Holidays

I can’t tell you how relieved I was to finish work last Thursday evening knowing that a) I had done my last day of working two different roles and b) on Monday we were going on holiday.

It’s been absolutely knackering wearing two different “work hats” for the last 2 months. I’ve been doing my old job whilst writing up processes, making lists of tasks, creating a daily checklist and weekly plan, and then training my successor to do my old job. And, since 1st June I’ve been doing aspects of my new role, attending Teams meetings (a totally alien concept to me), trying to understand exactly what it is the new company is working towards, getting an idea of what’s expected of me and lots of stuff that’s made my very tired old brain hurt.

Add in to that a 3-night break away for A to Brighton with college friends, at the same time that T was going off to Ibiza for 4 nights. No kids around? Sounds ideal. But in reality it was just added stress: wondering how A was going to cope with living with 3 other people who aren’t me, K or T (which can be difficult for her at the best of times!), wondering if she was going to need our support (and if so, in what form) and wondering how she was going to feel when she came home. Wondering if T was going to take care of himself (i.e, not getting burnt to a crisp, not getting alcohol poisoning and making it home in one piece). Yes, he’s an almost 21 year old with a very responsible job but he’s also a 21 year old going on his first lads holiday. And to San Antonio. What’s not to worry about?!

And yet again the difference between my 2 kids could not be more stark. A messaged me every morning to say hi and to tell me how she was doing. I hadn’t asked her to. She just did. She messaged me every evening to ask when we could FaceTime (FYI, her 3 friends also spoke to their parents every evening- there’s a lot to be said for going away with other ND people) and we spoke about her day: what she’d eaten, what she’d bought (badges, clothes, a Jelly Cat tiger, a present for me…) and how she was finding it. Bearing in mind she hadn’t been on so much as a one-night sleepover since she was about 13, going away for 3 nights with 3 people she’s only known to any real degree for about 6 months, is pretty daunting. But she enjoyed it, she had Zero meltdowns and she would do it again. Absolute result. On the other end of the scale, T messaged me once from the airport on the outward journey to say they’d been delayed and then once to say when they had eventually arrived. Apart from that, the only way I had of knowing he was still alive was the 2 stories he put on Instagram when they were at a club at around 5am. K had slightly more contact, but only because he needed to ask him to sort something out with his car. But he eventually got home at 8am on Monday before K, A and I left to come to Center Parcs. He looked more knackered than when he comes off a week of nights and his back was sunburned but he’d had a good time.

Knowing we were coming to Center Parcs was bliss. We’ve been lucky enough to come many times over the years since T was a baby and there’s a lot to be said for knowing what to expect and knowing what you need to pack. It’s definitely been easier for A as there are far fewer unknown variables to worry about. That doesn’t mean it’s a total walk in the park forest – there’s still been worries: “what if I’m sick like I was that time we went when I was 11?” “What if my nose piercing gets infected from being in the swimming pool?” “What if my ears get blocked (from being in the pool) and I can’t hear?” “What if ….?” Thankfully we were able to rationalise a lot of the worries but they were still bubbling away below the surface. Thankfully we were only driving 25 minutes away to Woburn so the anticipation was short and once we’d arrived and walked around and familiarised ourselves her breathing became slower and she stopped saying “I love you” every 2 minutes (a sure sign that she is heading towards a big anxiety moment).

Seeing her huge joy at being somewhere familiar and yet still exciting is priceless. Seeing her beaming face when she and K have ridden the rapids and the slides for the first, second, third time is priceless. And for us to know she’s enjoying herself makes it easier for us to relax and enjoy ourselves too. She’s such great company, we laugh a lot and although we know that some down time will be needed later, it’s all worth it. No opposition from either K or me when she wants to just chill out and watch a Potter film.

This morning (after a restless first night on ALL our parts) K and A took to the treetops and did a Go Ape style challenge, which was WAY out of either of their comfort zones. I’m far too terrified of heights to take part, so I was on camera duty at ground level. They were both very, very nervous getting their gear on, and we had a bit of a hairy moment trying to tape up all of As piercings. At one point during the safety briefing I thought A was going to bail, but they were soon heading up the tower and waiting for their turn to step out onto the first section. It looked utterly terrifying from where I stood, and there were a couple of times that my heart was in my mouth – I couldn’t see them for some of the course as there are only a couple of viewing points but I could hear A saying “I don’t think I can do this…” and then a little scream followed by a little whoop meaning she’d bloody done it. Then hearing her say to K “are you ok?” was so lovely. Then they were eventually back in my view and I was able to watch them complete the rest of the course, through slightly misty eyes as I was so ridiculously proud of them both. Apart from his zip line experience in Wales 2 years ago, K has never done anything like this before but he didn’t hesitate to agree to it when A asked him. They finished off with a zip line across the lake and then there was the relief of being back on the ground. Neither of them would say they’d enjoyed it and neither of them EVER want to do anything like it in future but they bloody did it. Just brilliant.

Meanwhile, I’ve felt my shoulders go back to their rightful place, my headache has gone, my brain feels less frazzled and I might even go so far as to say I’m almost feeling relaxed. It’s been an easy enough two days: we’ve dealt with any moments of anxiety and moved on; we’ve sat and drank coffees with nothing to rush off for; we’ve eaten food we fancied at the time rather than planning ahead (well, maybe a bit of planning ahead but hours rather than days); we’ve sat doing absolutely nothing, with no guilt, no ‘we should be doing x’; we’ve laughed and we’ve enjoyed each others company; we’ve walked a lot; we’ve seen muntjacs wandering around; we’ve chatted to people (staff, not other guests – do you know me at all?). And we’ve got another three days to go. If they’re even half as good as the last two I’ll be more than happy.

All a bit much

Blimey, it’s been two months since I last wrote anything and we are almost halfway through the year. There have been some happy moments but there’s no getting away from the fact that 2023 has been pretty shitty so far. You know when you think “how much worse can it get?” and the universe says “pretty bad, actually”? Yes, that.

Our road trip to see Auntie H was even more perfect than we could have hoped. The journey down was brilliant – 5.5 hours door to door with 2 stops along the way. (Thanks to P for driving, it was a pleasure to be a passenger for once, and even in the back seat – anti-sickness tablets were consumed.) Auntie H looked so well. We all cried a bit when we arrived, we all cried even more when my cousin K and his wife and little girl arrived unexpectedly at breakfast the following morning – he had secretly planned it all out with his brother, sneaky boys, and had left Hertfordshire at about 10pm the previous evening to be able to spend some time with us all (I haven’t seen him or his brother, who lives in Cornwall near Auntie H, since my nan’s funeral in 2019 so it was all pretty overwhelming). You know when you see someone and can’t work out why they are there and how they are there and suddenly you realise what’s going on and Surprise, Surprise?! I kept expecting to see Cilla appear, although I do, of course, know that she’s dead. We all cried a bit at other points during the weekend and again, the worst of all when we had to leave. We also laughed, and laughed, and talked about things from the past – some difficult things that have never been spoken of before – and hugged and ate lovely food and walked on the beach and some of us even slept pretty well in our hotel beds. It was all pretty bloody perfect. The crying wasn’t a bad thing, it’s what we do when we’re with people we love and haven’t seen for a long time and don’t know when we will see them again.

And unfortunately, the news isn’t great. It turns out that Auntie H has got cancer, and not a treatable, remove it or get rid of it with chemo kind. She is having chemo (round 1 went in at the end of May) but it is in an attempt to buy her some more time, maybe a year. And if it makes her feel awful she won’t continue, her choice, which we totally respect. It’s so hard to comprehend – when we saw her she looked SO well. Better than she has looked in a long time. The sea air and the change of environment (they moved down to Cornwall in 2020) has made such a difference to her. But, still this has happened. It’s so incredibly, bloody unfair. We’re all devastated but being positive and supportive and loving her with all our hearts. It’s all we can do. It’s hardest of all for my mum, wanting to be near and support her sister through this, but being so far away. But we will make sure another visit is arranged soon.

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It’s hard to see someone you love in pain and grieving. My best friend in all the world has had the most horrendously sad and devastating loss of her lovely mum. I can only begin to imagine how it feels to deal with the death of a parent, at any age. I know it’s inevitable, especially as we are getting older, to see friends and relatives going through this, but nothing anyone can say could possibly make it any less unbearable. And then to hear of the death of one of her oldest friends a few short weeks later just seems ridiculously cruel. I’m so sorry my lovely friend, I know you will read this and it will make you cry some more, but I can’t not speak of it. You are a massive part of my world and your pain is my pain and I wish I could do anything to take it away. I love you.

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My Dad grew up in St Albans and the boy (Roy) who grew up next door to him has remained his friend to this day. When my parents were due to move to Harpenden via Barnet when my brother was born, they happened to be moving into the road along from where Roy and his wife Sheila were living with their 2 boys. My nan (dad’s mum) asked Sheila to pop round and see if my mum needed any help. I think she had an inkling that my mum was not very au fait with babies. My mum has always credited Sheila with my brothers survival as she remembers Sheila suggesting getting a bottle warmer for upstairs to help with the night feeds. Night feeds? What do you mean? Well, they need feeding at night as well….. Oh! They soon became firm friends, and Sheila and Roy were a massive part of my childhood and teenage years as their daughter Becky and I were also very close (we were bridesmaids at each others weddings). Anyway, fast forward 50 plus years (80 for dad and Roy) and they are still the best of friends. Becky and I have had periods of limited contact over the years but have been back in touch again more recently. Sheila was rushed into hospital a few weeks ago with shortness of breath and, after nearly 2 weeks in the L&D, was discharged home after being diagnosed with a heart condition. No sooner was she home than Roy was admitted with severe stomach pains, which turned out to be a ruptured bowel and sepsis. He was given emergency surgery with less than 1% chance of survival. He did survive the surgery but is still fighting sepsis. He is very poorly and news changes from day to day. He is renowned for his awful jokes which I have always loved. My favourite was “when we used to go to Verulam lakes as kids, the ducks would throw bread at us, we were so poor”. We are all hoping that his fighting spirit from his “tough childhood” sees him through.

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In other news – I have a new job. I am still working for the same two guys but for a new company that they have set up. I’ll be the office manager and dealing with HR admin, financial control, some procurement and anything else they decide to throw at me. I’m currently training a colleague to do my current job and transitioning to the new role by the 1st July (at which point I go on holiday for a week!). It’s exciting and challenging but I’m ready for a change and I’m going to give it a year to see how it pans out. By then A will be finished with college and won’t need the flexibility that the job allows me. For now, I’m learning some new stuff and being made to use my brain again which is overwhelming at times but in a positive way, so far!

More other news – T has undertaken and successfully completed his response driver training so is now whizzing around on blues and twos. I’m well pleased for him and proud in equal measure. He’s the youngest response driver in his nick and I think that’s pretty bloody good.

A has one more exam to go and then she has finished her sixth form at ESA. Year 14 beckons after a summer of short breaks away and bus trips and some time to chill out without any pressures. She’s come a long way in the last 2 years and she deserves some fun.

Here’s to some better news when I next put fingers to keyboard. In a few weeks we head off on our first short break – up the road to Woburn Center Parcs and I for one cannot wait. Floating on the lazy river, eating nice food, walking loads and spending time with 2 of my favourite people – bring it on.

Lots of love.

Fancy a catch up?

It’s been a while hasn’t it? I find it hard to blog when I’m in the thick of things and March continued much the way it started, pretty much like the year so far.

Auntie H has seen the consultant and they are 70% sure it is cancer. She has 3 nodes in her lung and the lump in her tummy. The nodes are almost certainly secondaries from when she had breast cancer. The lump in her tummy is sort of self-contained and not atatched to any organs so they are not so concerned about that. She was told that because she looks and feels so well they don’t want to start treatment straight away. So she will go back in 5 weeks (about 3 weeks now as this was a few weeks ago) for another scan and blood results and go from there. If she needs chemo it will probably be tablet form rather than intravenous which will be much less awful for her. Meanwhile, my brother P is going to take M&D and I on a road trip to Cornwall to see her and spend some time with her. We head off at the end of the month for the weekend. It’s a long way to go for 2 nights but will be totally worth it to be able to see her. None of us has seen her since last summer and then only for a few hours. I can’t wait.

In other news, I have been struggling to sleep, mainly due to a combo of K snoring and my hip pain. K kindly gave me a reprieve and slept downstairs for a week but of course, the night he came back upstairs he was snoring worse than ever and it resulted in a few crossed words (to say the least). I am really not good when I haven’t slept and we are not the best at resolving things without one or both of us getting cross and the inevitable tears from me. But once we calmed down we reached a compromise and K has started taking an anti-histamine before he goes to bed plus he’s using a nostril opener which I bought him months ago. At the risk of jinxing it, it’s been so much better and the only thing keeping me awake has been my hip. More on that later.

I took a well needed break over the first week of the Easter break. K was working and A and I had no plans other than a trip to London for our April theatre booking to see “A Streetcar Named Desire” starring Paul Mescal (he of Normal People and Aftersun fame). On Monday we got the bus to St Albans. The bus stops right at the bottom of our very short road and goes to St Albans via Flamstead and Redbourn. It takes around 23 minutes and – to our amazement – it cost us each the grand total of £2 each way. We later discovered that the local authority has capped single tickets to £2 until the end of June, so 2 single journey tickets were cheaper than buying a return. But why were we getting the bus?, I hear you ask. A wants to be more independent and I am all for it. She currently relies on K and I for lifts whereever she needs to go and she does not want to learn to drive. Living in a small semi-rural village does not make life easy for those that rely on public transport but it is not a complete no-no. Getting the bus to St Albans is a lifeline of sorts. Once there she can get the Thameslink line to London and beyond. She can also get the Abbey Flyer to Watford Junction where, again, she can get onward travel to just about anywhere. With her (hopefully) starting a traineeship in September she may well need to get to places that I just can’t help with and so this is a good starting point for a bit of independence. The bus was a doddle, so much so that I am not ruling it out as an option for myself! The only downside is it doesn’t run much past 6pm and not at all on Sundays. However, after the success of our trip on Monday she was very keen to try another option and when her friend asked her to meet him in Watford on Wednesday she asked me to drop her at the Abbey Flyer to try that out for size. Again, it was an absolute doddle – 1 platform, 1 train that goes back and forth between St Albans and Watford Junction – easy-peasy. So pleased with her confidence and she got the bus to St Albans on her own this week and despite a bit of a wobble worrying that she had missed it (it was running a few minutes late) she was absolutely fine. She met up with friends and had a great time. Several boxes ticked in a short space of time.

The theatre was great, the show was a complete change from the uplifting and joyful shows we have seen before. Despite it being very simply staged it was atmospheric and dark and brilliantly acted. We both loved it. Unfortunately, although we had heard that Paul Mescal is known for being very generous with his time to anyone waiting at the stage door (or “stage-dooring” as we have since found out it is called), because we had been to the matinee performance we were told by the security team that he would only be appearing after the evening performance. We were not keen to wait until after 10pm on the off-chance that A might be able to meet him, so we headed off home slightly disheartened, but we had thoroughly enjoyed the show and were not disappointed.

My hip. So the latest news I had was that I had 3 options – to carry on as I was (in pain and not really sleeping very well); have a hip replacement (at not quite 51 this seems very drastic and not advisable); or to have another injection, but this time into the actual hip joint (rather than just into the bursars on the outside area as before) – under sedation in theatre. I plumped for the third option. Unfortunately, the health insurance company said otherwise and won’t cover me for the injection as it is not deemed to have any medical benefit. The irony is that they would cover me for a hip replacement at about ten times the cost. Bonkers. So I have reached the end of the road as far as the ortho consultant is concerned, at least from a private perspective. So, I contacted an osteopath (local in the village) to see if she felt she might be able to help – to which she replied “absolutely”. I saw her on Tuesday and it as brutal but she thinks I will only need a couple of sessions before I see a massive improvement. She is treating my entire right leg from the big toe to the middle of my back. It wasn’t the worst experience of my life but it was very very ouchy. However, if it does some good and means I can sleep better and perhaps even get back to doing Pilates again I will be more than happy to endure it. I go back in 2 weeks for more pulling, grappling and cracking. Watch this space.

T has officially completed his 2 year probation period and is now no longer a student officer. He was due a handshake with the Supernintendo (not his real name) in early March but it’s been postphoned for a few weeks time. In the meantime he has reached the top of the list for the response driver course and in a few short weeks will be spending every day for 3 weeks driving at high speed across the country and – hopefully – qualifying at the end of it. He is thrilled. I am terrified. But it was inevitable. And just like all the other worrying things, I have to trust that the training will see him right and he will stay safe and all will be well. It only seems like a few months that he was a cadet going to fortnightly sessions. Now he is a fully qualified officer, and this weekend he is part of the team that are taking cadets on a weekend away. It’s all gone so very, very quickly.

In other news, I am loving the brighter days, the sunnier weather, the lighter evenings. But what I am loving more than any of those things is having washing out on the line. I don’t know why but it makes me SO happy. The garden took a battering during the winter and the snow has seen off most of the plants that I bought last year for the side raised bed so it’s back to the drawing board and yet again it is a work in progress. I was heartened to hear that that my sister in law was in the same position as she is a MUCH better and more knowledgeable gardener than me (it’s not hard to be). It’s good to know I am not alone. So, more trips to the garden centre are on the cards and I couldn’t be happier. And it’s an excuse to be out with my bestie and she needs all the normality she can get right now as her mum has been in hospital for a month and it’s all pretty stressful. A trip out to Burstons may not seem like a big deal to anyone else but it can be a real lifeline at times like these.

I can’t think of much else to say right now. We have a couple of nice weekends ahead – lunch with friends for a birthday and then our nieces wedding the weekend after, hotly followed by the Cornwall road trip.

More updates soon.

Lets just skip straight to March….

So January was pretty s**te and, despite my high hopes, February was pretty bloody atrocious. With the death of a relation of my dads – who he and mum were very close to – and then my lovely Auntie L finding a lump that has turned out to be malignant, topping the list of horrible news, it wasn’t a great month. At least we had A’s 18th birthday to look forward to on the 3rd March. Until I caught bloody Covid and scuppered some of the plans. Eff off February.

But, she was still able to get her tattoos done, which look fabulous and she is thrilled with them, and she was still able to go to the party that Ella hosted for her on the Saturday night, despite constant worry from the moment I tested positve to the night itself that she was going to start showing symptoms. Thankfully she, T and K have all seemed to avoid it. I was very good and totally isolated myself as soon as I knew and didn’t even get to hug my lovely girl on her birthday. We had to cancel all family plans – so no meal out on her birthday with M&D and postphoned cake afternoon with P&C. But all was not lost and she still had a great time. The party was a huge success with people telling her it was the best party in ages, due to the Great Gatsby era theme and how much they had all embraced it. The boys all looked like extras from Peaky Blinders and the girls looked stunning. A is part of a great group of friends who all seem to be on the same page with regards to their outlook on life and she is increasingly comfortable in a social situation, possibly helped by the discovery of wine. It’s just a learning curve to know when she’s had enough socialising and planning in recovery days to try and avoid any drastic burnout. It’s so tempting to say yes to everything but she is learning that sometimes saying no is the best thing for her own well-being.

We spent most of last week wondering if she was going to start showing symptoms before our trip to see The Cursed Child. It was booked nearly a year ago and has been much anticipated that it would have been a cruel twist if she had been poorly, but thankfully the day arrived and all was well. We had a brilliant time, and were so engorssed in the action on stage that we hardly noticed how little legroom and how uncomfortable the seats were. We had an amazing view and the show was spectacular. Neither of us really knew what to expect as we had deliberately kept ourselves in the dark about it. But we had high hopes for it and it exceeeded all expectations. Clever, very funny and the staging was incredible – some seriously amazing illusions. We loved it.

We then spent the rest of the weekend with the things we had to reschedule the previous weekend. Unfortunately, my dad had another eye injection on Friday so wasn’t feeling up to the lunch out on Staurday (rearranged from A’s actual brithday) but mum came and then my brother and his wife and my nephew came over for cake in the afternoon. Then Sunday was the turn of K’s brother to come and see us – unfortunately his mum had Covid so we are yet to see his mum and dad – with his wife and their grandson, our great-nephew. He’s such a lovely little boy, a real credit to his amazing mum. By Sunday night I was Knackered with a capital K. Friday had been such a long day and, although all we were doing was eating and talking, the rest of the weekend had really taken it out of me. Factor in a bad nights sleep and I could quite happily have spent yesterday in bed.

Tomorrow my Auntie goes to the hospital to see the consultant and get the results of the array of tests she has had done to see what we are dealing with. It’s so hard with her being all the way down in Cornwall but she is getting fantastic NHS care there and we know she is in the best hands. It would likely have been a very different scenario if she had still been living in Cheshunt. We know it’s not going to be good news but we have to just keep hoping and praying that it isn’t the worst. She has her son P and his family nearby who are a massive support to her and she and Mum speak or text every single day. She knows how much we all love her and Nan will definitely be keeping an eye on things. Thinking positive thoughts.

Goodbye January, you will not be missed

I had hoped to start 2023 with more regular blog posts, but January has not been my friend and I’ve struggled to find anything worth writing about.

January is a tough month normally anyway. But following on from a different Christmas (and not always in a good way) to a long month of very cold weather, low moods and not being able to exercise has left me not unhappy to see the back of it.

A has struggled being back at school and has been lacking motivation to get work done. She finds this challenging in itself as she loves her course and the school, but she had a very sociable break (in her world, two nights out in the space of a week is a lot) and I think she was already feeling burned out before she went back. This generally always snowballs and leaves her feeling very low. Add on to that more socialising in close succession last weekend and she is now only good for a few days in bed, unable to really explain how she is feeling. Alexithymia is common for people with austism and she certainly falls into that category. Good old Google has given me a definition to give you – Alexithymia is a term to describe problems with feeling emotions. In Greek, it loosely translates to “no words for emotion.” She literally cannot tell us how she is feeling other than low. It’s pretty hard to support her when she is in this headspace, and, other than simply being available, there is little we can do other than ride it out and know that she will slowly reappear. This, of course, impacts on the rest of us (me mostly, but T and K are naturally concerned and try to help as much as possible in an impossible-to-help situation) and it weighs quite heavily.

Not being able to exercise is really not helpful to my general mood but I’m having my third and final shockwave session tonight (of round two) and that will be it. I’m not allowed to exercise during the 3-week set of treatments and so I was out of action for most of December too. Unfortunately I’m still not really seeing any benefit from the treatment and am pretty resigned to having pain/discomfort going forward. I’m not ready for any sort of invasive solutions and I’m not sure what else, if anything, the phyiotherapist has up her sleeve. I am desperate to get back out walking again and feel very lethargic (and lardy) as a result of not moving. I’ve got a walk planned with the lovely (ex-)Poppies (we are all retired from Poppy duties now but the name still sticks in my brain) on Saturday morning. I’m not sure how far I will get but I’m happy to try! With Spring not far away, I am determined to get back out in the fields and would love to get back to my Covid-days fitness when I was walking 4 miles a day. I’m not sure I will manage the same distances but I am going to give it my best shot.

It would have been Nan’s birthday yesterday and I know it’s always a hard time for Mum and the rest of the family. Nan loved birthdays and we always went to see her – no matter what the weather threw at us – and it always made a lovely end to a miserable month. I think of her every day and wished her a happy birthday yesterday. She’s still a massive source of comfort and I hear her voice telling me to stay positive.

Now, January is finally over and we can start to look forward.

As well as Spring around the corner (I can see shoots appearing in plant pots around the garden!) we’ve got A’s 18th birthday to celebrate in a few weeks time and then our Cursed Child theatre trip. I’ve just booked us tickets to see Paul Mescal (he of Connell in Normal People fame) in A Streetcar Named Desire in the Easter holidays so our April trip is sorted. It won’t be long then until A finishes 6th form and will be enjoying a long summer break (with a return to school for Prom in July – she has her dress and Converse boots purchased ready and waiting in the wardrobe) and we’re thinking about holidays, with some ideas already on the table. We just need T to let us know if he is able/wants to come with us and we can get booking.

Much to be positive about.

Starting as we mean to go on

A and I had a few trips to the theatre last year, most notably to see Dirty Dancing and &Juliet, which we enjoyed enormously. We agreed that we would try and see more in the coming year, and we started off yesterday by going to see The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe at the Gillian Lynne theatre on Drury Lane. It was a 1pm start which was ideal – not too early to be rushing and not an evening one returning in the dark. We set off in good time with the intention of visiting the shop and cafe at the Harry Potter Photographic Exhibition in Covent Garden which we’d visited last year. A was keen to buy some Spectre Specs which she hadn’t been able to get from the studio tour shop back in November. We were so disappointed to find that the exhibition is now closed and the shop and cafe with it. It was a wet, miserable day so we decamped to a local Nero to wait until it was time to head to the theatre, a 5-minute walk away.

We’d not been to this theatre before (in fact I have to confess to not having heard of it before) but we found it easily thanks to the huge colourful picture of Aslan on the side of the building and the queue of people waiting to go in. We got in and made our way up the escalator (a first for me in a theatre) and then the many steps, as we were in the dress circle. Our seats were on the side but that was no issue at all and we still had a great view of the stage (at £20 a pop we were NOT complaining). I was on the end seat, there was no-one behind us and A had an empty seat next to her, so a massive WIN. No annoying people with fans and bare feet (see All over again/&Juliet/injections) like last time!

The show started with a lone pianist dressed in war-time clothes who was tinkling away at We’ll Meet Again. The stage soon became filled with others in similar costumes playing instruments, plus a couple of soldiers and then they started singing the song. I don’t know why, but I found myself crying – bloody hell, the show had literally just started – but it was so evocative and moving. And from that moment on we were gripped. The story is familiar to us from the book and the film and we were worried how it would translate to the stage. But it was so well adapted, with extraordinary props and people flying up into the air, the music and songs (created for the show) were wonderful and fitted in so well with the drama (unlike some musical theatre where every opportunity for a song is taken, the music and singing was used to create drama not just for the sake of it). It was simply breathtaking. A kept saying to me “this is incredible”. We were glad we hadn’t read or seen much about it beforehand as it was totally unexpected and magical. We loved it.

Our next planned trip is to see The Cursed Child play, the week after A’s brithday. It’s in two parts and we are seeing both parts back to back on the same day – around five hours in total. I have to say I am a little nervous of how we are going to manage sitting for that long (we have a couple of hours break max between the 2 parts but even so!) in restricted legroom seats (all seats are pretty restricted in this particular theatre, not just us being cheap!). But we are excited, we’ve wanted to go for a long time and obviously with it being Harry Potter A cannot wait. We just have to hope that there is no-one annoying sitting next to us!

We have a growing list of other shows we want to see, so hopefully this is us starting as we mean to go on.

Not necessarily a bad thing

Something brought to mind a comment one of my nieces made when they were VERY little, when they sat on my lap to read a book. “Auntie J, you are very squishy”. At the time I was mortified and didn’t know how to reply. I was probably still overweight from having A (although she would have been about 2 by this point, so no excuse really) and no-one wants to hear that they are squishy. Or do they? I’ve wondered since whether this was actually a compliment. No-one wants to sit on a hard chair….. or a bony lap. Perhaps she was actually saying it was a nice thing. Who knows?

This got me thinking about other things that have been said to me a lot over the years, that I have ALWAYS taken as a negative, and I started to wonder if they too could be spun around to actually being a good thing.

1. You’re too sensitive. I have been told this A LOT. Often by people who have said something unkind and then when I have been upset by it they’ve made that my issue too by implying that someone with a thicker skin would have brushed it off. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to not “take things to heart” and battling with the hurt, feeling silly for feeling upset. I’ve thought it was a Bad Thing. But surely being sensitive is a good thing? Would the same people who call me too sensitive think that was the case if they were hurt or upset and I comforted them? If I felt their pain as keenly as my own and showed them empathy and offered support, based on my understanding of their feelings?
2. Youre too quiet. i.e. boring. I acknowledge that I am an introvert. I am NOT the life and soul of the party – unless the party involves me sitting in a quiet room reading a book, then I am rocking it. I’m unlikely to be invited to a party and on the rare occasion that I am I invariably decline or dread it and leave as soon as humanly possible without causing offence. But, maybe, if I am quiet (which I am not denying) perhaps it is because I am listening to you, hearing what you are saying, reading the room, thinking of something to ask you, wondering what I can say to help you, or to contribute to the conversation. Small talk is not my forte but that doesn’t mean that I don’t like to talk. And when I am quiet, maybe it is a response to you being too loud, perhaps you are dominating the conversation and I am not getting a chance to contribute because I am quieter than you?
3. You’re too polite for your own good. I often get strangers asking me things in supermarkets or talking to me in queues. The kids used to ask my why that man was talking to me. Did I know him? No, he spoke to me and I was just being polite. I would imagine that most people of my generation, when we were kids, were taught to be polite to people older than us, to teachers, doctors. etc. Not to interrupt a grown up when they were talking. Not to make a fuss in public. When I had my kids, I was desperate to be seen to be doing it right. When A had tantrums in public I found it excrutiating (obviously with what we know now, they were understandable) and wanted the ground to swallow me (and her) up and never be seen again. I would never want to offend anyone or be unkind. If something is wrong with a meal in a restuarant I will say something, but as politely as possible and with minimum fuss. I am NOT a pushover but I am never rude for the sake of it. I suppose my politeness has got me into some sticky situations in the past, where I’ve agreed to do something for someone because I was too polite to say no. But not often and normally it has been the source of some joy – talking to strangers can often be very rewarding and hearing other people talk about their lives – even in a short space of time in a queue can give you a whole other perspective on something. Telling someone it was nice to meet them, is maybe the best thing they have heard all day. Would you rather I was brash and loud and told you your coat is horrible? I think not.
4. You’re too picky. If you give me something to do, I will ALWAYS do it to the best of my ability. If I can’t do it, I will tell you or I will ask for help, rather than do it wrong and disappoint you. I like things to be correct, and HATE making mistakes. When I became peri-menopausal one of the things I found the hardest was the loss of concentration, the brain fog. I made silly mistakes at work, silly mistakes at home, was forgetful and just not on the ball. I hated it. I have always prided myself on being conscientious, getting things done and doing them right. But, I only have these high expectations of myself. You do you. Oh, and if I do make a mistake you can bet your bottom dollar I will own up. See next point.
5. You’re too honest. Example one. K, his little brother and I are travelling back from visiting K’s dad in Zimbabwe. We have been travelling a long time. When we get to Heathrow the ticket machines are not working. We board the train expecting to pay the ticket inspector (this was A LONG TIME AGO). We reach our final stop and haven’t had the chance to pay. We are asked at the station where we have come from. I immediately say “Heathrow” when apparently I should have said St Albans (the previous stop). It would have saved us at least a tenner each. We were all skint. I was not popular. Example two. A and I are in town and I notice a £20 note on the ground. I look around to see if I can see anyone who might have likely dropped it. No clues. I cannot in all conscience pick up this note and pocket it. What if some little old pensioner (cliche central) gets to the till in Waitrose and cannot find their money? I picked up the note and placed it on a nearby wall in the hope that they would retrace their steps and find it. This was not the correct response apparently. What a wally. Now, don’t get me wrong, I can fib with the best of them (well, maybe not the best of them, but I’ve had my moments) “no, it looks lovely” (see point 3) or “sorry, I am already busy that night” (reading a book in a quiet room). But doing the right thing, I’ve always wanted to do the right thing. Even if it means I am out of pocket. As a teen I had friends that shoplifted on the regular, dared me to do it too, but I was just too scared of the consequences, it just wasn’t right. I have enough stuff keeping me awake at night, I don’t want to add a guilty conscience to it.

There are others. Some of them are without doubt true – impatient, irritable, a bit of a prevaricator, a bit too serious at times. I never said I was perfect. But maybe I’m not that bad either.

Another year over…. well almost

It’s a very wet, miserable afternoon and I’ve been sitting reading. I’m on book 67 for the year. I set myself a goal of 50 and hit that back at the start of October. 2022 has been a good year for books for me. I became obsessed with the Elly Griffiths “Dr Ruth Galloway” series thanks to Sarah C. I started the year with A Town Like Alice, which I remember watching on TV with mum when I was about 9? but had never read the novel. I loved it. I’ve also read Goodnight, Mr Tom – I think I always associated it as a school text so avoided it, but Mrs L offered a lend of it earlier in the year and after leaving it on my TBR pile for many many months I read it recently and, again, loved it. Other stand outs are: Little Disasters by Sarah Vaughan, Faithful by Alice Hoffman, Small: On Motherhoods by Claire Lynch, A Terrible Kindness by Jo Browning White, Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason and Still Life by Sarah Winman. I’m going to up my target for the coming year to 70. I’ve just picked up four books from the library: the next two Ruth Galloways (the obsession continues); The English Patient; and Kate Weinbergs The Truants. I’ll be finishing the year with Elly Griffiths “The Stranger Diaries” which I’m really enjoying.

This year was the year that also saw A revive her love of reading. The enforced period of time recuperating from her op back in April was the catalyst and it’s gained momentum ever since. She has bookcases in her (tiny) room and having run out of space on those, she’s bought a small trolley – reminiscent of a library book trolley but smaller scale – for her TBR books and she’s been gifted at least four books for Christmas. She’s like me and will read pretty much anything that grabs her attention and I never feel more gratified than when she reads and loves something I’ve recommended. Our joint love of Normal People by Sally Rooney was a high point for me. A was thrilled to find a signed, first edition copy of the book in the Book Nook at her work. She paid £2 for it, and says she will NEVER sell it.

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2022 was the year that we found out that A is Autistic. It’s been a learning curve. Since then she’s got herself a paid Saturday job, working for the National Trust in one of their gift shops. She loves it and seems to be well-liked by her colleagues and the volunteers. She’s made a particular connection with an older woman who now calls A her hair advisor, saying that she won’t allow her hairdresser to do anything to her hair until she’s consulted with A. A calls her cute. She still pops back to see her old workplace at the charity shop and they’re always so pleased to see her. She’s flying at college, getting a high C in her Sociology mock and predicted a distinction star for her Make Up course. She’s applied for year 14/traineeship and has recently had to present her latest work to her class, managing to speak for over 15 minutes. I could not be prouder. She really is the embodiment of determination overcoming adversity. I’m excited for what the next year holds for her.

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This month saw T completing the required written side of his student officer work, getting it signed off 3 months early. He will soon be “confirmed in rank” AKA a fully-fledged officer, rather than a student, hitting his 2 year anniversary of starting with Herts Police on March 1st. He’s had some rough shifts, some funny stories, some tragic ones, but takes it all in his stride and is fully immersed in his team, spending a lot of time with them socially as well as at work. I’m so happy to see him enjoying the only job he’s ever wanted to do, whilst still being himself – funny, caring, thoughtful. The “job” gets to him sometimes but he always brushes it off and just gets on with it.

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This was the year that we had a very successful holiday. Knowing about A’s diagnosis helped enormously and I now feel that we might even be able to venture abroad next year, taking advantage of being able to go during term time as A will finish early. It’ll take some planning but let’s see.

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I can’t believe it’s nearly 12 months since our lovely friend Paul died. It still seems almost inconceivable that he’s not here any more. I still expect to see him in the garden, or hear him singing. We miss his company very much and his cheeky smile. His eldest son has been away at Uni but is back for Christmas. I heard his voice the other day and he sounds so like Paul it took my breath away for a moment. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for Michelle and the boys, or his parents. If we miss him as we do, they must feel it a thousand times more keenly.

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The year certainly feels like it’s flown by. Perhaps in sharp contrast to The Covid Years, we’ve been busier, done more lovely things, had happier days. Perhaps it’s turning 50 and realising that time is ticking away. Perhaps it’s the realisation that we aren’t here forever. In spite of it being A Good Year (Paul’s death the only real blot on that – and much more than a blot but I hope you know what I mean?) I have sometimes missed the time that The Covid Years gave us. I’ve sometimes missed having nothing else to do other than walk, when the work stuff was done. I’ve definitely not walked enough for my liking this year, time and hip pain being the main hindrances. I’m ending the year feeling much more unfit, my clothes are a little tighter, and I’m ready for some changes. Mrs F is keen to start walking again so I’m hoping we will encourage each other and get back out there as often as possible. I’m not making ANY resolutions (I gave that up a long time ago) but I am going into the new year (in lowercase) with cautious optimism. Optimism that I CAN get my fitness levels back to 2020 standard, optimism that I CAN make time for the things I love to do, whilst still being a support to those that need me, and a friend to those who want me.

Now that I’ve looked back, I’m looking forwards. Forwards to more lovely days with the people I love. Sure there’ll be work and school runs and rainy, miserable days. There will no doubt be challenges and aggro. BUT The Covid Years proved that we can get through shit times. This year has proved that we can deal with big stuff, that we can cope with loss and challenges. We’re made of stronger stuff than we thought. In the words of an Excellent Friend (5 stars, would recommend) “how bad can it be?”

See you next year (don’t you just hate it when people say that?)

Lots of love. xx

Tea, Brave, Even Braver, Snow

Two Fridays ago I was lucky enough to go for afternoon tea at Luton Hoo with Mrs F. It was a gift she’d been given for her 50th birthday back in May and I was honoured that she chose me to go with her. Apparently it was a no brainer, but I was honoured nonetheless. And it was just what I needed after a “trying” week. We spent two hours soaking up the surroundings (we’ve been for breakfast a number of times and afternoon tea at least once before, but it never gets boring) and enjoying some delicious food, while having a lovely natter and catch up as we hadn’t seen each other for two weeks. We both agreed that the tiny morsel of sausage roll that we had as part of the tea was the best bit and that we would consider selling our right arms for more. It really was the stuff of legends and we have spoken of it since. Yes, a sausage roll. You’d have to try it to believe it.

Part of the trying week was having to come up with a plan to get A home from college the following Friday. My car was due to go in for some work and an MOT so I was to be without wheels for the entire day. Unfortunately, the usual picker upper from the car share group was unexpectedly unable to pick up that day (and neither was the third person!), leaving us with a bit of a problem. Although A has been going to the college for over a year there hasn’t been any need for her to get the train home, so it was with some trepidation that I mooted the idea. My plan was to get the bus to St Albans, get the train to Borehamwood and meet her there to reverse the journey with her. She deemed the second part unneccessary as there would be plenty of other students getting the train at the same time as her and she would “be fine”. But meeting me in St Albans to get the bus would be good as she had no clue where to pick the bus up from once she’d walked from the station to the town. The plan was made. But as the week wore on leading up to the Friday in question she started to feel nauseous and by Wednesday I had to pick her up from school early as she felt so awful. After a chat, she admitted that she was getting in a bit of a state about the train and worrying about all the possible things that could go wrong. But she continued to insist that she knew had to do it, it would be a good thing to do it (get it over and done with and the next time will be a doddle) and she would be fine. We talked about how she could call me the minute she left college and I would stay on the phone with her until she reached St Albans (if needed). She felt a bit better. However, on Thursday morning we discovered that the MOT (and other work) had been cancelled and would have to be rebooked for the following Monday. She was off the hook. And immediately felt so much better. But I am still in awe of her being brave enough to agree to give it a try and do something out of her comfort zone. We have agreed that it’s still something she should work towards, but maybe on a day when I have the car and can still pick her up if needed.

Last Saturday night was A’s first experience of a works Xmas do. She has been working at the National Trust shop for just over 8 months now and loves it. She loves the people she works with (most of them), the customers (most of them) and the fact that she gets paid for doing something she enjoys (brilliant). The idea of a team meal was suggested and she signed up. Despite a slight misunderstanding over the menu (which resulted in a serious meltdown) she was excited to go. It was arranged at a pub we have not been to before so agreed that we’d get there ten minutes early so we could wait in the car park for someone she knew to arrive so she could go in with them. Best paid plans and all that and I missed the turning and subsequently lost the early advantage. We arrived just before half past when the table was booked for. En route she’d realised she’d forgotten her glasses so woudn’t be able to recognise anyone in the car park anyway! we pulled in to the car park and it was a BIG pub. I offered to go in with her but no. “I’m just going to go. I’m going. I’m going in right now” and she was gone. So brave, again. I’d asked her to send me a quick text to let me know all was well and then I would leave. I got an “all good” a few minutes later so headed for home. The next 2 hours were quite long. Although she gets on really well with her manager and her colleagues she is very much the newbie and they have known each other some time. There were also going to be people there from their sister property (Dunstable Downs) who she had not met before. It’s a bit daunting, plus add in an unfamiliar environment and it’s pretty scary. But I got a text a few hours later asking me to pick her up and she came out to the car beaming from ear to ear, swinging a gift bag and she’d had the best time. Everyone was lovely, the food was lovely, she’d had a lovely chat with everyone. She thinks she might even go along to the next monthly social outing. Win!

Bloody Snow. It’s been getting colder and colder and last night it snowed. I hate it. It makes me so miserable I can’t begin to tell you. I get irritable, anxious, grumpy, unbearable. K very kindly offered to do the school drop off this morning, but that only then led to me being worried that they would a) get stuck in the snow and not be able to get home; b) have an accident. I don’t like being worried but snow makes me completely, irrationally anxious. They had only been gone ten minutes when I saw on Twitter that the school was closing completely after an initial decision to open only to specific year groups (A’s being one of them). I called them, they had just joined the motorway, the next junction was closed so it took them a while to get back but they got back safely (and just in time for K to help some of the neighbours with the ceremonial clearing of the road). Now I just need to wait until some time in the early hours of the morning to hear T coming home from work before it all repeats again tomorow. Bloody snow.

Such a perfect day (almost)

Last Friday I picked M & D up at 8.45am (on the dot – Dad always jokes that I must leave home early and sit around the corner until it is exactly the time I agreed to pick them up. This is not true, I am just a VERY good time keeper, most of the time) and we headed off to spend the day visiting my Auntie Maureen and my cousin Sarah down in Dorking in Surrey.

Auntie Maureen isn’t my actual aunt, she is my dad’s cousin’s wife. But even at the age of 50 it still feels wrong to refer to her just as Maureen. And besides, she and my Uncle Peter (not uncle but…oh do keep up) were a lovely part of my childhood so I will always think of them as Auntie and Uncle. Sadly, Uncle Peter died in March last year and another piece of my Dad’s family history was gone. They have lived in the same cottage for as long as I can remember, with my dad’s Aunt and Uncle living in the adjoining cottage. My dad’s Uncle Gilb(ert) was from Surrey originally and took up a job working as a groundskeeper on the Gorhambury Estate in St Albans when he was a young man. He met my dad’s Aunt May (my grandfathers sister), they got married and when dad’s cousin Peter was a teenager they moved back to Surrey. Peter was 10 years older than my dad (dad being a very late addition to the family, born when my Nan was 40 years old) and dad remembers getting the bus with his mum from St Albans all the way into London and out again down to Dorking to spend a week now and again at The Cottage with his Aunt May and Uncle Gilb.

I have fond memories of visiting as a child. Uncle Gilb was a real character, always laughing and making good-hearted fun of everyone. He liked to wind Dad up especially, with jokes about his parentage (was his dad the milkman? – if you ever met my Nan you would know how ridiculous this was, I guess this made it all the funnier), teasing him about using the outdoor toilet (my dad is not a fan of spiders) and general ribbing. In stark contrast to Aunt May who was always a reserved, almost stern, person who stood for no nonsense. The Cottage is in a beautiful setting with woods just behind it, where we would be dragged for walks as kids by Uncle Peter, me moaning all the time I have no doubt. What I would give for the chance to relive that as an adult now, with my love of walking. The food was always amazing when we visited and Auntie Maureen was such a warm welcoming person, and Uncle Peter with the same (slightly less naughty) sense of fun that his dad had. The only thing I used to hate was the journey. Before the M25 was completed it seemed to take forever and I was always very car sick as a child (some things never change), so I’d generally always be feeling a bit dodgy by the time we arrived.

I hadn’t seen Sarah since late 2017 when she came up to visit and we had a lovely day touring around St Albans, seeing places with family ties – see Family history and I hadn’t seen Auntie Maureen for about 8 years. We hadn’t been able to go to Uncle Peter’s funeral due to Covid. Mum and Dad saw them around 4 years ago, so not quite so long, but neither have seen each other since Uncle Peter died. They email and talk on the phone fairly regularly but a visit was long overdue. We’d planned one earlier this year but hospital appointments conspired against us. Sarah and I keep in touch and we had made it our mission to get them together before the year was out. And we made it! We were apprehensive about going to The Cottage for the first time without Uncle Peter being there but apart from a few tears when we arrived we had what can only be described as a Perfect Day. We laughed a lot, talked a lot, ate some lovely food (some things never change) and it was like stepping back into my childhood for a few hours. The Cottage is relatively unchanged, the garden is still just as beautiful and there is still an outside loo which my dad braved. It’s like a little bit of our history and it seems very important to not forget it. If it had been a bit less rainy in the days preceding our visit I would have loved a wander around the garden. But I am determined that we will get down to visit them again next year so hopefully I will get to see it in all it’s glory then.

A Perfect Day, only marred slightly by the journey home. We’d arrived in record time in the morning, so of course we knew we would have to pay by sitting in nose to nose traffic for almost 2 hours coming home. Better than 2.5 hours on a bus in and out of London but only just.