The one in which I practice divinity.
See lovely reader, I have always been taught to try and see the best in people, not to judge others, to try and understand those who trespass against us and to forgive those who hurt me.
I’ll be honest, I haven’t always got it right, but in saying that whenever I have got it wrong it is because I have been pushed to breaking point and when I say breaking point, I mean broken, my mind and my spirit broken. It takes me a long time to come to terms with myself when I am anything other than than calm and gentle and then I realise that I am human and as humans we err sometimes, no? Are we not divine if we forgive? Yes?
I'm practising being divine
So why am I awake in the middle of Sunday night thinking about all of that? Aside from the fact that if thinking was an Olympic sport the gold would be in safe hands? Well quite simply because I am trying to understand the people who saw fit to break into my flat in London whilst I was sleeping and steal things from me. Is it the thought of them walking into my bedroom and removing my iPhone from my bedside table, just inches from my head or is it the motivation behind those actions that puzzle me so greatly.
People or person lacking in morals and codes of conduct and the inability to have any feelings for others? You see those people don’t exist in my world, I mean I know they exist in the world but not even the person who hurt me most in my life was lacking in any of those things. It doesn’t matter what type of background people are born into, the things that I have listed above are free, caring for the well being or another human being is it so difficult? Is it so tough to understand the consequences and the impact that their behaviour has on their ‘victims’ I don’t like that word and I refuse point blank to be labelled a victim.
The Buddhists have got this all sussed. Inner peace and harmony.
What happened to me has happened to many other people and whilst I still try and reconcile in my head why? I also have been thinking a lot about one of my favourite poems. A poem that I have often turned to when I have had challenges – Okay I know, you’re probably thinking I must have it in my hand 24/7 but I don’t, there are many wondrous things in my life and I am inordinately lucky to have them.
I only wish I could give a copy of this poem to the people who did this to me and who have done it to so many of my friends. Do I forgive them for what they have done? Yes, I do because as I learnt before, being angry with something or someone hurts only one person and that person is me.
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
IF by Rudyard Kipling
Devil May Care … Too Much !
I’m meant to be packing. I’m meant to be sifting through my worldly possessions, my goods and chattels and I have been, honest injun, I have,I just need to breathe for a bit. The roller coaster seems to have sped up again and we seem to be stuck in one of the heart stopping, stomach churning loops that leave me feeling totally spent. I’m feeling rudderless again, scared of the unknown and flaying around aimlessly trying to make sense of all the spinning plates. It’s all I seem to do these days, spin plates although I’m getting quite adept at it, I would be lovely to be away from it, un-strap myself from the perpetual roller coaster and be free.
Keep on Spinning !
Now there is an interesting concept? Free, free from what exactly? Responsibility? Nah, that ain’t never gonna happen. Free from pain? Hopefully soon or within the next few months or now here’s a biggie free from myself? now that IS one to ponder. Free from myself. Not anything sinister, just simple things like my deep and brooding thoughts, the seemingly never-ending insomnia,that sort of thing…
I wrote during January about a teacher who had ‘pulled me up’ about my daydreaming in class, dreaming my life away. By the time I was 40 I was going to be married, have 4 children a big kitchen a red convertible and be a writer. Well life isn’t always that straight forward is it ? I did love my red convertible though, I felt an immense sense of free driving her. Wind billowing in my mad hair, sun in my face ‘bombing’ up and down the A303 having lots of fun.
I have to find that free again, I have much more fun now than in a long while but the sense of inner free? Hmm that’s buried somewhere. I want to believe it’s under the pile of boxes and that when I finally shut the door on this long chapter in my life I’ll be the embodiment of a free spirit again. I an awkward sod aren’t I ? no sooner do I find peace now I want freedom….
Born to be 'wild'
I always used to be and somewhere along the way I forgot how to be. I speak of learning acceptance and how it has helped me come to terms with things that have come before, but I refuse to accept that I cannot recapture what was once such an intrinsic part of me. Not so terribly starchy but bordering low-grade devil-may-care and just free, free, never sticking to the path, always meandering in the hope of discovering hidden beauty or something new and invariably I did. I seemed to have no fear, well apart from the usual ensemble of heights, pigeons and lifts. I would boldly step into the unknown quite happily, embrace the unknown, drown in the new. I haven’t felt like that for the longest time, I forget sometimes just how old I am. I must have been in my early 30′s when I stopped being that person. Yes 32 years, 7 months and 15 days old. That’s when I climbed aboard the roller coaster.
Stop hiding !
I think a lot. I think you might have had an inkling about that from things previously written and now given all of the above I wonder, is it about being fixed or handing over keys or finding that special someone to share my life or just breathing and being and asking the universe once and for all to stop this damned roller coaster and let me get off, let me out of this god awful prison where I’m only a shadow of me. I know she’s still there, I see that glint in her eye occasionally or I hear her really laugh or catch her infectious smile. I want her back. I’m not accepting anything less than whole.
Ah… Devil May Care? Oh that’s where I am going wrong…. see here in this house it’s that Devil Care Too Much !
Every time we say goodbye…….
When I was eight, there were two things I was particularly scared of – the dark and my parents and grandparents dying. I had a thing about not letting either of my beloved parents out of my sight for nearly a month, poor things and It’s really when my insomnia began. I’d lie awake worrying about them being killed or just dying or just leaving and I would cry myself to sleep eventually. Daddy (yep I’m a posh bird that still refers to her father at nearly 44 as Daddy, I get teased all the time about it) used to just give me one of his super Dad hugs, but I remember after a few weeks of avoiding the subject and being super emotional that Mama and I talked about it. She was tender and reassuring and cuddled me when she explained to me….
Darling one day Mummy and Daddy are going to die, everyone dies, that is just life and we’ll try very hard not to die for a long time OK?
Me and My Mummy when I was nearly 3
Oh gosh, I remember feeling so incredibly comforted by those words, I think as ever we probably had the biggest cuddle and I went off to school that day a much happier person. You see that’s what Mama is like, it’s what she does, she makes all the bad stuff go away.
I was never entirely sure what triggered those feelings, it’s probably incredibly odd for an eight year old to be out walking with her parents and thinking I need to remember every second of this blissful existence because one day God ( yep I believed in God then ) will take them away and this will be a memory.
I have always thought about things so deeply and I’ve always been a natural worrier. It’s in-built, part of me, my Grandmother always referred to it as my genuinely beautiful nature, to worry about others before myself.She also said it was one of my worse faults too, she was hugely wise and knew and understood me better than anyone in the world. I don’t think any amount of counseling or hypnosis or other alternatives will ever change that part of me.
All these years on from my eight year old self and of the six most significant adults in my life there is one left, my Mama and today is the first time I’ve felt scared about losing her for a long time. When I say losing I mean her dying, her death. It’s actually preposterous to use the term lose, you don’t lose people, they die. They don’t pass, pass away, pass over, they die. I’ve always been taught not to dress death up. It’s a fact of life, to be accepted. My Beloved Grandmother who died from this vile disease was very honest when I asked her, terrified at 14, if she was afraid to die
No love, I’m not scared to die, I’ll be pushing up the daisy’s soon enough
I remember that so clearly, so brave, so dignified and so sure. She was ‘Pushing up the Daisy’s’ a month after that conversation and since then I have always wanted daisy’s in the garden at HQ to commemorate her life and everything she meant. Her excruciatingly painful death had the most profound effect on me, it haunts me even in my 44th year and the prospect of reliving that horror with my own Mama fills me with dread and terror and it makes me want to scream. I don’t tho, I do what I always do. I make other people feel better, I listen and wonder and lie awake and ponder why? but there is no why really, only acceptance.
Pushing up the Daisy's
Only one day at a time, every day that Mama is here is a good day and a day to be celebrated a day to give her a big kiss and a lovely hug, a day to laugh and sometimes ( we’re a bit soft) to cry but most of all to celebrate each other and tell each other like we do every time we speak to each other, how much we love each other. We do. We do very much and I am very lucky I know.
Today is another step in my Mama’s journey towards her death. Today I have found new reserves I didn’t know I had and today I thank god for the beautiful person at lunchtime that said the words to me
Come here you and give me a big kiss goodbye
I did of course, but I never ever ever want to say goodbye. Tonight I can still smell her amazing Alexander McQueen perfume on my face and hair where she cuddled me from her wheelchair to within an inch of my life and I feel safe. I don’t want that ever to go away.
The Best of times? most definitely learning.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
Charles Dickens – A Tale of Two Cities.
It’s the most fantastic opening to a story, isn’t it? I came across my rather ancient copy of A Tale of Two Cities the other day in between packing and trying to be a domestic goddess. It really resonated with my current situation. In my last blog I spoke of splinters of light, new beginnings and the end of journeys. Some things have changed already, I am single again, I won’t pick over the carcass let’s just say I think I may have had a lucky escape. There is a new ship on the horizon now and although I am not a superstitious person, for now, am keeping tight-lipped for fear of jinxing it. I will keep you posted on whether you need to visit your local Milliner’s in due course!
The least said.....
It’s all been a bit emotional lately. Packing all my worldly goods into boxes is not something I either relish or am particularly enthused about. I find myself spending hours looking at things remembering who bought them for me, consigning them either to the box, recycling or charity shop. It’s endless. Then there are the viewings, all necessary of course. I want to sell my property obviously, but they take over ones existence rather as does poking the Estate Agent’s with a long stick. I’m not a fan of labels of any kind but honestly it is no wonder they have the label they do have. I try hard not to lose my rag with them, however, I think I may have mentioned once or twice before about my inability to ‘suffer fools gladly’ So I wait and I wait and then sometimes I am surprised by their efficiency and other times despairing of their ineptitude. I know this is all part of the process and to get to where I long to be I need to practice more acceptance of my situation?
Serch Bythol, Celtic symbol of undying love.
The whole experience is teaching me more life lessons than you could shake the proverbial stick at, all good experience for when we have to eventually sell our beloved HQ. We’ve been doing a bit of facing up to things in that department too, my Sis and I, tough conversations and actually talking about our fear of losing our beloved Mama. I certainly feel better for discussing it. We don’t you see, well she and I that is. We synchronize diaries for hospital appointments and visits but we never actually talk about the fact that our mother is slowly getting worse, we don’t discuss the fact that she is actually dying of cancer. We know it’s there, like the sword of Damocles, we even individually accept it, we loathe it, but we accept it. We’ve cleared the air now and agreed we must talk more about everything no matter how upsetting. I think we are both in a better place as a result.
I still see the splinters of light and each day I am ever closer to the blank piece of paper, the new start, the feeling of resolution and calmness and peace in my heart. I am determined to get to that place now and if we go back to the opening and look again, sometimes the worst of times are the things you learn from in order to get to the best of times? Either way I am still on track, ready for the next phase or maybe the Cillit Bang fumes really are affecting my addled brain !
I wrote a further 1145 words to my new ‘master piece’ today more on that in the future. I was listening to Satie, I find Satie balances my equilibrium and makes me feel positively Zen, so for your delectation:
Splinters of Light…..
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs
out of the dead land,
mixing memories and
desire, stirring dull
roots with spring rain.
From The Burial Of The Dead, The Wasteland, by T.S. Eliot
It’s hard to describe what life is like at the moment. Chaotic is one word, strangely peaceful is another and yet I am not quite free, not quite there. The splinters of light are starting to shine brighter and I can feel the warmth of that light against my skin and it feels good, It’s something I have striven for for so long, resolution, inner peace and now I am so close to it I can almost touch it. I haven’t suddenly gone bonkers, well no more than usual, I have just become more aware of how making shifts in my life has altered my thought process, my ability to communicate and my ability to feel at peace.
Peace
I do, I genuinely do feel inordinately peaceful.
I am consistently being told by those around me that surrounding myself with positive energy is the key to breaking old patterns and learning to be still. I doubt whether I will ever learn to be totally still in thought but my lust for learning never diminishes and my thirst for stillness never dries. It’s not obsessive, It’s not a quest for Nirvana, it’s simply my trying to understand the why and how I react to the answers and if I am not given an answer, then learning to accept that there is no answer. I am not sure even that last part makes total sense to me but there again I am just writing what my heart is telling me to write.
Life has become a never ending plate spinning competition as I move closer to the final phase of my two year journey of arm and into the ‘caged’ months as my dearest friend Lucy affectionately refers to it. I am not willing my life away but I yearn for day when my surgeon smiles at me and says- You are free to go, you are all mended. The mending of my bones has become like a metaphor to me, it signifies not just my discharge from hospital, it signifies my being mended and the horror of the past two years laid to rest and a blank piece of paper ahead of me to scribble on.
what the picture said.
I have already begun that process, finally ending my relationship with nicotine and that in itself has given me freedom of sorts, the ability to breathe more deeply and think with more clarity. I have been ‘Clean’ now for just over two months, absurdly a heroin addict is ‘Clean’ after two weeks, smokers take three months to be considered clean. I have three more weeks before I reach that milestone. My Flat is being sold, I am freeing myself from the millstone of my mortgage for a while whilst I become stronger after my surgery. That comes with it’s own set of crockery, ensuring that this place is free from clutter has been both a cathartic and emotional experience but another release. Once I had made this reasonably life changing decision, strangely and almost instantly, I felt peace and immense relief and excitement for new beginnings.
One new beginning that has taken me a bit by surprise, is the beginning of a new relationship after so many interesting experiences in recent months, finding someone who is just as every bit keen on inner peace through positivity and has an equal thirst for learning. We have just begin our journey but I am actually smiling writing these lines so I must be happy. Oh and yes he has impeccable table manners and speaks beautifully with a very sexy Irish accent.
So far, this beautiful spring has been paradoxically peculiar in so many ways and my journey of renewal and completion continues to surprise and captivate me at every turn. So unlike the opening lines from the opening line of my favourite poem, The Wasteland, although The Burial Of The Dead holds huge metaphorical meaning.
Now then back to those questions………..
The Twitter? A few thoughts this week ….
A few days ago I wrote a tweet which was RT’d 23 times. The reason why I wrote it was because I had noticed in my time line an increasing number of people saying things like ‘ I may as well talk to myself ‘ ‘ I don’t know why I bother’ ‘Is it quiet on here?’ ‘ Twitter’s changed so much it used to be a laugh’ and in a couple of cases, swearing at people not responding to them and threatening followers with a huge cull. Understandably in one person’s case this was met with several people unfollowing them the reason I know this is because they named them. This is the tweet:
@scribbler68 Twitter is what you make it, just engage with people, if no one sends you an @ send one to someone else? Dive in strike up a conversation?
It made me think again about how people view Twitter, I have written before about how I personally use Twitter but to add to it briefly, I constantly look for new an interesting people to follow, I love the expression from the wondrous Nora Ephron ‘ We just exchanged pieces of mind and went from there’ That is what I enjoy the best, the debate, the new learning, the humour and the fact that you get to speak to people you might normally never meet worldwide.
Own your Twitter
I standby my tweet above, there is no reason why people should feel isolated on The Twitter, If you see a conversation which includes one of your followers, then join in, ask a question relating to the conversation. I would certainly include anyone that joins in a conversation, it’s just good manners, in fact I reply to every single on of my @mentions just because someone has made the effort to speak to me. I may miss the odd one but in the main everyone is answered.
I feel sometimes people forget that THEY actually have to make the effort to initiate conversation, yes that means actually speaking to people you follow. Comment on their tweets if they don’t comment on yours? spending 10 minutes ranting on about how you perceive Twitter to be crap now is not going to make people want to engage with you.
Think about what you look for in a follower, what is your criteria? If someone follows you what makes you follow them back? Here is mine:
- Avatar – A picture is a definite bonus. I am not particularly enamoured of ‘Glamour’ shots or naked flesh except on traditional breast cancer or bowel cancer related days. If I wasn’t already following that person then if I am honest it would put me off.
- Bio – An interesting and eye catching Bio which gives an insight into that person’s personality. Some people are clever enough to do it in a few words, others, like me several, but it’s an initial talking point. It’s the bit where you get to for want of a better word ‘set out your stall’.
- Tweets – Interesting and engaging tweets are must in camp Scribbler68, also peoples ability to interact with others.
If people don’t fit your chosen criteria then it’s simple, don’t follow them back. The flip side of that is if people don’t follow you back then don’t start whinging about it, engage with them, many people including me will only follow people back if they engage. If they continue to follow you anyway it’s for a reason isn’t it? They like your tweets? They like your blog or your website?
Make your time line a happy place
Which brings me onto the subject of what people cruelly refer to as ‘self promotion’ My perspective on this area of The Twitter is very simple. People promote their work for a reason. You might not have considered the work that goes into self publishing a book for example. Even people who have got a publisher still only get limited promotion and I am sorry but it is a necessary part of their day job marketing their work. I see hundreds in my time line every day. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest and I applaud their initiative. If you are not a fan of this then simple, don’t read it and definitely don’t subject people to a public dressing down on Twitter, better still read their blog, I have found some absolutely fascinating and amazing blogs since I set up this account six months ago and I will continue to support writers and bloggers by RTing their work.
This is only my humble opinion, I am not a social media expert and nor do I profess to be and I am sometimes openly critisised for sharing my blog and indeed some of my thoughts. I am not really bothered by this because my blog is for me, I am honoured by the 6K people a month who do read it and I thank all of you who take the time and effort to comment or RT it.
One final thought….
You own your time line, you follow people who you like to engage and people follow you for a reason. Think about those reasons and remember that Twitter is what you make it. YOU!
Non Milord, Je Ne Regrette Rien
Now look, it’s been a few weeks since the Valentines day disaster and well we all remember what happened there.
Still in spite of what has gone before I continue to be the eternal optimist. I will find someone as my lovely friend Lucy put it so eloquently shortly after the aforesaid disaster ‘ Someone mug enough to love you through the caged months’ Oh how we laughed !
Surely there must be a man out there who can count to five without using his fingers? A man who thinks that culture is more than dark beer? A man who is refined and well spoken, a man who doesn’t think foreplay is a quick stroll round my beloved park. I am beginning to wonder?
There was another another outstanding 3rd date recently. A Frenchman. Yes I hear you cry ‘ Yo stowpeed woeman’ well yes and I’ve had all the jokes about ‘Entente Cordial’ to last me a lifetime and then some. I like the French, I like their way of life, their food and I won’t lie, I could listen to a French accent all day. Hmmmm.
Britannia always looks so much more majestic non?
The immediate difference was in height. Now I’ve always been a bit funny about this. I’m nearly six foot tall and the thought of being with someone shorter has always made me shudder a bit. The last person I was in love with was noticeably shorter than me. They even made a comment shortly after a terribly bad argument had subsided ‘ Well at least I won’t have to stand on my toes to kiss you anymore’ at the time that made me desperately sad but now I actually see the humour in that statement, looking back from where I am now, it’s actually very funny and horribly ironic.
Napolean complex?
The Frenchman was slightly taller than that, breathtakingly stunning and actually rendered me rather tongue-tied for a while. As we walked I started talking and he started disagreeing, in fact he got quite sulky. Now I’m all for a sensible and open discussion on most topics and respect others perspectives but the whole ‘shrugging the shoulders’ and grunting ‘ Rubbeeesh, you know nothing’ was getting quite irritating after a couple of hours. If it had been anyone else I’m certain I’d have walked away but that accent, THAT ACCENT, it was totally intoxicating and if that’s shallow, then so be it, i’m allowing it. Then quite suddenly and out of the blue – he kissed me and I was transported to a place I thought I’d never go again. No! Rinse your mouths out immediately not THAT place, the wow that was some kiss place,I haven’t had that feeling for well over a year.
I was totally confused. One the one hand he was monosyllabic or telling me I was talking rubbeeeesh and on the other doing good kissing. Then it dawned on me as he sat beside me messing up my hair (anyone who knows me knows that I loathe having my hair played with) and as I thought it he said it.
‘Lets go your house cherie?’
In spite of my growing teenage-esque crush, I managed the words
‘ No, I don’t think that’s a good idea, not today. Maybe another time ?’
More sulking then ensued, more hand gesticulation and shrugging.
‘What is your problem? How old are you for god’s sake? You don’t like me anymore do you? You don’t do you?’
Well frankly after all that nonsense I wasn’t terribly keen, I think there must be some sort of code I’m missing here? or maybe a cultural difference? I doubt it, most of France are still in the clasps of Catholicism or maybe I’m wrong about that too? Suddenly a few rather lovely, well actually really rather lovely kisses I was expected to ‘put out’ do forgive the gross Americanism there but it was the politest way of putting it. I thought very carefully about how to handle this and replied.
‘Of course I still like you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to marry me first’
The colour drained out of his face. I burst into giggles and made things ten times worse. Obviously he hasn’t seen ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’ you know the bit where Potts kisses Truly and the children (newly sprung from the clutches of the child catcher) inform their father that he’ll have to marry her? I didn’t think it was worth trying to explain and definitely not when the film title has the word bang in it. I apologised for my rather poor humour and continued to reassure him. He accepted my raison d’être and we carried on walking and talking. The rest of the afternoon and early evening he spent sulking and telling me about how life had treated him so unfairly and how awful our country is – Still at least Wales won the rugby!
Now I am sorry ladies, but really? who wouldn't dream of Michalak?
As we walked back to the station he talked about the poor Victorian architecture and food ( he’s a head chef) he said that we should go shopping next time and cook together, he then smiled the biggest smile at me and talked about fish. Yes, the price of fish, sauces that accompany different fish and what we were going to cook. I suddenly felt so much more encouraged. He hadn’t mentioned this in the few times I’d met him, maybe he had been saving it for such a time because I think he might well have sense my growing indifference towards his neanderthal attitude to women.
He left and I walked home with the biggest smile on my face. He even has beautiful table manners too ( I thought I’d mention that)
Then the next day I woke up. Then in the cold light of day I woke up and I thought about what had happened. I decided later that day after a lot of thought that he wasn’t really in the running for the long haul. Then I realised I’d grown-up, that was even more shocking. My priorities have shifted so enormously without me realising. I actually want the ‘whole nine yards’ That’s even more shocking, grown-up and sensible!
So onwards…. NEXT!
My ‘Funny’ Valentine
Yes, yes, I know what I said about entering into any sort of romantic liaison before my impending surgery. Then I got an extension. initially I greeted this news with disdain as I had geared myself up for a new kind of poncho style existence a la Clint Eastwood, sans cigarette naturally. I then let it digest for a couple of days, well a week to be fair and thought, actually this is good. It means I can really get to grips with the business and it also gives me the opportunity to go out and have a bit of fun until the end of May. I thought about the whole dating thing again, would it be fair to get potentially attached to someone only for them to be in effect saddled with someone wearing an oh so attractive piece of kit much resembling an instrument of medieval torture, never mind the impracticalities of anything else relationship wise!
- Cynical? Yep,
- Too trusting? Hell yes
- Gullible ? Without a shadow of doubt.
- Sucker for a handsome face and intelligent repartee? Always.
Then quite suddenly a funny thing happened about three weeks ago. I met a chap, very good looking, taller than me ( always good) and I thought, yes I’m prepared to put myself through the ringer again. So we went out for a drink and got on well and he was ticking all my highly complicated cluster of boxes. See when you’ve had your fingers burnt so very badly in the past you tend to add extra boxes. So we went out for another drink and I thought thank goodness he seems so different from No.1 No.2 and No.3 ( subject of the disgusting table manners blog) I hadn’t been comfortable talking to a chap for ages and then he started asking a lot of personal questions, which I refused to answer, he kept pushing me and I said I thought his behaviour was inappropriate and picked up my coat.
Open heart
He said I was emotionally stunted and that whoever I was with before had certainly ‘done a number on me’ my response to that was ‘ I bow to your superior knowledge of psychology’ and turned on my heel. He got up and shouted literally shouted ‘ You have got the most amazing eyes in the world, please be my valentine’ Now common sense should have told me that I should have kept walking, however, the incredibly romantic and soppy side of me went awwww. Sat back down and we mutually apologised for our silliness, had ‘one for the road’ and agreed that he would cook dinner for me on Valentines day.
At this juncture I would like to point out that I am not a fan of Valentines day, not because I’m not a hopeless romantic, I am, I just believe that you should celebrate love everyday. NB This blog does not come with sick bags.
Me? take the ***? never!
Yesterday was an odd day, ridiculous Dr. appointment and X-rays followed by a trip to my ‘other office’ in W1. I survived the potato cake stuck in the toaster incident and the incessant nonsense being played on Heart FM. By 1730 I was not feeling in the slightest bit romantic at all. Let’s be honest would you after a diet of Jennifer Rush singing ‘Power of Love’ three times or that wrist-slashing classic ‘Alone’ by Heart? I defy you. My day was brightened by quite inappropriate texts, which is always nice and then the ‘What is your favourite Champagne’ text, to which I replied with The Twitter approval, ‘Cristal’ He replied with ‘ Dream on’ , well I was pushing my luck a tad. I then sent another with ‘Krug’ which to which he replied ‘Hahahahaha’ I then replied ‘ As long as it isn’t Asti-SPEWmanti or Moet I don’t mind’
By the time I arrived at my destination I had started to warm to the idea of this ‘romantic meal’ and as I walked through the front door the smell was incredible, the table was set and with candles.the works, he poured me a glass of champagne and gave me a very lovely kiss. I say lovely, which it was except I always forget if you kiss someone with a beard their aftershave is on it – ummm not so nice, asphyxiating in fact, I was always of the belief that kisses should be intoxicating not the former. He said he was going to put on some music. ‘ I have an eclectic taste in music, that’s a word I learned five years ago, now everyone is using it’ I nodded. In my head I was starting to see slight speckles of red, but I decided that maybe considering all the effort he’d gone to, I would relax. Relax? the eclectic mix started with Motorhead now whilst I like Lemmy and the lads I hardly think it’s conducive for a romantic night, next was AC/DC and when Anthrax came on my headache was starting to return.
Not quite my idea of a romantic play list
We sat down to supper. I cannot fault him on his culinary prowess it was the best spaghetti Bolognaise I have ever tasted, the pasta was perfect and the homemade bread divine, I complimented him on his amazing triumph and then he started talking, He talked at me for two hours. Now I know, pot, kettle, black, but I do listen and actually interact with people I am in conversation with. Not him. He proudly told me about all the ‘scrapes with the Polizi’ he’s been in and how he’s ‘decked more blokes than I’ve had hot dinners’ That was supposed to impress me I guess? It didn’t and I don’t think it impressed him much when I asked ‘ Why do you celebrate such violence by laughing?’ He decided to change the subject rapidly by talking about his latest triumph, a lemon drizzle cake. He then appeared with it. I loathe cake, but out of politeness I ate it. He is going to be a master baker by all accounts.
Home James and don't spare the horses.
After supper we sat down and I got the distinct impression there maybe other things on his mind so I excused myself, I actually had gone from feeling very warm towards this chap to freezing cold within the space of an hour and the thought of anything remotely extra-curricular was making my blood run cold. He poured new wine into my wine glass, which already had other wine in it. I asked him why and he said ‘ Oh look you posh totty all wine tastes the same’ I wasn’t going to waste my breath with no actually it doesn’t, I made a quick exit citing early meetings and arrived home before midnight virtue in tact and very happy to see my cat.
He did text this morning to apologise, I graciously accepted. I really don’t think there is any need to go and buy a hat dear reader. I am not saying never again to this dating thing ….
So for at least tomorrow.
The justice in fairness..
Who originally coined the phrase ‘ It’s not fair’ ?
When you think of that phrase you automatically think of children using it when their attempts to ‘get’ something have been thwarted by their parents.
What is fair? Does it mean balance? Justice? Equality?
So much in life, referring to the bigger picture is not fair, poverty, starvation, oppressive regimes, bullying the list is endless. When we move it closer to home does it mean any less? No, of course not. Usually the expression is born from frustration or resignation to certain aspects of ones life and a far cry from not being allowed that extra half an hour on the PS3.
game of life?
My cousin said those three words to me last night during a hugely emotional conversation about her dying brother. A tall, strong man who has given so much time to others welfare in her eyes being repaid in this cruel and painful way when his immediate family have suffered so much heartache already losing their eldest child at eight years old to a brain tumour -wasn’t that enough? Is it fair? Is there justice in this tragic turn of events? I don’t think so, but it is what it is and my only wish now is a peaceful and quick end to his journey.
Are they the same by a hairs breath or totally different? Does one sound petulant and one sound grown up? Is there any reason to why people are challenged more than others in this wonderful game of life? People often comment about the things that consistently seem to happen to me, the most common being ‘ It’s just not fair, you are far too lovely for all these awful things to keep happening to you and your family’ What has being lovely or not got to do with it? Isn’t it the general rule of thumb that those who are perceived as lovely always get the thin edge of the wedge, when so many disreputable types just carry on without an ounce of challenges or grief? Or am I just being my over cynical self? It just seems that way sometimes when you open a newspaper or watch the news.
Or a game of chance and opportunity?
I think I have actually used that expression once, when I was eight I was told I had to go to bed before David Soul came on TOTP.. ‘It’s not fair’ I muttered resentfully under my breath. Oh how little did I understand then about fairness or justice. I most certainly do now. I never ever use the expression directly in relation to me, I don’t see the point, life is what it is and frankly going back to the bigger picture it’s hugely important to remember no matter what that there are millions of others either in similar situations or a lot worse. Mama often berates me for saying that there are always people so much worse off and says I am allowed the odd moment of self indulgence sometimes. Then I look at her, my Mama, with terminal cancer and a plethora of additional health problems and she most certainly is never self indulgent so why with a role model like that would I ever consider being anything other than the way I am?
I can’t justify it to myself, I choose to carry on, even if the ‘porridge wading’ is thick on occasion, there is always a solution and the ability to simply accept that this is life, my life, our life for what it is. We are thankful for everything we do have and actually that equates to huge riches in all the important things in life, which means we are so very lucky. Fairness and justice aside, of course!
So with eternal optimism …take it away Mr. Davis jnr
Lament to my Landrover….
Yesterday I got back from the snowy wastes of HQ to find my car had been stolen. Yes, I know, another thing but the year is still is young and my heart is still forgiving and open. I am so grateful for my learning acceptance from great teachers over the past 8 months and I think yesterday’s debacle has more than proved my succeeding in my new learning.
Calm personified
A year ago I’d have gone mad, I’d have completely lost the plot, screamed shouted, taken it out on everybody I love and then felt wretched, but yesterday I was as calm as a mill pond after the initial shock had subsided. There were tears. Oh come on already, I may have learned acceptance, but this is me, I cry at TV commercials. I’m not sure why I cried, maybe tiredness, frustration, lack of bloody nicotine? Once I had stopped I ventured downstairs to my neighbours to ask if they’d seen anything. Yes they had, a man,on Saturday afternoon standing by my car, looking at it. I understand the conversation went something akin to this:
‘What do you want with this lady’s car?’ Neighbour
‘I’m taking it, she has asked me too, it’s all been sorted out, I’ve paid her.’ Man in Jeans
With that my neighbour went in through the front doors and when he looked later my car was gone. He is sorry, I am sorry too, this is the second time in 8 years this has happened. He let three teenage boys drive away in my convertible on their say so, that I had sold them my car. I didn’t have the energy, inclination or where with all to loose my rag yesterday, he took the mans word for it, a man who he has no recollection of apart from the fact that he was wearing jeans.
When you have a car stolen it’s an odd sensation. I found it thoroughly unpleasant the first time, I had just bought my Landrover and the plan was to put my ailing convertible into mothballs and take it to HQ ( family seat) it had been an extraordinary day, I had been made redundant and not in the best frame of mind to be talking to the police or my neighbour who spent a hour begging me to forgive him. Eight years ago I was not in the same place I am now although I do remember forgiving him.
My pride and joy, no laughing at the hair !
The police found my car, trashed and it was not a pretty sight. I remember feeling absolutely devastated. I signed the papers to have it crushed and handed the keys over. I couldn’t bear the thought of having it back. Then some six months later I saw someone driving it, by that time I felt detached enough to think ‘ Och well, someone gave it some love and she’s been given a second life’ I actually felt pleased after getting over the initial gut wrenching moment.
I had my Landrover. Now we’ve never had the best of relationships, I have often referred to it as ‘the money pit’ so many things have gone wrong with it, the worst being replacing the engine £4k, that was enough to make a grown woman cry in the middle of Putney High Street after a call from the garage, I can tell you- I was that grown woman. There’s was a huge list of ailments and equally expensive price tags and by the time the ABS went a couple of years ago I’d had enough.
Now all that's left is an empty space
I did not have another £2k and so I decided to let the tax run out and just keep it till I could figure out a way to get it fixed. It’s amazing how you acclimatise to not having a car, especially in London. I know the public transport infrastructure leads a lot to be desired most days but you do get from A-B eventually!
Then I broke my arm, so I have not been able to drive for 18 months and faced with my new surgery it’s going to be at least another year before I am fit to get behind the wheel of a car. Is that the point? Am I trying to justify my feelings by for once in my life being logical?
In some respects I probably am. However, with life the way it is right now suddenly a huge lump of metallic black and chrome car seems horribly unimportant. I’m not keen at looking at the empty parking space or the fact that I’ve lost a few personal belongings, or even that someone saw fit to take something that belongs to me but that’s it, it’s happened, gone, finito.
Apart from it being jolly useful on trips to Ikea or long journeys to France on holiday, there is only one time I have felt happy driving this car and that was July 8 2005, the day after the atrocities of 7/7 where I decided terrorists weren’t going to stop me going to work. Driving over London Bridge and through the deserted city it made me feel safe in my rather eerie surroundings. It was rather reminiscent of driving a tank and I felt very grateful for that feeling and rather proud to be driving a British car that day.
To the man that saw fit to steal my car, I hope you don’t have to brake suddenly or you’re in all sorts of strife and to my neighbour, John, once was stoopid, twice is careless!
Finally to prove I have a sense of humour
