Bling the sh*t out of it!

2020-11-25T14:24:00.005+00:00

It's that time. Christmas organising time. I do love me a bit of gold and bling around the homestead and I've settled on gold and rose for this years theme. I'm not sure that we'll be entertaining the masses as per usual but I've placed my order for the turkey which is the size of a small cow. I'm certain we'll be able to polish it off, though.

Which brings me onto the third most important item on the list of things to do. Find that Christmas outfit. I’m not too good with accessories. I can do a scarf if it's cold. I’ve one of those of stacks which contain all of my jewels..not that I wear any.

My wedding ring is somewhere under the floorboards in our last house and my engagement ring is in the stacked jewellery box missing half the diamond chips but still retaining its sapphire! BH spent a whole weeks wages on it many moons ago so it needs to be kept safe.

The wedding ring I bought myself because BH forgot to get one prior to the wedding so I ran out on the morning of the wedding to buy one!

Shitster!

When I get dressed in the morning, my face is my priority. Do I look tired? Can I make it through the day without looking like a corpse? What colour shall I wear? I know...black! Jewels and bling? Forget it. I can barely work out what shoes to put on!

I do however, like a bit of bling on my clothes. Most of my wardrobe is practical and suitable for purpose (walking the dogs, sitting on my bum, watching copious amounts of series catch ups. Think I've done the lot!) but after watching Schitt's Creek (OMG...loved that show and heartbroken it’s finished! I'm pretty sure I'm Moira. I'd like to be Alexis, but sadly I'm way too ugly.) I knew I needed the Diane Von Furstenburg Layla ensemble that Alexis Rose was wearing. It would be perfect for Christmas.

If I see something I like on the little screen, very often I’ll go a hunting. I become obsessed. Searched and searched for that little number at a reasonable price. Sadly, it wasn’t to be. It’s way out of my price range and I could only find it in the US. You’d think there’s more in my life at the moment than thinking of summer dresses, wouldn’t you? It's winter and I'm no where near a beach or will be in the foreseeable future AND the indisputable fact that we’re in a lock down AND I’m jobless! However, paired with the sequinned trousers I spoke about in my last post (clicky here!)

I'm pretty handy with paint. I've painted my house. I've an eye for colour and design so I thought I'd give one of my dresses a little make over, with the confidence I could achieve a very similar effect. I mean, how hard could it be? It wasn't as if the gold was positioned in a uniform fashion. Splash on a bit of fabric paint and I'd be good to go.

Picking the dress wasn't too difficult. I'd pulled out a few I thought might be up to the job and the one I'd bought it in the summer looked like it could be the one that needed a bit of bling. It was lovely and cool for the steamy summer days or hot turkey cooking. What could go wrong?

It seems....a lot!

Heartbreaking....truly heartbreaking.

It looks like I've handled a very upset baby with a very, very suspect tummy!

Not the best idea I've ever had. My confidence always far outweighs my abilities.

The only place for it now? The bin!

What are your fashion fails? Do share and we can all have a laugh!

Instagram, Influencers and my Bank Balance!!

2020-11-19T18:43:00.003+00:00

Instagram, Influencers and my Bank Balance

For a minute I thought my blogging account had been stolen! It's been so long since I felt the urge to put pen to paper (or computer) that I'd forgotten the gmail account that I'd used for the blog, which was once the love of my life but it now seems that everyone has moved on to "Insta" and YouTube and I've let it fall my little blog fall behind the times. I've watched a few IGTV'ers, even followed a few...but I've been truly left behind in the social stream of the internet world.

Is mummy blogging out of vogue or has everyone my age moved onto pastures new?

The truth is my kids aren't kids anymore, so I'm not strictly a 'mummyblogger'. (I probably never was as I was and am a wee bit older than the usual suspects.) The kids are now on the cusp of adulthood with lives of their own; Instagram accounts of their own and ideas which seem completely alien to me. I can't seem to influence them anymore and they no longer buy into "Because I said so".

So this little corner of the blogging sphere has been and always will be, a little bit of me. Even if no one ever visits. Because I never post these days, probably. I'm guessing I need to change. Which is fine. I can do that.

So I started looking around. I though Instagram was a "picture' library, where people posted pictures and other people liked them. A short version of Facebook without the words. I posted a couple of pictures of the dogs. My friends liked them. The few that I have, that is. I "liked" their photo's just for balance.

"There must be more to it than this?" I thought.

I can't keep going around just "liking" photo's, can I? I soon found out there was another world to all this. A far reaching world. Were there others like me? Age appropriate, aimed at me? I started to follow @middleagedminx. I listen on t'radio most days and she appeals to me as it's about London, she's my era'ish and I love that she's self-deprecating (in a funny way. She can so laugh at herself.) She's a bit of me or rather she would be a bit of me had I not spawned the spawn. I've even subscribed to her YouTube channel.

Then I delved in a bit deeper. OMG...the beautiful lives people live! Then I delved a bit deeper. OMFG!!! The beautiful things you can buy! I started following people I thought were interesting and vacuous. My ageish, but my style (or the style I'd like). Not that there were many, but a few that ticked the boxes.

One that I particularly like is @doesmybumlook40 Kat Farmer (blogger, stylist, fashionista) shares tips and ideas about fashion, beauty and hosts The Confidence Bible on Facebook, where women share their #ootd (outfit of the day- I had to look that up) and ask questions about current trends and whether others though them suitable. Fab stuff and really endearing posters. Kat looks fab, but she is about 10 feet tall, slim and clothes drape perfectly on her, but she always offers great advice on how to wear the clothes she's showing, with most of them being affordable.

However....my bank balance has taken a bashing. Which brings me onto my next thought. I had absolutely no idea about influencers and what they did. I just thought they wore, tried or lived the lives we wanted to emulate. I didn't realise (I hadn't even thought about it to be honest) that this is actually what they were. They influence us in our spending. We see them living their fab lives. We see them as we are. But we're not, are we?

" Oh, Ok, She's wearing that and it looks good on her. I can see it move, and she's just like me, or how I'd like to look. It's affordable, it looks good quality. Oh look, there's a link" Sold!

It's a good way to sell and I can see the benefits to retailers. It's not a sinister thing. Some influencers want their 'friends' to have the best they can afford and very often offer alternatives, but it's all about spending and our habits. I see something I like on Insta, I can buy it in a click. It's easy convenient and all done from the comfort of my kitchen. Don't know where I shall wear them...it's as if any of us are going anywhere, are we

Anyway, on to my purchases....

I've become almost obsessed with pleather.

https://www.mintvelvet.co.uk/product/black-faux-leather-leggings/28627?gclid=CjwKCAiAzNj9BRBDEiwAPsL0d97sqXMJSHAyxqC0T4L4tbXMkkcBKFpOO96UF0_jk9n2cTL_8ke1ZxoCwt4QAvD_BwE

Mint Velvet High Waisted (a must!) Faux Leather Leggings (£29.99) paired with the obligatory

DM's (£169) Perfect for dog walking once I've dealt with the blisters, but at least I can wipe down the trousers after the mucky walk with the pups!

https://www.drmartens.com/uk/en_gb/p/25345001

And for Christmas Day, I shall be wowing everyone with my stunning sequinned joggers from Zara (£29.99). At least the elasticated waist will come in handy after eating the mountains of obligatory sprouts and roast potatoes...not forgetting the mince pies. I could probably fit a few glasses of champagne in there too!

https://m.zara.com/uk/en/sequinned-trousers-p02731298.html?v1=57548148&v2=1549190

So now I think I've found my way...a bit. I like clothes. I also like spending, but my bank account doesn't. I'm no longer gainfully employed. My grateful employer believed I was surplus to requirements...so on the scrapheap I am! Redundant! That's a tale for another day. I've no regrets and look forward to the future with enthusiasm and zeal...as long as I can curb my spending!

AM I THE ENABLER?

2019-05-21T15:44:00.001+01:00

It's been a while, but I suddenly wondered where I was and what I was supposed to be doing...and it wasn't what I was doing 10 minutes ago. 10 minutes ago I was washing the floor. 10 minutes ago I was thinking as I was washing the floor, my mind wandering over and past all of the conversations I've had with various people. Interesting people and people who seem to live fuller lives than mine.

I remember one chap, a colleague, (who I'd spent several days with drinking coffees and smoking, bantering, putting the world to rights, talking about HIS family, HIS adventures, HIS thoughts for the future) and he said to me after he'd been chatting with another colleague "You're boring! She's done so much. She's soooo interesting!". At the time, I thought he was a twat, but 10 minutes ago I wondered if he was actually right. 10 minutes ago, I thought,

"Is this it? Is this the sum total of my life? Is this what I'm destined to do for the rest of it?"

It isn't. It's this and I've missed it. I keep missing it but I forget sometimes and get caught up with what I'm supposed to do for others. That means I forget about myself and what I love to do. The reason being is that I'm a mother first, as I keep being told. BH tells me that I'm doing a sterling job as it allows the rest of them to get on with their lives without stopping.

Me? I clean, cook, wash, vacuum, iron, shop...with each of them in mind.

Will it ever stop?

I doubt it as my 50 something brother still expects 80 something Ma to be at his beck and call. Not his fault, I know. It's all hers. She's the one that has taught us females to be a "mother". I call it the 'enabler' as it enables everyone else to do what they want without thought of what they should/could be doing, which in turn has created a code of conduct in which the women follow and the men take advantage of.

The boys are now men. They are semi capable. By which I mean they know that I'll always be here to cook their dinner, make sure the fridge is full so that they are able to graze at will and that the 'Mum Taxi' is always on standby. I'm looking forward to the day when they decide they no longer need me. I keep telling them that the apron strings will shortly be cut and I will have no problem kicking them from the nest with a cry of "Fly little babies, Fly!" They don't think it's funny but I've extracted a promise that they'll out by the time their 40!

Mimi is a difficult teenager. She volleys between, sweet, loving and mild-mannered Mimi and moody-volatile-silent Mimi. I know which one I like better and pray that she'll return to me soon. Not forever, mind you. However, she appears to be following in the footsteps of her brothers. She's capable of looking after herself, but knows that I'll be hovering in the background waiting to catch her when she falls. She thinks she doesn't need catching and will no doubt growl at me when I do, but I'm here...always.

I read something the other day that truly resonated with me. We always say that all we want for our children is for them to be happy. What does 'happy' mean? We say it as though it's the only thing that matters. If that's all my self obsessed babies that I've procreated will worry about then I've been wrong for a very long time. Anyone can be happy.

What I really want for my children is for them to be kind, for them to have empathy and for them to see the best in others rather than the worst. I want them to see opportunities and learn from their mistakes. I don't want them to just happy; I want them to take life by the scruff of it's neck and shout

"Give me all you've got!"

and enjoy every moment that life has to offer them. The good and the bad. And I want them to realise that I was a great Mum!

Big knickers and 5 fat facts

2018-10-27T11:06:00.002+01:00

I honestly don’t know how it happened.

One day I was wearing a g-string, planning my underwear, waxing my bits, checking the view from the back...then BAM...the next time I looked my undie drawer was full of mahoosive knickers! Could I find a thong or a sexy ensemble amongst the detritus that used to be a part of me?

When did I go from sexy lady to frumpy, lumpy Mum? When did I decide that it was OK to forgo the pretty knickers? I think the reason I'd noticed then and hadn't noticed before was that I'd look for the most comfortable I could find. You see, the worst thing happened. It's not easy to say, but it's true.

I just got fat.

Hmmm...I don't know how that happened either. Little knickers started to cut into my thighs. Little knickers rolled down. I couldn't see the tops with the new muffin top I'd acquired and Little knickers didn't cover my bum any more. So, I started to buy Big knickers. Stretchy ones. Black. I started off with medium, then progressed onto large, then went back down to medium, then back up to large. The medium ones rolled down too.

It wasn't the knickers that really made me sit up and take notice. It was the seriously round face staring back at me. The eyes that were slowly disappearing. I tried to contour some cheekbones into the sides, that had been there before but I just looked like someone with brown lines on their face. It was also the fact that my blood pressure had gone sky high, when all of my life I'd been in danger of being low, because, I'd always believed, I was sooooo laid back.

There were other issues and sign posts. My clothes were tighter. I wore a uniform to work and at times I couldn't breath as my jacket was so tight, especially after they introduced a "buttoned jacket in public". I'd walk along sucking in my breath, crying

"OMG, I can't breath, I can't breath!"

My colleagues would laugh...because they thought I was being funny.

I'd tried so many different ways of losing weight it seemed impossible. I didn't eat a lot. People will often say "Yeah right" and think you're a secret eater. I'm not and never was.

No one said I'd put on weight. Except Bart. Bart said

"Mum, you know you probably need some exercise. I don't like seeing you so tired. You have put on weight, you know. You look like a fatter version of yourself. No offence"

I hadn't weighed myself in 10 years. I hated the scales. I could always tell by how tight my clothes were but when it came down to it, I stopped buying clothes. I couldn't bear the thought of having to buy an L or an XL. I couldn't bear the thought of going into a changing room knowing that they probably wouldn't fit me. Going up one or two clothes sizes would admitting that I needed to do something, and I didn't need to do anything...did I?

These are MY fat facts. The following, I believe have been the result of the weight gain. They haven't been pleasant and a few have affected my relationship with my husband and children.

1. Incontinence
I could barely bend down, cough, laugh without letting a bit of 'pp' loose. I guess thats another reason for the big knickers. It wasn't massive but it made me feel uncomfortable and a little bit ashamed. I blamed my hormones. I was changing. My body shape was changing and it must be the menopause. Like hell it was. The internal body fat was pressing against my bladder and forcing out the 'pp' every time I moved. I couldn't keep it in. So then came the lady nappies. Not the big ones but as discreet as I could find. Not nice. I'd be continually checking. I'd be in and out of the loo like someone with....incontinence! Definitely hormones...wasn't it?

2. Plantar Fasciitis

OMG. There was me thinking that at least the only thing that wouldn't gain weight was my feet. They did. And added to that little bonus was the lovely pain that accompanied my rising from my slumber each morning. I'd hobble to the kitchen until they stretched out and even then I was in agony. I strapped them up with tape. I wore tight socks. Fitflop shuvs were my saviour. They had cushioned soles. I'd blamed my converse and flip-flops I'd worn for the previous summer. It couldn't have been anything else...could it?

3. High Blood Pressure

Headaches. Red face. Hot flushes. A trip to the Doctor to confirm that I was menopausal resulted in the diagnosis that I was suffering from hypertension. I was stressed, true, but also a bit overweight. "Lose a bit of weight, and we'll see how it goes.". It was hormonal...wasn't it?

4. Snoring

"My god, do you know how much you snore? It's really loud!"

"I can hear you in my bedroom."

OH races to bed before me and I'd wonder why I have to do all of the locking up of the homestead. He recently admitted so that it was he'd be able to get to sleep before I started snoring! Maybe I snored before I was "weighty" but I'm told it shakes the house! I'd had a cold which made the incontinence worse and made me snore more. It was the cold...wasn't it?

5. Misery

I was miserable. Truly miserable. I didn't socialise anymore. I knew what people would think, although they didn't say anything to my face, but I wanted to spare myself the humiliation of "Wow, she's put on weight hasn't she?". Concentrate on my bubbly personality, why don't you? Concentrate on my wit and humour...oh no, fat people are always funny to cover their insecurities.

I've tried so many different ways of losing weight over the last 10 years and it seemed impossible and insurmountable. I didn't eat a lot. Family and friends would say "Oh really?" and I could hear their brain whirring that obvious thought "Yeah right. No one gets to that size with out eating a ton of food!" I didn't and never did. Honest injun!

The way it's been explained to me (by a seriously amazing PT, @thenaturalathlete_ check him out on instagram. Went to him for a session and ended up signing up for a seriously cheap program for online training and nutrition advice) is that my metabolism is basically fcuked. I need to kick start it and I need to eat more to educate it, so that it knows there's not about to be a famine in this body anytime soon. Apparently, because I thought "Less is more" I've trained this temple to convert any crap I eat into sugar...not energy but sugar. The body started laying it's fat reserves for armageddon when it comes.

I'm going to let you into a little secret that worked for me. Not only did I eat more, I ate more of the right stuff. I wrote everything down I ate and allowed myself little treats every day.

Being overweight isn't the end of the world. Some people are happy being bigger and I'm not about to shame anyone for their choice, but it wasn't for me. It made me miserable and I knew I had to do something about it if I wanted to stop being so unhappy.

In the next few posts I'll be sharing a bit of my journey, how I did it, how I was motivated and how much I lost. I kept a bit of a journal so you'll get an insight of how I progressed.

It's got to be worth it, hasn't it?

Cycling in London.

2018-10-21T13:07:00.003+01:00

This is going to sound contentious. It isn't, but in all honestly I just don't get it.

Let me start by saying I'm all for sustainability, green and recycling stuff but what I saw last week was beyond the pale. Cycling is not the same as recycling. I can see how it helps the environment to a certain extent, but breathing all those fumes is not helping the human race.

Don't get me wrong. I love a bike. I finally bought my Pashley Princess from a lady on eBay. She'd bought it so that she could ride up to the City to her job. She'd done it for a month, but felt it was far too dangerous especially since she'd become a mother, she'd fallen off when another cyclist cut her up and she lost her front tooth. She now takes an Uber.

I pop up to the shops when I can't get the car out or I fancy a ride around the block...for pleasure. I ride on the pavement. Slowly. The potholes round my way are seriously massive. If I lived in London, I'd often thought I'd have a bike. I'd forgo the trials of the tube and the buses and do my green bit by cycling....yeah, right!

I've not been up and about during in rush hour in London for donkey's years, but on a couple of occasions recently I was invited to take part in an exhibition (to sell my wares, if you must know) and the other had me leave at the crack of sparrows to reach my destination in central London by train.

On the journey by train I was surprised to see that many of the commuters were dressed in an unusual manner. Some, of course were dressed in their suits, ties and office attire, but quite a few were dressed in stuff that I hadn't seen before and I wondered where they were going and what they were doing.

Was this a new fashion for people of a certain age? How come I didn't know anything about it? Had I been in the "Burbs" too long?

A chap of about 45 sat opposite me, fast asleep. It was unusual. He was wearing 3/4 length trousers, socks up to his knees, a bright yellow top and trainers with a rucksack and a cross body bag. Then on the other side of me sat another bloke. About 30, wearing baggy shorts, layered t shirts...and looked like he needed a bit of a wash. In fact all of them looked a bit grubby. They weren't the only ones in this odd attire. Plenty of women and men all dressed like they were about to embark on a competition of some kind. I wondered for a moment whether perhaps they were couriers. Before we reached Marylebone, they all jumped up and ran for the doors. When they opened..and they were off! I followed one straggler, still puzzling over this new dress form. Lycra and over shorts, thin hoodies and teeshirts. Weird for a Thursday morning rush hour.

It didn't occur to me that these fetish dressers were actually....cyclists! As I left the platform, I realised that the racks and racks in front of me were actually not an art installation but bikes. Hundreds of them.

Leaving the station, pedal power took to the streets. Commuters on foot jumped out of their way as the cyclists surged forward en masse trying to jostle for their space on the highway, completely ignoring the zebra crossing that the uprights were trying to cross. No sooner had I placed a foot on the crossing when a shout and an arm pulled me back to the relative safety of the pavement.

"Need to keep your wits about you, love" said my fellow commuter.

My wit had deserted me a long with my wits.

What I saw on my drive the following week had me clutching the edge of my seat, yelping in fear and exclaiming and alternating every five seconds with "Why?" "Who the feck would do this?""Mind!" and "Christ almighty!!".

My driver, after I screamed "Oh my god" on the first occasion, jumped and shouted "What?" He'd been silently thinking this was an easy drive for a change but that all changed as soon as we hit Earls Court.....

itwaslikethefuckintourdefrance

I have never seen anything like it in all my life...and I was raised in central London.

Why the hell would you put yourself through all that?

We drove along the embankment and scores and scores of riders were peddling furiously along the road all vying for the advantage, taking risks, jumping lights, riding the pavement, pulling out in front of drivers, shouting at each other, shouting at pedestrians .

OMFG

I have never seen anything like it. And a complete disregard for their own safety Although all but one wore a helmet.

The occasional one was on a Boris Bike In a suit and/or heels, hair blowing in the wind. My guess is that they were late for work and rented the bike in lieu of a taxi. My driver warned me "If you see a Suit on a Boris Bike...steer clear. They've no idea what they're doing"

I was entranced, bewildered, shocked, and a little bit scared.

So what happens next? Do they get to their relative offices, change into their suits and start their days? Do they bring with them a clean shirt? Do they have to have a lie down at some point after all that stress? Where do they put their bikes?

I know cycling is dangerous. I've read and seen enough news reports to know that quite a few have lost their lives. Deaths are relatively low so when you consider that over 610,000 cycle daily in London, 13 or 14 deaths each year is astounding. Apparently, last year was the lowest on record...but a lot lost their teeth. I'm not certain whether due to a fall or a fight. So maybe it's not as dangerous as they all make out.

Who knows?

I still don't get it though.

Medical Errors.

2017-12-31T07:53:00.002+00:00

It's not often that I make errors but when I do they are almighty clangers They are often funny dinner anecdotes in which I regale listeners with exaggerated versions depending on how extrovert or witty I feel. This tale, however has never been exaggerated or expanded upon.

It was a tough decision. The one where you decide to have his knackers chopped off. It's not one to be taken lightly especially when you know he'd make a fantastic father. He has great genes, a beautiful face, and a fab nature. I'm not talking about BH (I'm guessing you realise this already) but our fur baby. Brown Bear. He'd taken to running after females in heat. BH, Finn and Bart grabbed their privates and winced grotesquely when I'd suggested it, but it was the sensible option considering that he'd escaped from the garden on numerous occasions in search of that elusive scent of the female hound. He was in all senses...a bounder!

It came to a head, when walking in the park. I could see him sniffing the air, his tail erect and his body still. I could see he wasn't engaged with me. I called him (he would turn on a sixpence the moment I uttered a word) and I could see he had no intention of making any concession to my command. The next moment he was off!!! He ran towards the lake with me running and calling after him. The little shit!

Down beside the lake was a woman holding her tiny whippet whilst brown bear prowled, sniffed and well, basically, flirted with her. I called. No response. I grabbed him by the collar and tried to prise him away from his new beau.

"She's on heat" the woman said "Mind you, he's incredibly gorgeous, isn't he?"

I hauled him away, apologising and as I was trying to clip him on his lead, he ran off again. Back to the fertile female! That was the moment I knew that my beautiful boy had to be curtailed and as much as I'd love to replicate him, I couldn't be responsible for a litter of mongrels and realised that for an easier life they were happier without them

So, I booked him in for the dreaded op. I dropped him off on the appointed day and was told to call back at lunch time to check on his progress. Which I did.

"Hi This is Mrs Yucky" I began "I'm checking on the progress of Archie and to find out when I can pick him up"

"What was the name?"

"Archie Yucky."

"Date of Birth?"

"1st Jan. A New Years baby!"

"Sorry, what was he here for?"

"An operation. I dropped him off this morning and was told to call back at lunchtime."

"I'm sorry but why would you drop him off for an operation here? Did you just leave him?"

"Well, he was booked in for an op and I was told to call back"

"But we don't do operations here."

"Well, where do you do them?"

"At the hospital."

"Why would I drop him off there when I could have taken him straight to the hospital?"

At this point I became a little bit anxious. They'd lost my dog and had no idea where he was! This was pretty serious, I thought.

"He's two and I was told to bring him in to you

"But why would you leave a child here?" She responded "I'd have thought you'd have wanted to be with them at the hospital. Who said they'd take them and who did you give him to?" She sounded worried.

At this point, I felt there was something a little 'off'. The conversation wasn't what I'd expected, and I had a feeling we were talking about something very different.

"But I left my dog....hang on...who am I calling?"

"The Doctors Surgery!"

I started to laugh.

"I'm so sorry. I should've called the vets!"

Thankfully, we located Brown Bear who was sleeping peacefully at the Vets.

Why I mixed up the Vets and the Doctors Surgery I have no idea, but perhaps it's because I feel my furry children are just as important as my unfurry ones! Don't tell them that though!

Do as I say not as I do...as if!

2017-11-11T16:53:00.000+00:00

I wish the kids would listen to me....I've been a role model, albeit not a very good one. I don't drink or smoke in front of them. I try not to swear or use foul language in front of them (which has proven a tad difficult when driving and they're my passengers when I come across a numpty who insists on driving well below the speed limit or who cuts me up with gay abandon!)

I used to explain why they couldn't do something and explain in detail the reasoning behind my "no" request...and a request it was. Now I just say "...because I said so!". I can no longer be bothered to get into a debate especially as they began to argue back and I seem to lose my bargaining power. Did I teach them that? They've become very good at coming across with valid arguments to support their "wants" and are very persuasive these days. How did that happen?

I think it might have something to do with the Debating Team at school. Bart has taught his younger siblings that an alternative point of view supporting an argument always has merit and is always valid. Which is great. Sometimes.

When I wanted them to do something like put away their toys, have a bath, or do their homework I would decry it as the law!

"Why do I have to go to bed now?"

"It's the law."

"Why do I have to hold your hand when I cross the road?"

"It's the law."

You know, that kind of thing. Now they know differently.

Bart will shrug my hand off his shoulder when crossing the road. Mimi looks daggers and swerves the out stretched hand which now just grabs her school blazer. Finn raises his eyebrows as I hold the bottom of his hoody! All to cross the road. Don't they realise I need to keep them safe?

Although the debates rile me and the homestead had become noisy and fractious at times, I kinda like it. I loved that my children have the sense to respond to my requests in vigorous defence, even though there would be tears, the power that they held in their words often made me see that things were changing. The power lines were moving and shifting away from 'mummy's law' and I could see it all going down the pan!

Now, the sprogs are older, the control has shifted completely. They no longer defer to my superior knowledge and wit, but respond with disdain and very often completely ignore my requests. The boys have become young adults and are desperate to become independent. No matter that I continue to point out the dangers to their plans, their ideas, mummy's law no longer holds sway. All I can do is plead and beg that they listen. I know they don't. They'll do exactly as they please. It's a scary and exhausting time, especially as they boys are so close in age, so now it comes with double the worry.

We live in a sleepy village and I was hoping (nay...praying) that our proximity to 'all that is evil with the world for our youths' would ensure that they'd remain encircled by love, fields and the local park. Their school is a good 45 minutes from the homestead so consequently their peer group is in that area . So...every weekend they're back to the area they go to school. They no longer hook up with their primary school friends (as they're 'lame') but chose to meet up with other young adults that I have no knowledge of! I obviously hadn't thought it through when chosing their school!

My mistake is not home schooling!

A Walk in the Park

2017-07-25T19:15:00.000+01:00

It was a strange conversation to be had at 7am in the morning but considering the topic it was probably better than politics or religion. I'd seen ‘Four Dog Lady’ many times before and had passed a few salutations when our paths crossed. It wasn't difficult to wave and shout 'Good Morning' and continue on my way, but occasionally I felt the need for a bit of chit chat and allow the dogs to sniff, growl or consider their pecking order before moving swiftly on. As usual, it was a beautiful morning in the park.

It wasn't an ordinary park found in suburban areas, but acres of beautifully planted shrubbery, paths for runners, and a haven in the early mornings for dog walkers. A spot we'd named Twilight Barking was a point where four paths met at an open space beside a bridge and running stream where dogs could cool down and clean off the mud from the walk before they returned home. Dogs and owners would converge at this point, either starting or finishing their walk, say hello and then move on.

You didn't have to cross paths with the beast who'd prick up their ears then come charging at you intent on getting to your two dogs who walked calmly by your side.

This didn't happen too often but occasionally the two dreaded huskies would would corral the puppy and nip him as he lay submissive with his legs paddling the air. It wouldn't be long before the older boy spotted what was happening. He'd look up from his interest in sniffing other dogs ablutions and when he did, he'd bound down the hill, his fierce, deep war cry echoing through the air. As he reached the group he'd rise up on his hind legs and bellow his warning. It surprises me each time as he’s a gentle, quiet boy most times, but is obviously protective of his young charge.

They didn't scrap. His fierce stance was enough to have them running back to their inept owner, who stood in the distance blowing into his silent whistle. It obviously wasn't working.

The morning was a beautiful crisp one. It wasn't quite autumn, but the leaves were falling from trees in preparation for their quiet time. Like I said, I'd seen her before with her own four dogs. I'd chatted as I waited for a friend who was late that morning.

I remember how we continued our conversation and how it started. It began fairly normally. A comment about a limp that Brown Bear had displayed (the delicate boy has issues with stones and won't walk on gravelly pathways), with Four Dog Lady stating that she'd helped my friend on a previous occasion in the park.

“Yes,” she said “her lurcher pulled a leg muscle and I used my gift to make sure she was on her feet in no time”

“Ah,” I responded, thinking she'd meant a topical muscle rub that maybe someone had bought her. “What did you use?”

“My hands” she replied

I giggled inwardly. Very often, I'm not clear about the response I'd expect, and waited for her to expand.

“Yes”, she said “My gift are my hands” raising her palms upwards like an offering. “I heal!”

Maybe it was too early or maybe it was because it wasn't after 5.30 pm and I hadn't had a drink, but it felt like the conversation was about to take a surreal turn. It's not that I'm not interested in spirituality or alternative therapies. I am. Very much so. I carry crystals. I sneak precious stones into the bags of the kids to keep them safe, and I wave white sage about when I feel a bit
overwhelmed with the things that seem to go wrong on occasions. I close the toilet lid so that our fortune doesn't disappear down the toilet pan and I have a Buddha in the garden (apparently I need to raise it so that it's looking down on me. Christ knows how I'm going to do that! It weights a ton!).

However, I must have shown an interest as she continued.

“I heal myself and I heal animals.”

“How interesting” I said. I should've given myself a kick at that point but didn't. Foolishly.

“Yes, my boyfriend once took me to another world” stated Four Dog Lady with her gently frizzing grey hair surrounding her head like a halo, belying the awfully young sparkle in her eyes as she recounted her otherworldly experience. It must have been awesome for there were tears in her eyes.

“It was beautiful” she'd recounted.

“Oh yes?” I enquired politely “Where was it?”

I hadn't been listening too closely so I was surprised when she replied.

“I've no idea. I floated away on a bed of clouds. He couldn't get me back.”

Maybe she'd been speaking metaphorically. I know what it's like with words. You can say one thing but it might mean something completely different to someone else.

“It must've been amazing.”

I'm not sure I'd meant the floating away part or couldn't get back bit. If I'd been floating away I'm not sure BH would even try to attempt to drag me back. After 30 years I'm pretty certain he'd love to see the back of me!

“Oh it was scary”, she recounted. “Eventually, I turned into a bird and flew above the ocean. I was alone and afraid and couldn't see anything for miles. I was getting tired. My wings were feeling the fatigue of the journey but there was no where to land. I saw a dark speck in the ocean, swooped down. There was a seal swimming close to the surface so I flew down and sat on its back to rest for a while. It was my boyfriend! He saved me!” She looked incredulous. I looked even more so.

“I then turned into a seal and we swam, and swam and swam!”

“Gosh, that was lucky!” I wanted to ask how they eventuality ‘got back’ but that would mean asking the question and continuing the conversation.

I wasn't completely sure I was listening to someone sane. However, what are the chances of two crazies falling in love and going off in the same journey? I wouldn't know the odds, but I'd guess it
would be pretty unlikely, unless there was a club nearby for crazy, otherworldly beings nearby. I certainly hadn't heard of it but then again I'm not in the habit of avoiding the utter nutters club as they normally make a beeline for me and I only realise too late that I've once again engaged with a member.

At that point, my friend arrived with her two fur babies and we continued with our walk. ‘Four Dog Lady’ continued to walk with us until we reached the bridge which crossed over one of the many streams and we said our goodbyes.

I was itching to tell my friend of my conversation and as we walked into the woods with our dogs playing ‘chase the fastest through the danger zone and avoid the trees’, I recounted my conversation.

“I've done that too” she said.

Then she winked!

Is this my memorial?

2017-07-22T13:07:00.001+01:00

I'm not being morbid here...or am I? Morbid curiosity? But what happens to those blogs of people who've passed away?

It's something I've wondered about for a while...but not too deeply. However, recently it came to the fore when I heard about an old colleague.

The reason I remembered her so well was that I was about to leave my son for a few days and was waving him off outside our offices. I was upset and a few tears were running down my cheeks. She was waiting for her husband to collect her.

"Don't cry" she called over "you'll start me off...and I'm going to see my boy!" I laughed tearfully, pushed the lump in my throat back down to my chest where it sat like painful knot and went on my way.

I'd heard about her in the following years, after she'd left the company we boy worked for. Her son had beome incredibly ill and after a couple of years past away at the age of 14. She had her love and religion to help her through her grief and I had no doubt she suffered. I'd met her husband several times and expressed my sadness for what they were going through.

However, when I found out she'd died in an accident I was surprised at how it affected me. I hadn't seen her for many years. I hadn't thought about her, except when I met her husband. Maybe it was her loss, her sadness and grief in the intervening years that got to me? How would I have coped in her same situation? Someone told me she'd written a book about her experience. I looked it up. I searched for her name on the internet and came across a blog she'd written. It wasn't a huge one. It was her own thoughts, beautifully penned, charting her last few years. It made me sad to think that it's all that's left of her thoughts, but even more, that she'd left a tribute to her life that someone will read for a while. It will be a connection for her husband, to read her thoughts in that short blog.

What will happen to it now that she's no longer here? Will it become obsolete once it's clear that it hasn't been updated for a while? Are our blogs just temporary tombstones that will be wiped away once we've outgrown our words or our usefulness, or when we realise that our lives are more of a priority than sitting down and writing our blogs?

I've often read blogs that haven't been updated for a while. Where are those bloggers now? Did they get bored and drift away? There's rarely any conclusion...a final goodbye, or a 'Taraa for now'. Just a blank ending which makes me wonder what happened to their lives.

I'd hate to think that my scribblings will be lost in the ether one day. I haven't saved anything I've written to hard copy so very few who know me will see how brilliant I am at entertaining the masses...or maybe that's a good thing.

It just got me wondering. Are these our memorials?

Hoarding and getting rid of the dross!

2017-02-19T13:13:00.000+00:00

Ok, so I'm a bit late with the 'out with the old' but I've been terribly busy doing very little. However, the new year is well and truely 'in' and I'm dragging all of the 'old' in with me!

I have so much 'stuff' that I literally cannot see the good stuff or the stuff I like. I end up using only the 'stuff' I can see, which isn't always a good look.

I popped over to sis's place the other day as she'd had a whole brand new kitchen installed. Y'know, the one with the massive island, bifold doors, boiling water tap, copper lighting and oh so expensive beaten leather dining chairs. The whole place is clutter free with clear surfaces. Not a kettle in sight! She can even put the oven knobs in the drawer! She took me up to her swish dressing room. A home for everything. Shoe shelves. Neatly folded t shirts in coloured piles. She even had a chaise for trying on her multitudes of shoes! I came over all faint for a moment and thought I was in a shop! Mimi wants to live in her dressing room. She said that it was beautiful, calm and nothing like my wardrobe where she could never find anything she wanted to filch!

I'm so envious...in a good way, but visiting someone's home always gives me 'House envy'!

I came home seriously depressed, if not a little bit determined. So today is a new day. I'm having a clear out. How long it will last I've no idea but I'm going to give it a go. I've read the articles by Marie Kondo and her KonMari method

https://konmari.com/

I know how to fold my clothes so that they're so small they could fit into matchbox. I've read the new Woman and Home advice on decluttering. I've even watched the videos on how to declutter. I'll always have a few days where I move things around but magically they appear back in place after a few weeks.
I know I've become a bit of a horder in my old age. It's hereditary, I'm certain. I hang on to the kids baby stuff in the hope that I might be able to use them...but I'm pretty sure that boat has sailed. Some of that 'stuff' is sentimental. I look at them occasionally...and I remember. That's nice, but it's all taking up so much room.

I read a lovely article about a woman who had lost her husband. She had his clothes, the things he wore day in day out, but she was downsizing and had no room for everything he'd worn. So she took pictures of his well worn shoes, his jacket over the back of a chair and his pipe resting in the ashtray. Beautiful pictures that she'd be able to look at day in, day out. How lovely is that?

The trouble I've found is looking at all of these items as £££££'s! How much could I make? EBay it or car boot it? It's soooo stressful!

One piece of advice I read was that you must have an exit strategy.

Makes sense.

How many times have you filled up those black bin bags only to unload them when you realise that you might just need that raggedy old cardi or that vile vase is just what you need to hold that bunch of flowers you've just purchased? How many bags now fill that spare room of yours and how many bags have you stacked in your attic....all waiting for that run to the dump, charity shop or car boot? And how long have they been sitting there?

I've compiled an exit strategy based on what I've learned. It might not suit everyone but it worked for me.

Decluttering the wardrobe.

Plan your exit strategy. Get the car running with your man in the driving seat. The rest will make sense shortly.

Give yourself 15 minutes. No thinking, no trying on.

Open your wardrobe doors and peer in. Immediately take out the less appealing items, things you don't like, things that have holes in and things you wear for the dirty jobs. Put them in a black bag without pondering too much. If you don't like it, you'll not wear it. If it's used for the dirty jobs, don't worry you'll find something you'll be able to replace it with.

Chuck it in the black bag. Carry on until you have filled the black bag. Get one of the kids to drag it down stairs and chuck it in the boot.

Go, go, go!

Your man will drive the bag or bags to them recycling depot and you'll never see them again!

See! Easy peasy!

My next post will be on doing the car boot and making some money from your dross...your trash is someone else's treasure.

Go on, it'll set you free!

The vegetable garden.

2016-07-13T11:56:00.001+01:00

I've spent most of the weekend in the garden. BH has been away, the kids with Ma, so it's just been me and the hounds....and it's been a joy! One whole weekend to do what I want without having to run hither and thither whilst some errant child (and adult) has insisted that they need me for some minor task...like cooking dinner, ironing their socks, or just needing my ear.

I've been planning my vegetable garden for sometime. It has to be perfect, only over the last 15 odd years I haven't seemed to have enough time to put the plan into action. I've tried several times but found that something else always required my attention several weeks down the line so the project ended up abandoned and left to overgrow and eventually wither and die. Last year was impossible as we were in the middle of building a summerhouse at the bottom of the garden and it was a huge mess! I'm up for it now so I insisted that to make our lives harmonius and more fulfilling BH had better build me some raised beds. So he did. I like them...so did the hounds who decided they make great sandpits and jumped from bed to bed fighting and rolling about in them soil which meant I now needed a gate! BH put up a beautiful little picket fence gate, so now the hounds peer through wondering why they can't come and play in their pits and whine pitifully watching me on the other side!
I've spent days and months drawing out my plans, and using Pinterest for inspiration. Of course, my veg garden isn't going to look anything like those pictures...but I can give it a go.

I ordered some topsoil...2 tons!!

I bought some seeds, trays and I'm ready to rock and roll.

#Love Island...actually

2016-07-11T19:20:00.002+01:00

I don't watch a lot of TV.

OK, I'll admit it...I watch a teeny weeny bit but its usually a drama on catch up or something staid and dull like The great British Sewing Bee or How neat is my Garden.

I don't do 'Big Brother', 'I'm a Celebrity' or even 'Strictly'. I don't really do much reality if anything at all...but Love Island has seriously grabbed my attention...if only for the drama and the utter craziness of the world, young adults and social media. Why has my world been so small?

@loveisland - Twitter

There is absolutely no way that I'm going to admit watching in public(and I follow all the contestants...eek!) so when BH has caught me at it I told him it's down to the social experiment research that I need to do for my book. Watching how young people interact with one another in groups that piques my curiosity and that we'll need this info for when the kids get older. Seriously!

Each night he'll catch me tucked up with my iPad and ask "Research?'

I'm not sure when I actually realised that they were actually 'doing it'. I think it was a gradual realisation that everyone in the Villa were all it, however, tonight (I've seen the clip)one very handsome Villa mate, (Adam M) looked decidedly uncomfortable when he realised that he was expected to perform on national TV and baulked visibly at the idea. Katy, the girl he's coupled up has previously flashed in public so already has form, and was clearly disappointed in the lack of action.

Now, I'm no prude but when did sex on our TV's become so mainstream and acceptable? When did it become so normal and oddly fascinating to watch our youth bonking the brains out of someone they've only just met?

Last night the parents and loved ones of 'the cast' visited their little babes in the Villa. The burning question from their lips were 'Are you proud of me?'

PROUD? Of what, exactly? Proud of their ability to wear a bikini in a beguiling way? Proud of their geography knowledge? Proud of their ability to stay with one person for a couple of weeks then admit that they might just make it on the 'outside'? Proud of shagging someone you've known for five minutes or proud that you did the mambo under the covers without anyone seeing...but everyone knowing, unless you're the 19year old that decided to ride with gusto, throwing caution and your hair to the wind by playing outside the duvet!

Proud is not a word I would have used. The question they should have asked is 'Did I embarrass you?'
As a parent, I would be ashamed had I been asked to appear and condone their behaviour.

Oddly, each parent brushed past the main element. They were proud.
"Yeah babe, you've done us proud. You've kept it real and been true to yourself"
"Oh really?" they cried
"Yeah, babe, we love you and so does everyone outside!"

Seriously?

So what is this really all about? Fame for fames sake? Fame for doing and achieving absolutely nothing? Is this what we want for our children? To aspire to be on a reality show?
I have absolute admiration for those who have the bollox to actually admit their true intentions. The other evening the villa Boys took part in a Lie detector game. One, Adam J, admitted that he was there for the fame and the girls after the show. The others went into melt down declaring true love!

From my research, many of the contestants either had links to past reality shows either knowing them or had previous brushes with fame. From my research I can only conclude that reality TV has reached a new low. Shag someone on TV and you'll be famous. Shag someone on TV if you've got a small willy...you"ll never live it down!

Despite it all, I've loved every bit of it, if only to know what goes on in the heads of our youth and to know that they are in no way going to regret their brief dalliance with fame...along with their tattoos!

Be warned...it's addictive.

The final is tonight.