Bring it on

Goodbye 2019; the good, the bad and the bloody ugly sure made it a year to remember.

I’ve done things which scared me, and others which brought me joy - some of them at the same time!

Fear: Being on a boat - Joy: experiencing this landscape due to the boat. 

Fear: being on board a ship!!!!  Joy: the things I got to experience because of it. 

I’ve seen the sun move in a circular motion, rather than the usual rise and fall.

I had my heart stolen by younglings (10 and 6 year old brothers) both of whom I wish lived closer so I could see them more.

I’ve travelled by car, boat, train and plane, sailed seas and flown across oceans. I had my breath literally
taken away when I opened the bedroom curtains at 5.10 one Tuesday morning in the spring, and seen
colours like never before during autumn.

I’ve cruised the fjords, and finally driven on the wrong side of a car, on the wrong side of the road (fairly successfully too - especially as the vehicle was a beast). I’ve travelled through tunnels dozens of miles long, eaten lunch in a cave, stopped to let turkeys cross the road in front of me. I’ve scoured a beach for sand dollars, visited the home and final resting place of the grandfather I never knew. I’ve watched Bald Eagles soar overhead as red cardinals and blue jays flitted about before me. So many things from the 'bucket list' were crossed off.

I survived a day on my own with Madame Mimi. 😂😂

I’ve witnessed bitter jealousy the like of which I didn't even know existed and watched make one-who-should-know-better look exceptionally pathetic among their peers (narcissism is such an ugly trait to possess as a human too) and watched as the another destroyed and ripped apart a family. As someone who doesn't do jealousy (something which has pissed off many-an-ex of mine) I don't get it. Both have lost far more than they could ever have gained.

I found myself at St Fairies (somewhere I never thought I’d be) alongside a scummer too!!! For the

greater good of a night with Take That; I’ve had to suffer Rick Ghastly singing for 30 minutes, and

missed out on an Adam Ant gig (something I’d waited 30 years for) due to helping out a friend-in-need.

I watched the Red Sox play the Yankees and marked 3 more states off the list. Red Sox lost but we won't dwell on that!!

I welcomed back some people from my past, and welcomed in some total newbies, whilst also cutting out others completely.

Was there one moment which stood out? No. Life is full of moments, all of which bring joy (and pain) in equal measures. How could I compare an open top boat trip (in a 50 seat passenger boat) in the rain through the fjords during April, with the small boat trip (for no more than 10) surrounded by family with waves battering us, during October. They were both equally as amazing. One thing I did do this year was take control of my life; I plan on keeping control into next year and the many, many years to come (96 is still my challenge - anything over that will be a bonus :) ).

From London, to Bergen and onto Boston I have been truly blessed in 2019. As yet there are only 2 plans in place for next year (both of them within a matter of weeks of each other) and that is not bad thing. It means my options will remain open at all times ensuring I am ready-for-anything; who knows what fun and frivolity may be awaiting me? 

I've made no resolutions except to take each-day-as-it-comes. 

Bring it on 2020 - I am so ready for you. 

British Airways

My first ever flight was across the Atlantic with BA. I had no choice in this as I’d booked a package-style holiday and that’s who they flew with. I also knew nothing about which airline was best at-the-time. Their planes (at-the-time) were smelly, rickety and really not a nice experience (we flew with Hawaiian air on the same trip and the contrast between the airlines was plain for anyone to see - HA being the better of the 2). I also flew with BA to France a year later on a flight that was like something out of a comedy film (it was so bad I just had to laugh) with the very worst crew I think there must have been. After both of those I said I was never going to fly with BA again, something I stuck to until 5 years ago when I found myself crossing the Atlantic on a BA flight (which was actually quite a pleasant experience).

Having been lucky enough to complete a return trip across the Atlantic in first class, I got to see how it really is when my next flight with them was back in economy and the difference in attitude towards their passengers was just phenomenal (and not in a good way). Just because those “up front” have more money, does not mean the rest of us deserve to be treated any less when it comes to respect and good manners. Because of this I decided not to fly with them again unless I absolutely had to. 

I know how hard the flight crews work; there is not enough money in the world that could tempt me to swap jobs with them. At the end of the day their job is primarily to ensure all of us on board are safe; in the event of an emergency they will be in charge of our lives. They could literally be the difference between life-and-death for us. In life I am always polite (I was brought up with manners and taught to respect unless disrespected) so when I smile and am friendly to the crew, say please-and-thank you and never demand or complain I do expect to be treated in the same courteous manner, even when I am bouncing around at the back of the plane. 

Before booking my recent return flights to Boston, I spoke to a few people who have worked for different airlines and AA were knocked off the list straight away; Delta also got bumped as they flight share with Virgin. This narrowed the pot quite-a-bit and I found myself comparing BA and Norwegian Air (then someone told me there were rumours of NA going out-of-business, so I stuck with BA). In hindsight maybe I should have continued to save for another couple of years to pay the difference and move up to premium economy (premier world traveller as they call them) but I’d spent 5 years saving as it was; there was enough in the pot for all we wanted to do so we took the gamble and booked, or not listened to the rumours and continued to book with NA who I have heard have exceptional customer service on board their planes. 

We departed from T5 at Heathrow and everything from checking in, to bag dropping (kind of; we did have to ask for assistance when the conveyor belt jammed) through security and in the departure area was amazing. The staff were great; smiling, helpful and more than you would expect considering the amount of people they have to deal with on a daily basis - in fact the whole security experience was the best I’ve ever had and the staff there were laughing, happy and lovely, making what can be a stressful time an absolute breeze. 

My only gripe upon boarding was having no space in the overhead cabin for my small rucksack because they allow people to take bloody great big suitcases on board. I’m sorry but overhead baggage should be soft and pliable or you should pay to have it checked into the cabin. I finally found a space half-a-dozen rows back. It’s unfair for those of us who don’t take advantage to have nowhere for our bags to go, and not fair for the flight crew who already have enough to do to wander about checking the overhead bins for space. 

We flew out, upstairs, on an A380; I had a window seat and cannot tell how much the storage bin next to me was appreciated. The armrest was meant to be able to lift between the 2 seats giving us more room (or so the blurb made it out to be when I booked) however it went up to a 50’ angle and stayed there so had to be left down throughout the flight (unless we want it wedged up against our shoulders). The trays though really do need to be looked into. It’s great they fold so you can have just half, however, when it comes to eating, if you are bigger than a size 16 you’re going to struggle to get it to sit flat if you fold it out fully. Even a budget airline like Flybe have trays which will raise slightly meaning a larger person may also be able to have a flat tray in front of them. Again, I guess being in the “cheap seats” means they make it as difficult for you as they can in the hope you’ll pay to upgrade, however, once all the better seats are sold you get no choice. It’s bad enough being packed in like sardines to begin with; the least they could do is try to make you a little more comfortable as you fly, although being in a 2 (and not a 3 or 4 row) we didn’t feel quite-so-cramped as normal.

The crew on this flight were wonderful. Friendly, chatty and they smiled when you spoke to them. I also felt safe in their hands should anything have happened. The flight restored my faith in BA.

Then, came the return flight. All 4 of us when we landed said “never again” and we were in different sections of ‘world traveller’ with different members of the flight crew. I understand now why some people call economy “cattle class” because we were treated just like cattle (in fact I’ve seen cattle spoken to better). Jeez, what a miserable bunch of people they were, and one of them was quite rude. The rest either seemed interested in how much more make-up they could plaster on their faces or slouched around with an “I can’t be bothered” attitude. I get it was a night flight and they may not have been full of the joys, but even so. I certainly did not feel safe in their hands and was extremely glad we never found ourselves in any kind of emergency situation.

With regards to the rude one, I thought it was just me she had taken a disliking too, for she was lovely to the people in the exit row next to me, even giving them free wine left over from wherever she’d been handing it out up front, but I spoke to a couple of other people further back who had also dealt with her and they also said how rude she was. Now, I am a heffer, I will never deny that, but she watched me put my seatbelt on, pull it tight and could see I had 10” of spare belt flapping about, then she came over and loudly asked “do you want an extension to make it more comfortable”. 2 of the people across the aisle (the ones she gave wine too) and a guy in the seat behind her all looked at me as she said it. I was mortified and angry in equal amounts. Aside from the fact I didn’t want (or need) one, she was no delicate wallflower herself so would have known how embarrassingly mortifying it must have been for me. Later in the flight she barged the trolley into me (not because I was hanging over the edge but because she put it on an angle in the space in front of the exit passengers) and she also walked passed me when serving drinks, never asking if I wanted one. I had to tap her and ask if I could have an orange juice, at which point she huffed, poured it to halfway in a plastic cup, shoved it at me and carried on. Everyone else around me was asked if they wanted a drink and given pretzels too (not that I wanted them but it would have been nice if she had offered). Maybe I reminded her of someone she didn’t like; even so and even after the way she treated me I was still polite and said my please-and-thank you to her. 

I thought the trays on the A380 going out were bad, but on the 777 we came back on they were even worse. Even my Mum who is a size 10, 5ft in height lady was struggling for space. Thankfully there were just the 2 of us in a 3 seat row so were able to utilise the spare seat tray; had we not had that it really would have been hard to do anything - luckily the people in front didn’t recline either or we’d have been wedged there, unable to move, or pop anything down. 

  

There was also food and plastic cups left in the little seat compartment (with the inflight brochure bits) in front of both our seats. 

I know that nothing will change - even complaining to the airline won’t make any difference - for people will continue to book with them, and had both my flights been as the outbound this time, I too would have continued to use them, but when just 25% of all my flights in total with them have been half-decent, they will definitely never be my choice to use again. 

Bucket Lists and Baseball

A long time ago.......

in a galaxy far, far... oh no, wait; that's Star Wars... let me start again...

Once upon a time...

there was this little blond haired girl who always seemed to be in red shoes (thanks to her Mum) who had this idea that one day she wanted to see the Red Sox play the Yankees at Fenway Park. Back then (this was before her brother arrived on the scene so she was pre 8 years old) she probably didn't even know what she was on about, most likely having heard it mentioned somewhere (or had she?) and had made her mind up it was something to do when she was big enough to go. I'm not even sure she knew who the Red Sox were or what they played, she just knew she wanted to see them.

A few years down-the-line she learned they played Baseball, a game not associated with her part of the world in any way, shape, or form. She still had (and has) no clue where the wanting to see them play came from. She may well have read about it in a book, or seen them mentioned in a movie on TV. 

Fast forward a decade and by now she had learned there was such a thing as a "Bucket List" and so the trip to Fenway to see the game she'd never watch played became an item on the list (along with the Norwegian Fjords, and visiting all 50 US states - the Fjords got ticked off this year and slowly the states are being so too) leaving just a couple more things on the list; the game being one-of-them. 

It was around this time the 15 year old version of the little blond girl (who was no longer blond)  discovered that her maternal Grandfather was an American. This excited, and disappointed at the same time, for she was never going to meet him or learn anything about him as her Grandmother refused point blank to discuss him. Imagine how it felt to find out many years after that he was born and raised in Salem, MA (yes, home of the infamous witch trials - a lot of people have commented to me about how "it all makes sense now" in relation to me; I think they might be trying to tell me something). This discovery meant that he would (most likely) have been a Red Sox fan (the rest of the family, as she was to learn, also are). Maybe, just maybe, that yearning to see them play at Fenway wasn't because of something she had read or seen, but was, in fact, just a part of her DNA).

Was it his blood (my Grandfathers) flowing through my veins which was drawing me (that little blond haired girl) to Fenway?

(I have a theory on how ghosts are not real, but part of our DNA and now believe so many other things in our daily life are down to sharing our ancestors DNA - you can read it if you like by clicking here  :)

Now, sadly, due to lack-of-funds (it really is no fun being poor) I've never (yet) made it to a game at Fenway Park and that is still extremely high on my "bucket list" but.... but..... this weekend just passed, I finally got to watch the Red Sox play the Yankees and even though they lost, I loved every single second of it.

For the first time in the history of the game, they brought a series over here; The London Series, and the 2 teams chosen to kick it all off (they are hoping to make it a regular yearly experience) were the 2 I have wanted to watch for over 4 decades. You bet ya I put my name down for pre-sale tickets, both over here and over there. To be there when history is made is one thing, but to see the 2 teams I've always dreamed of watching, playing on UK soil, well, that was something else. As soon as the tickets were confirmed I booked me a hotel (which left a lot to be desired) and coach tickets (apparently they don't have aircon on National Express through London) to get there too.

Originally one of my cousins was going to join me, but sadly he had to pull out a couple of weeks ago due to family commitments and so I dragged my little old Mum along with me (seemed only fair as it is her Dad who was the Boston man) and off we headed.

Those of you who know me, will know how much I hate (despise) the summer. Up to 12c (53f) I can just about tolerate, 18c (64f) and you can count me out of anything which involves being anywhere other than in front of an aircon unit (since entering that-time-of-life too heat has become even more hated by me). I'm sure then you can only imagine how I felt when all week leading up to the game all the forecasters kept predicting was temperatures of 34c (93f) for the day I was travelling up to London to make that tick on my Bucket list. Those temperatures and in London too; a combination that I could not despise more, and I will admit I did (at one point) consider not going. I cannot tell you how glad I am that I stuck to it. Don't get me wrong, the heat nearly killed me and when we got into our seats to find we were in full sun I honestly did think I was going to die. Before the game even got underway I thought I was going to have to give up and watch it on TV in the hotel room, having spent 1.5 hours sitting in it watching the warm-ups, but a kind man with a lot of ice in his pitcher of alcohol passed me over a handful (of ice) that I was able to use to cool me down; I also nipped to the ladies and removed some clothing leaving myself at the very bare minimum I could get away with without exposing myself and downed a sugary drink. All of these things enabled me to go back to my seat, where I sat, in full sun for another 5.5 hours (this was after we had been wandering around in it too before we even walked the mile from hotel to stadium). The temperature in the stadium where we were reached 46c (115f) with a 79% humidity (I bet there were a lot of sunburned bodies on Sunday morning). I cannot fault the sun cream I used; as someone who can burn during the summer when it pissing down with rain, I was recommended to try a cream called "Ultrasun". It's not cheap but oh-my-goodness, it is amazing. Had I used any other cream (and I've always gone for the so-called "Best" paying extra and getting children's factor 50 total sun block) I would have been burned red-raw within half-an-hour; I came home as white as I was when I left :) It's absolutely amazing stuff.

I am so glad I stuck it out though because the atmosphere was just phenomenal and like nothing I have ever experienced before. We were 2 of only a few Red Sox fans among a whole seating section of Yankees fans and the banter was just that; banter. You don't get that over here at a football match. The guy sitting next to me (who kept fanning me - I know, I was so lucky; one giving me ice (I think we got engaged) and one fanning me) was a neutral and when I mentioned it to him he looked at me and said "this is Baseball, my dear; you're not watching football now" so I can only assume rivalry is not taken to the violent and abusive extent football fans can often take it too. I was even more surprised how jovial it was as most of the blokes around were downing pints like there was going to be no tomorrow and drunken men at sporting events don't normally mean happy people.

I can honestly say I surprised myself at how much I got into it. I sang, I cheered, I boooed; I bloody loved it. Even when there was a lull in play (of which there were a few) it was never boring (being an F1 fan a lull can almost send you to sleep) there was none-of-that, mostly down to the fans, but also because you just never knew what was going to happen. One minute you've got 2 players being struck out, and the next you've got one hitting a 'home run'. You go from being seated and patiently waiting, to jumping out of your seat cheering loudly. I will admit, I did applaud the first home run by the Yankees because it was the first ever on home soil and will go into the MLB history records (that's right, I witnessed history being made before my very eyes). 

The Red Sox lost 17 - 14 (at one point I thought they were going to pull-it-back) and I wished I'd had enough money to have been able to go to the game on Sunday too (watched it on the coach on the way home and can only apologise to our fellow passengers because we did (at times) yell, shout and cheer a couple of times...... hahaha.. ). They lost that game too, and were well on course to win it. I'm so glad in-the-end that I was able to take Mum (she enjoyed it as much as I did). We said at the beginning of the year life was about making memories so to make one with her that is partly down to her was lovely.

The only downside is the draw to Fenway Park is now even stronger than it was. Somehow, some way, I have to make it happen. 

If you've never been to a game and get the chance to go, I say to you "give it a try". You may find you are pleasantly surprised. I wasn't expecting to enjoy it, it was just something I wanted to do and say I'd experienced. To find I love it and want to go again, regularly, has really taken me by surprise and you may find you enjoy it more than you think you might too. Don't be shy; give it a try :)

Cruising

Of course, on a day like today this pool area would be teeming with people, however, it's sure making me wish I was there right now.

Mid-life Crisis?

I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a mid-life crisis. 

Today, I have a birthday - yay, Happy Birthday to me. Techinically I am now considered "middle-aged" whatever that really means; I don't feel middle anything. 

According to Wikipedia it's "a transition of identity and self-confidence that can occur in middle-aged individuals, typically 45–64 years old". Hmmmm... I fall into this bracket (possibly) and in the past few years I've found a new confidence I never knew I had, I've gone (am going) through a transition of my identity - shit, it's happening, I'm having a mid-life crisis (although I can honestly say I always thought a crsis was a bad thing; I'm not getting that feeling). 

Maybe it's not that at all though, maybe it's something more than that. 

Could it be down to the "7 year cycle/itch?" (I'd link you to a source for it but there are so many with such different ranging theories I'll let you draw your own conclusion). I am literally at the very end of a 7 year period, fastly (way-too-fast) entering my next cycle. Looking back I can honestly say that a lot of my life changes have happened around the ends/beginnings of these cycles. Aged 7/8 (one ending, another beginning) wasn't all bad and life was good (as it can be for a girl who was being violently bullied on a daily basis). Aged 14/15 was the best times of my life (so far). 1985 (the year I turned 15) was the single best year I've ever experienced (odd though for that was also the year I first lost someone I loved a great day - my wonderful Nanny died just 4 days before my 15th birthday). 21/22 not quite so, but I was dealing with my Dad dying around this time so think I can be forgiven for it. Actually, the 28/29, 35/36 and 42/43 cycles weren't as good as they could have been, but I honestly can still see a pattern of change in my life and circumstances around these times. Here I am, now, on the edge of my next and my goodness the difference in me genuinely surprises me, and I'm the one living/experiencing it. At this exact moment-in-time I have never felt so in charge of my own life and destiny; I've never felt so empowered or so confident. I feel like I could take on the world. My whole mindset and attitude to every-single-aspect of life has changed. I'm about to enter my next cycle as the woman I always wanted to be, but was never brave enough to allow myself to be. It's a wonderful feeling, but I don't think it's the "itch" that's causing it. 

So, that strikes off a 'crisis' and 'itch'. What does that leave?

It's far more simple than any of the theories/ideas above (or the hundreds-of-thousands which can be found on the internet). No, I haven't found god!! It's to do with death - plain-and-simple. I am mortal, at some point (I don't plan on it occuring until I am at least 96) I am going to die. We are all going to die, and when I do I don't want to sit on that cloud with a single regret about how I have lived my life, and what I have/haven't done with it. 

I share my birthday with .... the Titanic sinking...!! Abraham Lincoln dying (both of these events began the evening before). The horrendous deaths at Hillsborough occured; 96 football fans out for a day in which they hoped to be singing on their way home, who never made it home. Then there were some pretty famous people born on the day - Leonardo Da Vinci, Adrian Cadbury (boy, do we owe him a word of "Thanks"; where would we be without Cadbury Buttons? Actually, my Nanny worked in the factory up in Brum back-in-the-day; she had a job thanks to him). Emma Thompson (who could ever forget the scene in Sense and Sensibility when Hugh Grant proposes - the Vicar of Dibley version is even better but the BBC have banned it from youtube). However, this year, on this day I turn 32 (ok, ok, I'm really turning 49 - yes. I know I don't look it which is why 32 sounds so much better!!).

Aside from how quickly my life has whizzed through to get to this point (I never understood older people telling me "as you get older the years fly by so make the most of them while you are young" until I hit 25... I totally believe and understand now) 49 is the age my Dad was when he died, and for some reason I cannot get my head around that. Not because I believe I am going to die (as I've said above I plan on making it to at least 96) but because I am still so young, have so much to live for, so much I want to do with my life, so many places I want to see. I've realised I've reached this point (age) and am living in the same way my Dad did (day-to-day) working all the hours I can, just to be able to afford to pay bills I don't really have much control over unless I sit in the dark and eat raw food. He planned on living until he was an old man; he planned on doing things with his life when he retired. He never got the chance; he died while still so full of life and promise. I don't want my life to end still working all the hours, still dreaming of doing things. That's why when I recieved the money I got at the end of last year, instead of paying off my debts (which I really should have done) I booked a cruise. It's on my bucket list, I'm ticking it off. My Dad never got the chance too (my best friend never either). I don't want someone else to complete it for me. It's my list, not theirs. 

I never thought something which happened 26 years (and 2 days) ago (still feels like yesterday) could have such a massive impact on my life now. A different decade, a different century, yet still affecting how I live my life; this time though, in a positive way. My Dad never made it to 50; not only will I make it, I shall celebrate it (when it arrives; not too quickly I hope for I have many things I wish to enjoy this year) and I shall look back on this phase of my life as one-of-the-best. I owe it to my Dad to live on for him; to go out and enjoy the life I have, for he never got the chance to.

Mid-life crisis? No. New Phase? Definitely. A way to honour my Dad? Abso-bloody-lutely. I  was dreading today arriving at first; figured it was going to be hard, yet when I awakened this morning it all made perfect sense to me. From this day forward I shall embrace life with all it throws at me (good (and bad)). We get one shot at it; this is not a dress rehearsal.

BRING IT ON I say.

When one door closes

the next one slams shut in-your-face; the one after is not even worth trying, for someone else holds the key and it's double-locked with chains and-all-sorts. 

That's how I used to feel, what I used to believe when someone told me "Never worry; as one door closes, another one opens". Even Julie Andrews teased me with a version in the Sound of Music, although she had a window opening afterwards. I thought they all told lies; until yesterday, when I finally got what they were talking about. 

I have to go back, to get to the point I am trying to make - not that I am really making a point, at all, as such. I'm not even sure why I am writing this for I said I wasn't going to write any blog entries unless they were interesting, and this will be anything but interesting; however, there maybe someone out there right now who is being told about doors and windows, opening-and-closing who doesn't believe a word of it; they may come across this, read it, and see that even the most skeptical of us sooner-or-later understand what is meant. If I can help just one person among the billions on the planet, then my time sat here is not wasted. 

Those of you who know me, those of you who used to follow my previous blog (the one I deleted when I started again) will know that the past few years have been hard on me; 2017 being the toughest year of my life, by far - so far (I'm not naive enough to think there won't be a harder one further down the line). In the space of a few years I lost 5 of my closest friends. 1 died (so bloody inconsiderate of her for she was the best friend I've ever had). 2 were nasty bullies who I finally saw for the first time - for years I'd been blinkered to them and altough they were never friends to begin with until I finally saw them for who they really are I always believed they were. 1 was duped into believing the lies of one of the nasty ones; sadly she has mental health issues and he played her better than an irish man plays his fiddle. The other one gutted me a little, for I truly believed she was a good/kind person with a kind heart. To discover she was a liar who was only interested all the time I was of use to her, was a hard one to take. Turns out I wasn't the first to have fallen into her trap. Yes, I really was that much of a sucker in my past life. I let some real shit into my inner circle. Thankfully, I wisened up to them all (wish I'd have listened to my Mum sooner - wow is that woman an amazing judge of character? She sounded out every-single-one-of-them and got them all spot on; I have made a pact that in future if she tells me not to trust someone, or that they are no good, I'm going to believe her. She did warn me about another who is attached a friend last week, but I've had her number for a long time and have never trusted her - I can't be quite-so-stupid as I believed I was, after all!).

I'm not ashamed, or afraid, to admit that this-time-last year I had stockpiled enough paracetamol to end the pain I was feeling, and I really was in pain; sadly, that wasn't the first time I'd done such a thing either, although back then I'd spoken to someone and realised it was a stupid thing to be thinking. A pain unlike anything I had experienced before. I felt as though I was worthless; people had used-and-abused me my whole life. Bad things happened, and were followed by more bad things, which were followed by even worse things (first world problems not withstanding). How selfish is/was that of me? I have a charmed life compared to others throughout the world, but to me, at that time, in that moment, I questioned my very existance, figuring I was only here for the amusement of others. I know now, how wrong that was, that I allowed those people to use-and-abuse, and that I was the one who had to take control; take back the power I gave away to them in the first place. I did what had to be done, yet that still didn't stop the pain I was in. It didn't make me feel better. My dog being the final nail in my coffin (thank goodness it wasn't hammered tight, or I might not be here now). I have never felt so useless in my life as I did when it came to her. I was desperate to do whatever it ook to keep her alive. When I failed in my endeavour and had to have her murdered (none of this PTS bullshit; I paid a vet to kill her, and not even a nice vet) 47 years of crap crashed down on me that night, and it was only yesterday (some 15 months later) that I was able to look at photo's of her without feeling as though my heart had been ripped out; I even smiled as I watched some videos. I know I did all I could for her, that had I put her through the operation the vets were hard selling me (purely to make more money out of me - apparently £8000 wasn't enough for them) that I would have been doing it for my benefit only; yes, I would have prolonged her life for another 6,7, possibly 12 months but at what cost to her? I did the right thing and I know that now.

I had never felt so alone though, at-that-point. My friends had all gone, my dog had gone (my cat just 7 months before  - that's right; both my furbabies in one year) and while I had my Mum (she was struggling herself too), my brother, my number 1 and Nathan, all of whom checked up on me regularly (number 1 almost daily) I still felt so alone. I had to be strong for my Mum because she was suffering probably worse than I was, for the dog stayed at home with her each day) so I felt I was dealing with her grief more than my own at times. My brother and number one both have their own crap to deal with so I would try not to burden them, and Nathan isn't here; he is the one person on this planet I talk to about everything (and I mean literally everything, even the stuff you'd not normally discuss with a guy - he's such a big part of me life; has been for such a long a time, and will be for even longer) and while I spoke to him every-single-day, it wasn't the same - he wasn't/isnt here. At that point in my life, I felt like I had nothing, and nobody. I saw no reason for continuing. in fact, in January of last year I laid in bed one night (I was suffering with chicken pox at the time) and said out loud "fuck it; enough is enough. Take me. I'm ready to die" and I really was. How glad I am now that whoever is waiting for my time so they can come and take me, didn't pay any attention to me.

What made me really think yesterday, about doors, windows, opening and closing though, is how odd things have been since then; odd in a good way.

6 months after my dog died; 1 year after the last friend went, I got a letter from a company I had contacted almost 5 years previously, regarding a PPI claim. It had been refused; I took it to the ombudsman who told me I didn't have a hope (they did try for a couple of years to get me something - all to no avail). Then, this letter arrived, and with it the offer of a cheque (if I was willing accept it) for a lot of money. In fact, it was the almost exact amount I would have needed for the dog. Ironic? Had it arrived before I would have spent it all on my dog, and it would have all been for nothing (well, those few extra months, but it's pretty much certain she would have struggled/suffered during that time). 

I put that cheque into the bank; opened up a savings account and decided to use it to knock something off my "Bucket List" (this year I realise that I need to do these things while I can; my reasoning for that is a blog for another day though). There aren't many things on there, and the ones which are, are all visiting places (aside from one; I'd like to get married some day too). All 50 US states, Saltzburg, Berlin (and Auschwitz) and the Norweigian Fjords. So, guess what I did? That's right; I booked a cruise to the Fjords (and I don't even like boats; the thought of them sinking scares the crap out of me). Not a stateroom or anything; just a basic inside cabin, but we're not flash/fancy people. The simple things are what makes our world go around. I'm taking my Mum with me; when I think about how hard my life has been, I look at her and realise it's been nothing compared to hers. She's also the only parent I have (my Dad died 26 years ago) and I know how precious life is. I want to spend as much time with her and make as many memories with her as I can. Neither one of us will be here forever. So you see, as the door on my dog's life and past friendships closed, a new one opened up for me.

Had I still had my 'friend's in my life, I wouldn't have booked the cruise - well, not for Mum and I, atl least. I'd have ended up using it on trips with them; trips which would have been great to visit wherever we went, but would have made me bloody miserable because of how they treated me. All the things I might want to be doing in the places we visited would have been pushed to one side, whilst we did all the things they wanted, yet I would have been the one paying for it all. Now, I'm going where I want, when I want, with someone who might drive me crazy at times, but who has always put me (and my brother) before herself. At the time it happened I thought about how it was weird; like a door closing, and one finally opening. 

Yesterday though, everything really struck me. 

Not only did I lose those 'friends' and my furbabies, but towards the end of last year I also lost some members of my family. They weren't blood but they were as close to me as family should be. They became so because my own family had walked away from us many years ago - for reasons we never knew (or understood) until now. As a result I found a new family, but they were never mine to begin with and have told people they " don't speak" to me anymore and "want nothing" to do with me. Their perogative.

I understand, why. I called them out on their behaviour and lack of respect, in front of their older sister and her husband. Why they have chosen to cut her off too though, is anyone's guess. They know I will always be there for them if they ever choose to pick up the phone and ask me to be, but I will not put myself out for them anymore. It almost broke my heart to walk away, they were (still are) 2 of the most important people in my life, but they are adults now, free to choose their own path. The consequences of their actions are their own responsibility. All those morals and values their Mum tried to instill within them; gone. She would be devasted to see how things (and they) have turned out. She did what she thought was right (at-the-time) yet she got it so wrong. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, as is hope, and I hold on to hope that there is still enough of her within them for them to realise what they've done, what they've lost, and they sort-it-out. Not for me, or their sister, but for themselves and the gorgeous little niece they have. They are missing out on so much because of it. They could be a part of something so much bigger.

However, as they closed the door, instead of the next one slamming in my face, it opened up, widely, and presented me with blood relations I had lost contact with. An older relation I had been extremely close too (looked up to, asmired, wanted to be like) and her family; her kids, who I've not seen for over 20 years, don't really know, but all of whom have welcomed us back into the family with the biggest of arms. The hugs have been amazing. I've gone from feeling so alone, with nobody in my life and the smallest circle of people, back to being part of a family. I spent 4 hours the other Saturday with my cousins daughter; she was 6 when I saw her last. She's never known me, never got to know me, yet the second we were in each other's company I felt as though I'd been present throughout her whole life. There was that ease you only get when you're with people who know you, as well as you know them. Reconnecting with them all is wonderful; we are still in the early stages but for the first time is such a very long time, I actually feel whole again (cheesy, I know but the only way I can describe it). I feel a contentedness I've not felt for a long time (not sure I've ever really felt it). I feel so positive about everything right now. Life is great, wonderful even. I believe anything is possible. I'm living, loving and very much enjoying. 

It's going to get better too, as I get to meet the rest of my family Stateside later this year. I am sure feeling blessed.

Of course, I am more-than-aware that things can come crashing down in a split-second, but until they do I am going to carry on enjoying and embracing, and knowing  if they do (for they may not; I might have finally made it to the top of that "wheel of fortune") there are now people in my life who genuinely care and who will be there for me, because of me; not because I have something they might want. 

Hey, even my shop door is opening more often these days too. Business is Blooming (yes, pun intended) and each day is opening up more possibilities - those lead to more doors opening to. 

It would appear, Julie Andrews, was right (almost - as someone who doesn't believe in any kind of god I'd have to point out it wasn't the lord opening and closing for her) :)

On this day

8 years ago, at 8pm in the evening, my best friend left her house, walked over to my car (a renault megane coupe, 2ltr auto, in midnight blue) which was parked in a bay to the side of her house, got in, popped some Take That on the stereo and set about having a chat.

It was her Mum's birthday; the first one without her Mum who had died just 8 weeks before on Christmas Eve, after an extremely hard fought battle against cancer - my goodness she was one tough cookie who absolutely refused to give in. 

We both lit a ciggie, cranked the windows down a tadge (so we didn't choke to death - although not too far as it was pissing down with rain and only just above freezing on the temperature gauge) and for the whole length of smoking that ciggie we never said a word. I knew what she had to tell me, she knew what she wanted to tell me, yet neither of us could bring ourselves to mention it. Eventually she turned to me with a steely determined look in her eyes and said "I got the results; I have cervical cancer" and then she cried. I'll be honest, in that moment, at that time, I saw it only as an inconvenience. To me she was going to have treatment, fight it, win, and give it her all in the zimmer frame races along the seafront we'd always talked about when we both got to our 90's. It was a blip. Oh how wrong I was. 

She'd been married just 6 months at this point; I realised on the morning of her wedding she was making the biggest mistake of her life (and believe me, up until that point she'd made some pretty shocking ones previously) but she was determined to go through with it. Her Mum was dying and more-than-anything she wanted her Mum to see her walk down the aisle - sadly her Mum despised him, telling me she'd like to "chop his head off" however, who were we to tell her what to do with her life? 

I know full well that a fuck-up at the hospital is what ultimately sealed her fate, but he turned out to be the nastiest vile piece-of-shit I've ever encountered (and I'd dealt with his brother years before telling me he had lung cancer, asking me how my Dad had dealt with it when he had it; turns out he'd never had it and was using what I'd told him to fake his symptoms so he could garner sympathy (and possibly money) from sympathetic people - the whole family are nothing but scum). She would have fought harder, had it not been for him, and his blood sucking family. They are truly the dregs of society, but very clever manipulators; they even had 2 of her closest friends side with him when he was finally kicked out of the house. These are 2 people my best friend went out-of-her-way-for, neglecting her own self at times for both of them. Just days before she died they both broke her heart into a million tiny pieces, and all because of him. I only hope when just 6 months later and he moved his new fiance into my friends house (a house he forced her to sign over to him as she lay writhing in agony, dying on the living room floor in front of him) that they saw him for who he truly is. I hope they still carry that guilt and how they treated her within themselves every day; they do not deserve to have had one good nights sleep since they did-what-they-did to her (damn right I'm still bitter about it; they treated her worse than I would have treated him, and I wanted to slit his throat and cut him into tiny pieces). 

That day, the day she lay dying, is the day that her daughter finally had him removed from the house. We found out he'd taken control of my friends meds, was feeding her morphine like it was water and not because he was trying to end her suffering (at that point she'd still been very much able to get about and live her life) but because he wanted her dead. She was an inconvenience. He'd taken control of everything, mentally (and physically (I found out that night)) abusing her. He wore her down to a former shadow of herself. I visited her in hospital that night (thankfully a neighbour had let herself in, found him standing over her, watching her die and had called an ambulance). I'd only seen her a few days before but when I got to that hospital I walked right by her; I didn't even recognise my own best friend. The woman I had been through so much with over the 25 years we'd been friends, and I didn't even see her; that broke my heart, more-than-a-little bit.

Her daughter had already phoned me at work to let me know what was going on and to tell me she'd had him removed (every day she's made me feel proud of her for different things throughout her life, but that day, oh that day, my heart swelled with more pride than I could ever have imagined for her). She was the only one who could have done it (well, that's a lie, my besties brother could but he's the biggest waste-of-space on the planet - he even screwed her and her kids over the inheritance from their mother as his own sister lay dying; she really did not have much luck with the men in her life. In fact I think her brother is possibly even lower down the scum chain than her ex; her brother owed her everything and he took all he could get - and more). Her daughter phoning me was how I ready for him when he called me, less than 30 minutes after he'd been removed from the house (which sadly, was still in his name and his to take charge of once my friend died - he did this just 7 days later, turning up with all his family (he wasn't man enough to deal with a grieving 20 year old girl and had to take reinforcements with him - pathetic little creature) to kick her daughter out of her family home. He saw her out on the streets with nothing; he kept everything, including the single quilts from her younger brother and sister's bed (not really surprised by that though as it turns out he is also a paedo who likes little girls; I know, my friend really wasn't in the right place in her head when she hooked up with him)). 

He called to tell me what was going on, expecting me to side with him - I would never take anyones side over her daughter (she is my number 1) and he knows/knew that. He then said to me "well I'll have the last laugh; as her husband I'm her next-of-kin so get to organise her funeral. I'll make sure none of you know where and when it is, and I'll throw her ashes in a bin" to which I replied "I think you'll find we'll all have something to say about that and will make sure you don't get to organise it" to which he spat back "then I'll leave her rotting on a slab". Yes, that's the kind of man he was. Luckily we kept her death quiet and her daughter and another friend organised it all without any of us (her other friends) knowing the details until the last minute. I made all her flowers, with no idea what funeral directors she was in. This was done so that if we were contacted or hassled in any way, we could honestly say we knew nothing about it. A couple of people no longer talk to me because they were convinced I knew what was going on and was choosing not to tell them; no skin off my nose. In a way it was a good way of ridding myself of people I didn't want in my life to begin with.  Right up until the day she dies (and after as they didn't know she had at this point) his family sent her threatening and abusive messages.

Just 13 months after that night we sat in the car, I went down to her house for the last time to say my "goodbye". She died just a few hours before I got there on a sunny Monday afternoon. I'd spent the previous Saturday with her, we'd said all we needed to say to each other. We knew her time was limited, but I still never imagined that would be the last time we actually physically spoke (believe me, I talk to her all the time these days in a non-physical way). Not a single day passes when I don't miss her, especially as she is now a grandmother; how she would have loved her granddaughter. She would have been the best nanny any little girl could have asked for. I am still angry over how things played out, how she was treated, the mistakes that were made, and with her for not fighting harder, but I've learnt how to channel that anger and deal with it so that it doesn't eat me up (until days like today when it all bubbles to the surface again; it doesn't last long though, turning quickly to sadness, then back to me smiling as I remember the bloody crazy things we got up to). I know how proud she is of her eldest, but also how disappointed she would also be in her youngest 2 right now (they're going through some kind of phase, and are sadly influenced by their father way more than is good for them - she'd still love them (unconditionally), regardless, but they would be breaking her heart a little right now with their behaviour and she'd be kicking them into touch if she were here). 

She was definitely one-of-a-kind. The epitome of forgiveness (the shit her brother put her through and not once did she walk away from him) the kindest, most caring and considerate person I know (she was there for everyone, even those who had treated her badly) and quite possibly one of the funniest people to spend time around. The scrapes she got me into. It was always her fault - although she had a really clever knack of nobody ever believing it was her, therefore allowing me to take the blame, and she could not make a decent cup of tea for love-nor-money. She was so much more than just my best friend; she was my confidante, matchmaker (although she tended to stitch me up in that department too (with the exception of Louis; when it came to setting me and him up, she got it bang on)) and the woman who allowed me to experience the love that comes from being a parent. She knew I couldn't have kids and she willingly, without any exceptions to the rules, allowed me to share her children, to be a part of their lives; that was the greatest gift (sometimes a headache!!) anyone could have bestowed upon me. That's the person she was; kindness, compassion and warmth radiated from her. She made a difference to so many peoples lives, asked nothing in return and didn't even realise that she was doing it making her the most modest of human beings. We still had so many things we were meant to do, so much we were meant to share, so many experiences to enjoy. Damn right I miss her. Every single second, of every single day.

Social Media

Over a week ago now, I deleted my personal facebook account - I still have the one which connects to the shop (you have to have a profile to get a business page) however, that's not one which gets used for anything other than giving me access to the shops page. By delete, I mean I deactivated - this means I have no access to my facebook information and people on my friends list, but can still keep messenger, which is how my friends and family choose to communicate these days.

When I did it I thought I'd most likely last as long as the daylight hours and would be back on there before the next day, at the latest. To find myself now here, all this time later, still not on there is a feeling I'm not sure about, yet most definitely getting used to. I can honestly say "I've not missed it". Don't get me wrong, I've missed not seeing what some of my family are up to; I've missed the funny side of it, but that's a side that doesn't really get seen on there that often anymore anyway.

Why did I delete it? Good question.

I did it because I realised I had turned into one of those vacuous people (the self absorbed, up-my-own-arse narcissist from the "look at me, look at me" world; the irony of that when I (in real life and on the inside) am one who shies away from such things). I became someone who was sharing stuff just to be noticed; when people didn't click "Like" on something, I felt it as a personal dig at me, which is quite possibly one of the most ridiculous things going, and not the kind of person I consider myself to be at all. It was when nobody liked a funny thing I shared (at least I thought it funny) it struck me that either they didn't like it, or they've just not bothered to click the bit where they get to see what I share and therefore, hadn't seen it. If they're not wanting to see my posts I don't know why they kept me on there in the first place. That was another thing I realised. I have people on my page because it's "the right thing to do". People I don't want on there; people I never speak to in real life unless they are somewhere I find myself. People I've never liked, yet there they are; all on there and I have them there because I accepted their friend request when they sent it (I'd certainly not have sent them one). Why they would send one is beyond me too, because they dislike me as much as I dislike them.

Messenger is really just-as-bad in a way; I sent a message to someone I've been meaning to catch up with over 20 days ago; I can see they were on less than 23 minutes ago, and yet they've not even bothered to open my message. I hate that because then I start to question "Why?" This person is someone I thought I was really close to. They've opened their messenger up every day (I know this because messenger tells me) yet not bothered to read the one from me. I have no problem with that in the grand-scheme-of-things; that's their perogative (I just can't be like that; wasn't brought up to ignore people) but I absolutely hate that side of social media. If someone like me (who has always been a very rational kind of person) can suddenly find myself questioning people, friends and my own self worth, then I can only imagine how someone with issues of that kind to begin with must feel.

I used to hear about how people said social media is bad for those with mental health issues and didn't understand how on earth it could be. I love how it lets me connect with my family overseas; I love being able to see what they are up to, how their kids are growing. I think that is an amazing part of it all, however, I do now understand what they mean when they say such things, because for every great part of it, there is an equal dark side to it.

There are the people who insist on sharing every single bloody timehop photo facebook throws at them; these photos were not interesting the first time around. There are those who only use their pages to share their politcal rants; there are the "Vaguebookers" who put up a status just for attention (it really does seem to turn the most rational people into narcissists). People from school who would do nothing but ignore you back then, suddenly deciding to add you as a friend. Why? They never spoke to me in school. I'm sure they do it to make themselves feel popular (again, falling into the narcissim trap) for they are the ones who also share how many friends they have. I've always kept that part private. There are the ones who constantly share photos, which are the same as the photos they've shared many times before. These are new photos, but could have been taken at any point over the past 10 years, because they always have the same people, in the same pose, in the same area, doing the same thing, and I am sure they share them only to show people how amazing they believe their lives. I have so many people on my FB whose status updates I no longer receive because they repeat the same stuff, day-in and day-out, yet I am just like that (not resharing stuff; I absolutely hate that and try to never share a similar picture to one I have shared before) but I have turned into one-of-those attention seekers, for that's all any of these people are.

I will go back; I have groups I belong to which I don't really want to give up and cannot find anywhere else. I have family on there who I want to keep in touch with and facebook really is the best way of doing so, however, when I do log back on it will be to delete anyone who isn't family or a close friend. I will make it so nobody can add me as a friend, and I will remind myself how much less stressful my life has been during this past week, without having to have everyone's dramas and opinions rammed in my face each day.

Yes, I understand now, I get it. Social media really is the devil-in-disguise, and a blessing at the same time. I just need to find the right balance; find my yin and yang.

Toyboy

My Nan, at the age of 52 married a guy of 27 (my Grandfather). The cradle snatcher nabbed herself a "toyboy". She lied to him about her age (nothing unusual for her - she lied about many things) telling him she was 42 - he didn't know until long after they were married that she was, in fact, 10 years older than she'd told him. This happened in 1965; she died in 2007 (or thereabouts; I can't quite remember. I didn't like her much) and they were still married the day she died (who says age-gap relationships don't last?).

Once I was old enough to understand the implications of the age difference, I remember being shocked and utterly disgusted at her. She was old enough to be his mother; comprehending what she must have been thinking, and how she could possibly hook up with a man so much younger than her was just not something I was able unable to fathom. As I've said, they lasted the test-of-time so it was obviously the right decision for them both.

To me, boyfriends were meant to be older - once old enough to embark on relationships I averaged a 4 year gap with mine (them being the higher end of age, and not the lower). This to me was the "right" way it should be. Anything else was just.....  wrong.  Then I met Louis!

I was 24 when I met him and believed him to be 22 (I got this info from friends and his own mother). He was a beautiful soul; inside-and-out. I know "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and so to some he would have appeared as plain, and not at all good-looking, but to me, I thought him very pleasing on the eye (when I first knew him he had long black hair, and the most gorgeous tan - I do like a man with long hair (as long as it's nice hair!)). By the time we hooked up he'd had it all cut, but this just emphasised his features even more. For 7 years we had the weirdest relationship I have ever had, will most likely ever had, and it was perfect-in-every-way for us both. He had the kindest, most honest heart of anyone I have ever known. My life changed forever the day he died. However, this isn't about sadness and heartbreak, this is about "Toyboys" for you see, I had a slight issue with him being 2 years younger than me, just not enough for it to stop me from spending my time with him. He knew, everyone who knew me knew, how I felt about older women dating younger men; this would be why nobody told me, that in fact the age gap between us was 6 years. He was just 18 when we met, 19 when we finally became a couple. I was mortified, but there was no way I was going to allow it to stop me from seeing him, and so I became "one-of-those" women. Patted on the back by some for hooking up with a 'youngling', scorned by others who felt the way I had always done before he came into my life.

I still didn't get my Nan though. 25 years difference! That was just plain wrong, and it still shocked me when I read about older women getting with younger men. Madonna being 10 years older than Guy Ritchie (although with Madonna you really do expect anything - she's since had a boyfriend 30 odd years younger (I definitely wasn't comfortable with that difference)). The film director Sam Taylor Wood was 41 when she started dating her husband, Aaron Johnson; he was 18. I had an issue with that too (had they both been 10 years older it would have been slightly different but I couldn't (still don't) understand why/how a woman over 40 could want to be with a teenage boy). They've been together 10 years and have several children though, so what do I know?. Both Sharon Stone and Susan Sarandon have dated men 30 years (and more) younger than them. I didn't get it. Until.......

Over Christmas I watched The Greatest Showman, saw Zac Efron for the first time, and thought to myself "well now, I'd let you make me breakfast in the morning. Turns out he's 17 years younger than me. I also rewatched the movie Dunkirk, really looked at Harry Styles for the first time, and thought "yeah, I get it; I can see what the young girls see in him". He's half my current age (24 years younger than me, and does very much remind me of Louis too, which is probably why I can see it). Now, I'm not saying I'd want him to make me breakfast in the morning, but a small part of me now gets these "Cougars" who hook up with younger men, and it's not because they are some sick paedo type female at all, and I don't think it is because they are trying to keep their youth, or make themselves feel younger.

I think the trouble is, that while our bodies age and our hair becomes greyer (way too quickly for me - I've had to give up on dyeing mine or I'd been doing it every-other-day (Embrace the grey)) our minds don't. I feel no different in my own mind now, to how I felt back when I first met Louis. I think we reach a point in our lives when we become 'fully grown' in our own minds, and once at that point we do not advance at the same rate as time. Let's face it, humans created time to help make life easier, and that's fine, it works well and keeps a certain order, but maybe that's not how it's meant to be. Maybe, I reached my point at the age of 25/26 and as such (in my mind, at least) haven't advanced past that age (except for the calendar and change of year tells me different).

It's similar to people who can't remember their age; I never understood that. How could you not know how old you are? I'd ask people and see them counting on their fingers, or asking what year it is so they could work it out. I assumed that was just because their minds were going a little bit. I know now, that's not true at all. Someone asked me for my age last year, and without thinking I came straight out with 33. I watched them write 33 down on their form and it was only when I saw the numbers I realised that wasn't correct. I then stood there (and just like the older people I'd seen as a youngling) used my fingers to count out my real age. My brain could not comprehend that 15 years had passed since I was last that age. Maybe that's the real age I reached my point, and not 25/25. Who knows? What I do know, is that I will never again judge someone (which was wrong of me in the first place) on any age gap they have between themselves and their spouse. As long as they are 2 consenting adults, then who am I (or is anyone else) to say whether it's right, or wrong?. As long as they make each other happy and hurt nobody else in the process what right have any of us to pass comment, or judge?. I certainly never thought I'd look at a man 17 years younger than me, and think "hmmm... yes please". The whole idea of that would make my stomach churn. I would put/twist it into a different context, and imagine being a 27 year old woman with a crush on a 10 year old. Sick on so many levels, but I wasn't a 27 year old looking at a 10 year old in that way, I was a 48 year old looking at a 31 year old.

Maybe my brother is right (he says it to wind me up for he knows too well there was no-love-lost between me and our Nan - I despised the woman) but maybe, just maybe, I really am more like my Nan that I thought. 

I'm off to get myself a date with a 55 year old now, just to put some balance, and restore some order back into my life - or will I? :) :)

I couldn't find a 'copyright free' photo of a cougar, so here's one of a tiger I took a few years ago :)