Monday, 29 November 2010

Very Nearly Christmas!

Christmas round the corner

Money getting tight

Children wait with bated breath

Hopes high for their delight.





Parents counting pennies

Santa`s on his way

apparently with tons of toys

upon his festive sleigh.





Stores crammed full of ideas

tempting all to buy

things that no-one really wants

but we don`t question why.





For it is nearly Christmas

the time of love and joy

Christmas Pud and mistletoe

in abundance to enjoy.





So put away your worries

just paper over cracks

soon we`ll be full of happiness

and mostly on our backs.





Our smiles will reach a million hearts

each and every day

for it`s very nearly Christmas

Our treasured, special day.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

The Rain

The day is done
Silently preparing my home for bedtime
I hear a sound so soft
it's barely audible.
Listening intently, I recognise the sound
of rain
as it falls softly from the night sky
onto my patio below.
It brings with it a sense of security and warmth
as I tiptoe from the room and climb the stairs to the sanctity of my bedroom.
Gazing through my bedroom window
I marvel at the transformation
the weather has made to the familiar view;
as the darkened picture takes on a look of saturated wetness.
The onyx road sparkles as the rain continues to fall
and bounces noisily onto the hard surface.
Leaves surrender and yield under the weight of the continuous onslaught of raindrops.
Puddles soon form
welcoming childen's tiny feet and eager birds
wanting to play.
But there are no children,
for they are tucked in their beds.
I think of those whose beds are made of concrete
Whose duvets are made of cardboard.
Whose homes are shop doorways.
The rain I find so comforting
is their tormentor
and it makes me sad
Life is so cruel.

Saturday, 13 November 2010

Just Once!

Just once, let me feel important, intelligent,
interesting
Just once, let my words be heard, understood,
acknowledged
Just once, feel my passion, my conviction and solitude
in a world of unsettled hostilities
Just once, let me feel worthwhile, useful
and valued
where my thoughts are seen as wise,
knowledgeable and viable
Just once, accept my true being
without criticism or distain,
ridicule or insignificance
Just once, hear my pleas for positive reaction,
encouragement and merit
Just once, do not judge or mock me
trivialising my attempts and and endeavours
Just once, show support, consideration,
empathy and understanding

Just once,
 allow me to be me!

Monday, 25 October 2010

My New Friend

I have just returned home from a glorious thirty six hours with one of the most influential and inspiring people in my life.  As an unpublished writer, I have been constantly and regularly inspired by reading her novels.  Each novel has taken me and her characters on a journey of emotional turmoil, discovery and ingenious story-telling through her exceptional ability to transport the reader from their own lives into a world she has created, living amongst characters she has skillfully developed.  I have put pen to paper for many years, either by songwriting or by writing prose and poetry, but this lady was my main source of inspiration when I considered extending my repetoire by writing a book.  When I first joined Twitter I purposely put her name into the search bar and excitedly clicked the appropriate button to follow her.  Over a period of time we struck up a conversation and before long had become Twitter friends. 
I was soon to discover that not only was she an accomplished and successful novelist, she was also a delightful, amusing and warm Twitterist.  A small like-minded group of us soon became Twitter-close and with the help of tweets and emails formed genuine friendships that we hoped to augment beyond our computer screens.  We excitedly chatted about meeting up and visiting each other. 



When I stepped from the train at Bath Station, the sun shining impressively in the clear blue sky, it was with anticipation and excitement.  Her smile across the concourse was warm and inviting as I passed through the exit at the station.  We hugged and it was the most genuine hug I have experienced for a long long time. 
From that moment on, through the short journey along narrow winding lanes to her beautiful cottage which stood in a quaint English village, we chatted constantly.  She chatted, I listened; I chatted, and she listened.  We rarely stopped, such was our eagerness to discover and learn  about each other. Once inside her exquisitely decorated and adorned cottage, we comfortably wiled away the hours exchanging experiences in our lives.  I eagerly drank her words like an insatiable drunk, wanting more and more.  Her stories, some funny, some heartbreakingly awful, instilled in me a sense of awe and admiration for her ability to recount and impart incidents and anecdotes. She has a million stories to tell and tells them beautifully.

I will never forget the time I spent with her and feel honoured and privileged to have been given the opportunity to spend those few precious hours in the company of someone I hold in such high esteem.  The main thing I have brought home with me however is the genuine warmth and hospitality she generously gave me on my visit.  She is a best-selling novelist whose many books continue to be read and enjoyed the world over and she has made me extremely and unbelievably proud by calling me her friend.


Thank you ................LESLEY PEARSE...............I love you!


Saturday, 2 October 2010

Networking for the under-twelves

Today I had to honour a promise I made to my eleven year old son; the promise of allowing him to have a Facebook account.  Facebook by its nature is a networking site and for several months Cain has been asking me if he could join.  Whilst he was still at primary/middle school, I used the excuse that he was too young and that none of his friends would be using it, so what was the point in him joining up as he would have nobody to speak to.  Things have now changed.  He is now in his third or fourth week at secondary school and the subject has obviously been discussed amongst his new pals. Damn.
So it was with great trepidation and reluctance that I sat at his computer in the dining room and logged into the chosen networking site.  With a little fibbery and adjustments to various stipulations, we finally logged into Facebook.  There was a point when it looked like I might have to receive all his messages on my iphone as they would not accept his email address.  After a little fiddling and fuddling, a new email address was created and I can now rest assured that I will not be receiving messages from Luke, Michael, Jamie and Adam along with the rest of the class at his new school. The mind boggles!
Restrictions in place, stern words of advice on appropriate behaviour given, my little man is now entering the world of networking.  Myself, his older brother and sisters have been added as friends so we will be watching every word that is written on his page. 
 God help anyone who steps out of line!

Saturday, 25 September 2010

Autumn


Vibrant blue,
the sky holds such promise;
fluffly white clouds float aimlessly
making unknown shapes above our heads.
The sun may appear
but it`s strength has been sapped
by the summertime.
The wind from the North
with it`s icy fingers of bitterness
turns green to orange, red, yellow and then brown,
stripping leaves of their loveliness;
to be crunched underfoot.
Wildlife scurries and flurries
looking for warmth;
foraging and hoarding
for the imminent winter.
Bushes robbed of their berries
by chilling winds,
birds must fly south
for warmer climes,
for it is Autumn.

Friday, 3 September 2010

Of Course they Didn`t

First Day at Secondary School

I wanted them to see him as the brightest star
to see him through my eyes
but of course they didn`t.

I wanted them to rush over to him
begging to be his friend
be enchanted by his being
but of course they didn`t.

I wanted them to be enthralled
to want to get to know him
to see his real worth
but of course they didn`t.

I wanted them to see his humour
his intelligence
his good heart
but of course they didn`t.

I wanted them to invite him to join them
make him laugh
and make him welcome
but of course they didn`t.

Instead they clumped together in groups made years ago
not seeing
nor hearing him
for he was not yet one of them.

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Running

Book Extract


I ran away. 
Well, ran to the bus stop at the bottom of the hill, climbed upon the first bus that arrived and ended up three miles away atop a double-decker bus going to Edgware.
I was thirteen when I made the decision to run.  Two of my friends in the home had pestered to come with me, when told of my secret plans for escape. 
We set off excitedly on our adventure, hoping to start our new lives away from the children`s home.  With only a few hours of daylight left, we knew we had little time to plan our break-out, so we didn`t plan. The driver of the bus didnt appear to detect anything suspicious about three teenage girls clambering onto the bus outside the children`s home heavily laden with bulging plastic bags.  Perhaps it happened more often than we realised.  We scurried noisily up the steps of the bus onto the top deck all sharing the same nervousness and exhilaration that only "girls on the run" could possibly feel.  We were on our way!

Wiping  away the condensation from the windows and peering out into the darkness as the driver accelerated into the unknown streets, the three of us chattered  like excited monkeys.  Pulses racing, adrenalin pumping, we became embroiled in our thoughts of what lay ahead although we hadn`t really considered what we would do once we had reached our destination, or indeed, where it would be.  There were no discussions or suggestions on where and how we might live.  It didn`t occur to us that as thirteen year old girls, we actually stood very little chance of surviving in the "real world".
We wanted independence from the home.  We considered we were way too grown up to be treated like the little ones, and anyway, I was the boss and nobody told me what to do!

The journey ended unexpectedly.  With a screech of hydraulic brakes, the driver swung the bus into Edgware Bus Station and stopped.  Startled, we all looked at each other.  We were puzzled.

"Was this it?
What now?
We were not ready!"

We decided to stay put.

"Get off the bus - Everybody off!"  came the booming order from below us.  Aware that we were indeed the only passengers on the bus, we very quickly deduced that the command was, infact, directed at us. 


We had to think fast.  This wasn`t going according to plan; or it wouldn`t have been if we had one.
"I think we had better get off", I whispered to the girls after a short panic-stricken moment, when we all sat staring at each other open-mouthed, in the confines of the top deck.
"I aint getting off" Heather hissed at me. 
Looking at Elizabeth and being aware that she hero-worshipped Heather, I realised that perhaps we had reached our first major hurdle in this race for freedom.  I silently berated myself for allowing them to come with me.  They were defiant.....I was hungry and surprisingly tired.  It suddenly occurred to me that I no longer had a real desire to continue this life-changing expedition.


After a short, heated altercation with my trusted escapees, it became obvious that I had no real option than to give myself up and return to the home.  To be honest, I was rather looking forward to it but would not dare tell the other girls of my weakening sense of adventure and imminent change of heart.  It had seemed a good idea at the time.  Heather and Elizabeth were adamant that they would not be giving up their quest for independence.  Although I told them there was a good chance the police would be summoned to have us removed from the bus, they ignored my reasoning.  Grabbing their plastic bags filled with clothes from beneath the seats, they clumsily clambered down the stairs of the empty bus.

"Wait for me!" I shouted after them, frantically grappling under the seat for my bag of belongings: a clean top, a pair of jeans, a new training bra, size 30aa, and an orange I had stolen from the kitchen table.  After sev eral frantic moments, ripped remnants of plastic in my hand, I stood up to leave.  Shocked and scared, I was to find myself staring into the face of a uniformed policeman, who looked abnormally tall.  His head dusted the roof of the bus as he moved towards me, his helmet tucked under his arm.  Not a word was spoken.  My energy levels had reached their lowest ebb and I certainly had no inclination to wrestle with him atop the number 23 bus terminated at Edgware Bus Station.  So, I gave myself up without the hint of a struggle.  Downheartedly I told him my name and address and was soon taxied back to the home in the back of a police car.  Depleted and sad I silently worried about my friends.  Where were they? Would they get caught? and was it too late for supper?

My house mother asked repeatedly as to the whereabouts of Heather and Elizabeth upon my return to the home.  I could truthfully tell her I did not know.  They left no forwarding address.
The girls were "on the loose" for a couple of days- causing much discussion and rumour amongst the remaining children in the home.  They eventually were to return to the home only to pack their belongings.  They were being transferred to new homes in different parts of the country.  I would never see them again.  I missed them terribly - and learnt another heartbreaking lesson in being nobodies` child.

The same extract altered to read in the third person.  Which one do you prefer?


She ran away. Well, ran three miles up the road……on the top of a double-decker bus. Two of her friends in the home had pestered to go with her, when told of her plans for escape. They set off excitedly on their adventure, hoping to start their new lives. With only a few hours until darkness, they knew they had little time to plan their break-out, so they didn’t plan. The elderly driver on the bus didn’t seem to find anything suspicious about three teenage girls getting on a bus, outside the childrens` home, laden with plastic bags. Perhaps it was a regular occurrence they were not aware of.

They scurried noisily upstairs to the top deck, all sharing the same sense of nervousness and exhilaration that only “girls on the run could feel”. Jocasta felt she had done the right thing by putting on her trainers as she imagined she would have an awful lot of running to do.
Staring out into the darkness as the driver accelerated away into the darkened streets, the three of them chattered away excitedly like a group of chimpanzees. Pulses racing, adrenalin pumping at an alarming rate, they became embroiled in their thoughts of what lay ahead, although they hadn’t really considered what they would do once they had reached their destination – wherever it may be. There were no discussions or suggestions on where and how they would live. It didn’t occur to them that as thirteen year old girls, they actually stood very little chance of surviving in the “real world”.
They wanted independence from the “home”. They were way too grown up to be treated like the little ones were – and anyway, Jocasta was the self-appointed boss and nobody told her what to do!
The journey ended unexpectedly. With a screech of hydraulic brakes, the driver swung the bus into Edgware Bus Station. Startled, they all looked at each other. They were puzzled.
Was this it ? What now? They weren’t ready!
They decided to stay put, even after the driver yelled up the stairs “Get off the bus!”  “Everybody Off !”

As they were the only passengers on the bus, they quickly deduced that the command was directed at them. Jocasta looked nervously out of the window. It was dark and very bleak. Street lights and shop fronts brightened the area but there were very few people about. She noticed a young couple holding hands as they walked along the darkened street and into a restaurant and wished she was with them.

They had to think fast.  This wasn’t going according to plan, or it wouldn’t had been if they had one.
“I think we should get off” Jocasta whispered to the other girls after a short panic-stricken moment, when they all stared open-mouthed at each other in the confines of the top deck.
“I aint getting off!” Heather hissed in her direction, her usual pasty look becoming increasingly red and blotchy with anger and defiance.
Looking at Elizabeth, with her mousey straggly hair flopping into her scared hazel eyes and being aware that she hero-worshipped Heather, Jocasta realised that perhaps they had reached their first major hurdle in this quest for freedom. She silently berated herself for allowing them to come with her.
They were defiant………Jocasta was ……… hungry, deflated and tired.  She had no real desire to continue this life-changing expedition as the enormity of the situation finally struck her.
After a short altercation with her trusted escapees, Jocasta realised she had no option than to give herself up and return to the Home. If she was honest, she was rather looking forward to it, her warm bed, her own room, but she dared not tell the others.  It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Heather and Elizabeth were adamant that they would not be giving up their pursuit of independence. Although Jocasta told them there was a good chance the police would be summoned to have them removed from the bus, the two girls ignored her reasoning, grabbed their plastic bags from under the seats, pulled their collars up over their ears and clumsily clambered down the steel stairs of the bus.
“Wait for me!” Jocasta shouted after them, frantically grappling under the seat for her bag of belongings: a fresh top, a pair of jeans (she only ever wore jeans), a new training bra (size 30aa) and an orange she had swiftly stolen from the kitchen table while no-one was around. The bag had become wedged firmly under the seat and she tugged with all her might to retrieve it. After several frantic moments - ripped remnants of plastic in her hand - she stood up to leave. Jocasta was shocked, and scared, to be faced with a policeman who looked too tall to be on the top deck of a bus. His head dusted the roof as he moved towards her. His helmet was tucked under his right arm. Not a word was exchanged between them. Jocasta did not have the energy or inclination to challenge this massive body in his dark blue uniform atop a number 23 bus at Edgware Bus Station, so gave herself up without a struggle. She even told the truth when asked her name, age and address, a rarity when faced with authority.


PC Richard Paisley was fed up. He was about to leave the station when his sergeant entered the office at Edgware police station.
“Rich, there`s been a call come through from a bus driver over at Edgware Station. Pop over there on your way home will ya? Summat about kids not getting of the bus”.
“Ok Sarg” Richard replied. He was not happy. He knew what was likely to happen. If the kids were stroppy there was every chance he would have to return them to the station. That in turn would mean questioning, filling out forms and waiting for parents. He had promised his girlfriend that he would be home by 10pm as she was getting fed up with his ever increasing hours. He was thirty-five years of age and at last wanted to settle down. He had lost count of the amount of girlfriends he had lost due to his continued absence from home.  He grabbed his helmet, car keys and jacket and headed out into the station carpark.


Jocasta was soon taxied back to the home in the back of a silent police car. PC Paisley sighed a huge sigh of relief. He would be home by 10.30pm. Jocasta was depleted, sad and wondered where her friends had fled and when they would be captured. Once home Jocasta was questioned by the house mother as to the whereabouts of Heather and Elizabeth. She could honestly answer that she had no idea as they had fled before her, leaving no forwarding address.
The girls were on the loose for a couple of days – causing much discussion and rumour amongst the remaining children in the home - and were only ever to return to the home to pack their belongings. They were being transferred. Jocasta would never see them again.
She missed them terribly – She had learnt another heartbreaking lesson in being “nobodies child”.
















Thursday, 26 August 2010

Bye Bye Little Olly

Today we lost our little furry friend Olly the hamster. This morning I opened the door to the playroom and took my customary look at his green cage with all amenities, including en-suite toilet, and strained to see his tiny fluffy body in it`s usual place.  My first thought was "Oh, he must be in the toilet upstairs".  But then as I waited for his descent from the capsule, my eyes fell upon one of the many tubes in his all-singing, all-dancing deluxe cage.  In the tube leading into the lower section of the cage I could see something at the very bottom of it, which was not usual.   On closer inspection and with the aid of my specs, I realised it was Olly.

Gingerly, I edged closer to the cage, an uneasy feeling of trepidation overwhelming me.  Olly had been known to occasionally sleep in other places than his little hideaway bedroom, and I hoped, somewhat dubiously, that this was the case again this morning.  Sixth sense however, was warning me otherwise. Why would he choose to sleep in a tube rather than his cosy bedroom filled with deluxe hamster bedding?  Peering into the cage I could not see any movement at all, so figured the best thing to do would be to open the top flap of the cage.  Ordinarily this action would precipitate Olly wakening and scurrying towards the sound on the promise of food.

On opening the lid, I watched his lifeless body in the hope that I might see movement.  But there was none.  Not a flicker.  Nothing.  The fur blockage remained in the tube.  The stillness and silence was deafening as the realisation hit me. 

Backing out of the room I prepared to tell my son Cain that we had lost our funny, furry little friend Olly.

RIP Olly the Hamster



  

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

Brighton

Our trip to Brighton very nearly didnt happen as we nervously consulted weather updates.
Although only two and a half hours from home, the thought of spending our couple of days away dodging showers did not appeal to us at all.  The seaside can be a depressing place seen from under an umbrella.

The photos I took do not give justice to the beautifully warm weather we enjoyed in Brighton.  The first day, although not particularly sunny, was as warm as toast.  The sea breeze complimentary, with no chill, made our strolls along the seafront most enjoyable. 

Our arrival coincided with lunchtime so it wasn`t long before the traditional coastal aromas tempted us into finding a suitable eatery.  An extremely proud propietor whom I nicknamed Mario served us with the biggest chips I had ever seen and we all hungrily consumed his food with gusto watched intently by large squawking seagulls the size of small dogs. 

A local airshow provided further entertainment by flying planes in formation overhead.

Families, lovers, the world and his wife, walked leisurely along the busy seafront; narrowly missing each other due to the volume of people. Pushchairs, dogs and children jostled for position of the designated footpath. Despite this, the atmosphere was pleasant, friendly and relaxing.



We walked along the lively pier, taking in the noises, lights and ambience of such a vibrant place.  Money was pushed expectantly into slots in the pulsating arcade.  More money was lost as my daughter and I tried desperately to win a big teddy for baby Eden. The grabber just would not do as we willed it to do!

My son tried his luck on the mechanical horse race. His fist flew into the air when his nominated horse creaked across the line first!

Outside the covered arcade, on the wood slatted pier, the sea could be seen far underneath our feet. I held tightly to the pushchair.  My son and son-in-law tried scoring a goal by shooting a ball through holes in a plasterboard wall.  Unsuccessful, they watched amazed when I very nearly managed it!  I surreptiously limped for a full half hour as a result.

Down by the marina, the riggings clanked together loudly as the evening drew in.  After the hustle and bustle of the promenade, the peace and tranquility of the marina was in stark contrast.  Restaurants plied their trade by seating their diners outside overlooking the many boats anchored in the marina.  It was such a vision of beauty and serenity. 
We chose a pasta restaurant, one we hadnt tried before and eagerly awaited our meals as we had become hungry again after our afternoon by the sea.  Unfortunately the restaurant served my son-in-law a mussel dish which  resulted in him vomiting twelve times throughout the night! My daughter will be sending them an uncomplimentary email in the very near future.



Luckily, once the dodgy mussels were unceremoniously dispensed off, my son-in-law was able to enjoy our next day.  Shopping!
After a short meander through the shopping centre we headed out to the more interesting shops. The shops in Brighton are colourful, flamboyant, bohemiam and welcoming.  It soon became apparent however that dragging a nine month old baby, an eleven year old boy and a decidedly delicate son-in-law was just a tad cruel and unfair. My daughter and  I tried nipping into little shops that we couldnt resist but felt increasingly guilty as they waited in the searing heat outside.
Costa Coffee provided some refreshment in the shape of cupcakes and red berry coolers, but the heat of the day was proving to be unbearable for shopping, so we reluctantly headed back to the beach for one last wander before heading back to the car. 
I was happy with my purchase of an unusal mirror decorated by skillfully placed piano keys.  My son bought himself a "never-ending" bouncing ball, a moneybox and an extremely loud harmonica, which serenaded us for most of the journey back to Hertfordshire! 


Friday, 13 August 2010

The Rising of The Sun

Again in bed
almost asleep;
thoughts surfaced demanding my attention,
refusing to return to the dark corners of my mind
where I have sent them
many moons ago.

Nightly silence  magnifies these thoughts
and troubled memories,
bringing them to the fore
like a raging river
splashing and crashing heavily into rocks.

Images  forgotten
now projected in technocolour
inside my mind;
as clear as the brightest day
yet confused and jumbled.

Words spoken
repeated over and over again
in time with the beating of my heart
as each memory
increases in speed and ferocity.

Awake in the darkness
nothing to hear
 but the constant replays inside my head;
replays that disappear
with the rising of the sun.

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Our First Date

“Hello !”

I yelled down the receiver as I squashed and balanced the handset between my shoulder and my left ear whilst holding the hot saucepan in my right hand.


“Er…is it a bad time?” came the reply.
I recognised the Irish accent and cursed quietly to myself.


“Why did I have to pick the damn phone up?”
“No, No….its fine” I lied.
“Its Mick, Do you remember me from last night?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” I giggled, rolling my eyes in exasperation.
“Hang on!” I added, “You told me your name was Jon”
“Oh, I did?” he chuckled,
“doesn’t matter, you can call me whatever you like”
“Ok, i`ll call you Jon then, i`m not calling an Irishman Mick!”
We both laughed. 

Their eyes shone with mischievousness as I explained my plans to my two youngest children.
“What if he sees us Mum?” Jemma asked.
“He wont be expecting two children to be looking for him, will he?” I replied.
“Go now and remember – man standing outside pub or sitting in convertible car outside pub”,


With that, the two of them were gone - out the front door, giggling as they ran up to the end of the road. Within three minutes they were back, standing, panting in the lounge, obviously exhilarated by their introduction to espionage.

“There was no-one there Mum” Charley squeaked, struggling for breathe as they had run the whole distance.


I sighed with relief.

I didn’t fancy him anyway and had no intention whatsoever in going on a date with him. I had agreed to meet him whilst in a state of drunkenness at my local club the previous week, even though I was not the slightest bit attracted to the gentle-speaking Irishman. I had seen him in the club on several occasions and was a little intrigued by his manner. He didn’t appear to be overly confident and didn’t look as if he was enjoying himself particularly either. My group of friends were familiar with his group of friends, but no-one took much notice of the silent Irishman with the glazed-over eyes.

“You alright Love?”,

I felt someone`s hand shaking my shoulder to rouse me. I slowly raised my head to see three men standing in front of me. I smiled and assured them I would be fine once I had found my friend, who had disappeared a while ago. I remember waffling on about us girls always sticking together and being somewhat perplexed as to why they had not returned sooner. I recognised the three guys as Frank and his two friends – one of them being Jon. They stood and attempted a light conversation with me but I was well past wanting to converse with anyone. It must have been about 1am, I had had enough to drink and my feet ached from dancing. All I wanted was for my friends to return so we could leave the club.
Eventually, it dawned on me that neither of the girls I had gone with were going to return. I was angry and confused. Jon offered to walk me to my car as long as I dropped him off in Harrow. I agreed to being escorted to the car but was not prepared to drive into Harrow.


“I`ll drop you at the end of my road in Harrow Weald” I told him.


He was happy with my offer and we took the long path back to the car together, me leaning on him for support. The club was within a mile of my home, so I saw nothing wrong in rolling the car down the hill towards home with a little alcohol in my blood. After all, there were no traffic lights to encounter and only one smallish roundabout to negotiate that was always clear in the early hours of the morning. I had a convertible escort at the time and was having trouble with a stiff catch on the roof. Consequently, I was not always able to do the left hand side of the roof up properly. On this particular occasion the roof was loose as I had been unable to force the catch closed. I informed Jon that he must hold on to the roof as we drove down hill. I was passed the point of being embarrassed about my cars` inadequacies and giggled at the silliness of the situation all the way home. As promised, he happily left me at the top of my road without so much as a kiss goodbye. I was relieved and somewhat touched by his gentlemanly behaviour.


He did however make me promise to turn up for our next date.

My Children - My World

My children hold the most important position in my life. My heart would not beat without them for they are so instrumental in holding it together and filling it with love.
To see them happy is of paramount importance to me and I have strived to do so since the day they were conceived. I had separated from their father in 1992 and the following five or six years had been a roller-coaster of emotions for all of us. Joanna, the eldest was a headstrong teenager who had been persecuted by bullies before we had moved away from our previous family home. This had made her very challenging when it came to disciplining.
There were many shouting matches between us, tantrums that I struggled to defuse and deal with, but I always felt that she respected and trusted me when I made certain demands for her improvement in behaviour within the new family environment. This was made frustratingly more difficult for me as it had become obvious that my two girls, although having only two and a half years between them in age, were never going to be close friends and confidants.
Almost from the day she was born, Jemma seemed to take an instant dislike to her older sister. Joanna would try to boss Jemma about and Jemma would physically attack her.

Despite reassurances from well-meaning friends, sadly, things have not significantly improved and the girls remain as different as chalk and cheese. The arrival of a baby brother four years after Jemmas` birth, did not bond the girls, they fought over him as if he were a favourite toy.
One memory sticks in my mind of when they both demanded he look at both of them at the same time! I despaired. Jemma was to win the baby brother war as they bonded from the start and are still very close emotionally to this day.

Jemma survived her life as the middle child remarkably well. Despite seeing the devastating effect bullies had not only on her elder sister, but also on us all as a family, she grew with an inner confidence to be admired. She would stand for no nonsense and was focused on her ultimate aim to be successful and independent. I once overheard Joanna proclaiming that she was going to marry a millionaire, to hear Jemma respond by stating:
“I`m not going to marry a millionaire, I`m going to be one!”
Jemma is an achiever, I can emotionally support her when she allows me. Joanna wants to be an achiever, but is easily distracted away from her ambitions and will seldom allow me to be instructive or emotionally supportive.
Charley is a combination of the two girls…………..an achiever who fiercly rejects my emotional input. He has been blessed with musical talent which allows him to travel the country as a professional singer.

My Devon

I penned this poem for my eldest granddaughter Devon when she reached her first birthday.  Devon was born with PFFD which is a debilitating disability and means she was born without a femur in her left leg; consequently she wears a prosthetic leg.  Despite this she thrives magnificently and is growing into a beautiful, self-assured young lady. 


When you were born the angels cried, they had to say "Goodbye"
they wished you every happiness and sang a lullaby
they sent you on a journey to join us here on earth
we welcomed you with open hearts, cherished you from birth.

From the moment you were born, twelve months ago today
you have filled our lives with happiness in your own special way,
You have taught us what`s important - put us all to shame;
helped us learn life can be cruel, yet we can smile again.

Devon, you are beautiful - your face beyond compare;
you generate such loving - enough for all to share.
Big blue eyes, a button nose, a star from head to toe,
commanding much attention everywhere you go.

You shine just like a twinkling star up in a darkened sky;
beaming down on everyone as they pass you by.
Radiating happiness, our worries disappear
You are such a special angel, we need not shed a tear.

You make us proud to love you - we love you more each day
We thank the Lord for giving us the best in every way.
One year old! We are truly blessed, each day has been a dream
We will cherish you forever - our very own sunbeam.

Hannah

I wrote this poem when a six year old girl choked to death in the canteen at my son`s school a few years ago.
It was a time of intense grieving not only for the parents but for other pupils and mothers connected to the school.  Tears were shed in the playground for many weeks as we all publicly mourned the loss of little Hannah.  Stunned by the cruelty and poignant realities of life and death, we shared our grief and disbelief at such a significant and devastating loss of a beautiful little girl.

Our school has lost an angel
He called her to his side;
Wanted her beside Him
no matter how we cried.

Took away her smiling face,
her golden curls, her joy
to play with other angels;
a cherub to enjoy.

Many friends she left behind
United in our grief
but blessed to have known this "shining star"
Although her life was brief.

RIP Hannah x

Sunday, 25 July 2010

When Two Worlds Collide

Picture the scene.  A small English town in the depths of Hertfordshire, bathed in warm sunshine.  The picturesque High Street playing host to it`s regular busy Saturday afternoon market being enjoyed by locals and out-of-towners alike.  The glorious sunrays determining that everyone has a skip in their step and a smile on their lips. People browsing in the bustling market place as they choose idly from the array of colourful stalls.  Icecream vans successfully plying their trade whilst queues form for their whipped delicacies. Babies bask lazily in pushchairs with their summer bonnets of many colours strategically placed on their heads.

Tucked away from the main thoroughfare, behind the market, people can enjoy all kinds of gourmet fayre and alfresco eateries.  My daughter suggested a place she had been to once before with her husband.  We headed towards it and were relieved to see one empty table amongst the occupied tables full of customers enjoying palitable delights.
 "Well, this is rather pleasant" I remarked to my daughter as she positioned the pushchair carrying my granddaughter alongside us, facing the table.
 Glancing around I was suitably impressed at the food I could see on the plates on nearby tables, and my tummy rumbled telling me it too was impressed.  The service was good and within minutes we had given our order to the friendly waitress.  The tables were set in a traditional fashion outside the cafe but I noticed their were some benches positioned outside the grouping of the tables where people who were not patrons of the cafe could sit and perhaps eat their own food.  Gradually the benches filled with various people.  Some had salads, obviously bought from supermarkets who were happily enjoying their choice of lunch.  Couples sat together chatting; children laughed, skipped and dropped their icecreams.

Eden sat in her pushchair contentedly crunching the skips Jemma gave her.  She also loved the grated cheese put before her washed down with a generous portion of her bottled water.  It was as I looked around to see if I could spot our food being carried out by our waitress that I first saw them - The Great British Public.

Both he and she were huge! - Squashed onto a bench which visibly bowed under their weight.  He wore a grubby red tshirt, hem rolled up exposing his ample stomach.  His grey jogging bottoms sat underneath his bulging belly.  His dirty grey hair was scrapped back off his crimson face as he inhaled deeply on a roll up.  He had an air of contented idleness and filth.  His partner wore her frizzy long white/grey hair in a centre parting.  Her grey complexion complimented the stained grey tshirt she wore.  The navy blue leggings that stuck to her lumpy legs had been stretched to enormous proportions making them almost transparent.  She also dragged heavily on a rolled up cigarette. Daughter number one, aged about twenty years of age sat on an adjoining wall talking loudly to her parents while daughter number two, a girl of about ten years of age,  stood nearby in her over-sized polyester flowery dress.  Both had their hair pulled into untidy ponytails, large wispy strands blowing wildly in the breeze.

Each member of the family spoke as if they addressing a large crowd.  No need for megaphones; their voices boomed around the seated diners.  Those unfortunate enough to be closest to them appeared anxious and eager to finish their food. 
The area was thinning with a steady stream of diners leaving unfinished meals as their outdoor dining was disrupted by the family from hell. 
Then the ultimate social insult; a massive burp from Mr Slob. The deep-bellied sound resonated for miles.  It was impossible not to look round with a look of disdain on our faces. Two middle-aged blonde, bejewelled ladies sitting closeby looked horrified and shifted uneasily in their seats.   Jemma begged me to say nothing. It was an effort.
Stunned silence resumed until daughter number one let rip with a string of expletives so loud and aggressive, we very nearly took cover underneath the metal tables.  No, it was okay, she was only shouting at someone 100 yards away - something about getting some "f*****g crisps"!

I looked over at the cafe to see if any staff were coming outside to maybe have a word with the undesirables; no, they were no doubt taking refuge in the kitchens at the rear of the building.

Thursday, 22 July 2010

My Rose Arch

It`s so tiring being a perfectionist! 


Today I treated myself to a decorative rose arch (for ornamental purposes only) for my garden.  It`s something I have always wanted and today I gave way to temptation when I saw one in a shop in town, for what I perceived to be, a reasonable price.  Before I realised, I had bought it and was happily walking back to my car with my new purchase tucked under my arm.  The dimensions displayed on the box told me it stood 2m high which by my reckoning meant it was of substantial proportions and not a squatty little structure I had seen in other stores.  I was delighted and eagerly looking forward to seeing it in my compact garden.

But life really isn`t that simple, is it?  I had refused to acknowledge one or two important factors: 
 1.  My garden, well stocked and beautiful as it undoubtedly is, is not of mammoth proportions.  Optimistically, I would say it is fifty feet long and forty feet wide, give or take a few inches.
2.  I am absolutely hopeless at constructing anything requiring the tiniest amount of brainpower.  Even with an "idiots` guide to the simplest task", I fail miserably.  My brain just does not function that way!

So, here I was, sat in my den, box at my feet, enthusiasm in my heart.  My eleven year old son was going to aid me in the erection of my latest ornamental decoration. I lectured my son on the importance of staying cool, calm and collected.  It simply wouldn`t do to get hot tempered, impatient and frustrated if things did not go according to plan throughout the construction process. We could do this, and would do it together. How difficult could it be?


A vague, sketchy directions note slipped out along with  ten thousand metal tubes after Cain eagerly opened the box.  My heart sank immediately. That many tubes?
 Right! Off we go! 
The actual screwing together of the tubes was relatively simple once we had grouped them according to size. With the aid of my pink floral screwdriver, it wasn`t long before we had two ladder-type pieces of metal lying on the carpet.  I marvelled at our ingenuity. We decided that although we would start the construction in the den we would, at some point, have to move outside once the structure had reached a certain size.  A two metre high ornament in the den not only would have looked ridiculous but would also make it impossible to move in the room.  Vacuuming would also be a nightmare!


By the time we had got out into the garden, Cain and I were working efficiently.  He put the tubes together and I lined up the holes, inserted the screws and secured them with the help of my trusty screwdriver.  All was well, although in secret, I began to worry a little about the size of our new garden feature.  Where was I going to put it?  Despite one or two hiccups, we finally managed to secure the final screw into the frame.  The top of the arch actually fitted together after a bit of a struggle, and I didn`t swear once (audibly).  After a quick cool drink I was ready to start the task of finding a home for it.


Lifting the arch into its standing position posed several problems however; the first being where to position it.  As my washing line, on the left, stretches from the back of the house leading to the shed at the top end of the garden, my two metre garden ornamentation could not go on that side.  Opposite the washing line, against the right hand side wall, mature and fast-growing trees, attrative in their own right, have now gobbled up a large section of that side of the garden, as they spread across away from the fence, so that was no good either.  I stood for several moments in the middle of the garden gripping the structure tightly as the wind whipped around us threathening to send my arch skyward.  Cain, now familiar with my frequent indecisions in everday life, had long abandoned me and was now playing happily on his X Box in the lounge. 
I then spent the next half hour shuffling to and from various points in my garden, dragging the reluctant structure, to see if I could find a suitable setting for it to enhance my pretty little patch of grass.  Once or twice I thought I had found the ideal spot and tried to force the metal spokes into the hard ground.  As we have had very little rain, this proved impossible and I only succeeded in bending the fragile prongs as I struggled to penetrate the dry, stony, parched soil.  I was beginning to sweat more than a marathon runner at the twenty mile stage and cursed my idiocy. 
With every attempt at forcing the structure into the ground and the constant motion caused by my lack of planning and decision making, the arch was weakening and twisting dramatically.  Several of the screws had been dislodged and the bottom two tubes had twisted so badly, the metal was splitting.  A decision had to be made and I had to make it now!  So I removed the bottom, damaged prong on each side of the arch, shortening it by eight inches.  Success!  It was significantly lighter and easier to manoeuvr. 
Eventually, I settled for a spot central to the garden where my magnificent arch could be seen from all angles. Standing just in front of a rhodedendrum bush, it looked magnificent, almost regal.  Talking of angles - they too were a nightmare! It took forever to set the arch so that it didnt look bowed.   Using the hose to soften the earth, the struts finally bedded down into the sodden soil and at last my efforts were rewarded.  My garden rose arch stood tall and proud, albeit with a few missing screws, slightly wonky left side and two extremely distorted lower poles.

Tuesday, 20 July 2010

Olly`s Back!

After last night`s shenanighans, I was somewhat surprised to hear Olly scratching around at the back of the fridge at 7.15am.  I thought he was nocturnal!  What the hell was he doing still awake at sunrise? 

Now, I am not a morning person, meaning I am unable to do the most simple of tasks until I have had my first cup of tea and one cigarette.  I dont even attempt to speak, listen or engage brain - it`s just not possible. So you can image my relief and excitement at the sound of the now familiar scuttling noise coming from the corner where my fridge stands.  Quickly I grabbed the cardboard tube, put aside the night before, and gingerly replaced it on the floor.  I called my son to get the hamster milk drops from the playroom.  I needed to remain calm if Plan B was going to work.  No sudden movements!  My son and I stood to attention; eyes trained on the gap beside the fridge where Olly had appeared the previous night.  I was so nervous.

The milk drops certainly did the trick as it was only a matter of minutes before little dusty Olly surfaced from the dark depths of his hiding place.  Cain and I stood stock still as Olly moved as stealthily as a lion stalking his prey.  His tiny body moved in slow motion, yet his whiskers quivered frantically as the smell of his favourite treats reached his twitching nose.  We held our breaths.  "Go on, go on, go on!" the voice in my head screamed; but not a sound was heard.  "Get in, get in, get in!" - I couldn`t bear it!

At last he reached the mouth of the tube, his hunger and inquisitiveness steering him inside.  Half way in and it was action stations.  Now! I bent down quicker than I thought was possible, tapped his protuding bottom to ensure all of him was in and scooped the tube skyward.  "Got him!" Cain and I yelled in unison.  Running through the kitchen, into the lounge and finally the playroom, I was determined to release our roaming hamster into his deluxe cage with en-suite toilet facilities.

He seemed unphased by his recapture and scurried off to re-familiarise himself with his surroundings.  He scampered up the tube straight into his toilet and head-butted the roof.  Aha! so that`s how he did it!  Once he had gone downstairs for a well-earned drink, I made sure to give the roof to his en-suite an extra hard screw.  No more houdini tricks for Olly!

Monday, 19 July 2010

Olly`s Gone!

It was with stunned silence that my son and I realised the terrible truth - Olly the hamster had escaped!  The evidence was blindingly obvious.  The roof of his toilet suite was laying on the carpet; sawdust exposed for us to see.  I looked in horror, firstly at the cage then at the lid/roof lying like a discarded toy on the carpet nearby. Then peered again at the lid and back to the cage.  It was no good.  Olly was not going to suddenly appear where he belonged in his super-duper all singing, all dancing green hamster cage.

Reality slapped harder when I remembered cleaning the cage the night before.  Damn, I must have forgotten to screw the roof on properly.  My son stood by the side of me, amidst his many toys, books and lego sets in the playroom.  We were ready to leave.  We couldnt spend hours searching for Olly.  Cain had to go to school and I had to go to work.  Reluctantly, we closed the playroom door behind us and left the house - Olly on the loose.

The day stretched ahead of us and I comforted my son by reminding him that Olly was nocturnal and would appear later when the house was quiet and the sun had gone down.  Despite the reassurances voiced to Cain, I spent many moments throughout the day worrying about our missing hamster.  The main thing niggling me was the fact that Olly`s cage sits on a desk in the playroom and I was concerned that he may have injured himself or infact died in his desire for ultimate freedom.  Would he, could he have survived the fall?

On my return home from work, I hoped against hope that Olly would be sat in the middle of the room waiting for me to pick him up and place him back in his cage.  But - Oh No! Our furry little escapee was nowhere to be seen. 
 Extreme situations call for drastic measures so I have devised not one, but two h-itech traps to fox and hopefully encapture our pet rodent.  The first one is a small plastic box with a flap which is specifically designed to ferry hammy around when his cage is being cleaned out.  I have very cleverly made it look more appealing to him by putting in some bedding and a food bowl full of his yummy hamster mix.  I am hoping that he will smell the food and in a moment of complete abandonment, sneak into the container, whereupon I will leap upon the box and snap shut the flap. Caught!                              
Trevor our cat!

Run Olly Run!
If that fails I have a large cardboard tube (kodak use to send my prints), open at one end which I have placed on the floor.  I have strategically planted one of his favourite hammy treats,  inside it .  I`m thinking;  Olly will sniff the fruitstick from his hiding place and be so overwhelmed and eager to savour it that he will forget he is on the run and attempt to get it.  As soon as he enters the tube in search of his goodies, I shall spring forward, grab the tube (making sure to hold it the right way up), and empty contents into currently uninhabited hamster cage. Caught! Hook, line and fruity treat!


Tuesday, 13 July 2010

Fractured Heart

Once again the fragile fabric that helps adhere our relationship together -
 Mother and Daughter
- has been stretched almost irrevocably;
the frail framework splintered,
sending shards shooting into my aching heart.
A fractured heart that beats only for my babies and their babies.

I trod on a thousand eggshells
and tragically cracked one too many;
now, once again, I feel the wrath of my tortured first born.

So many times this has happened;
each time I pray it will be the last.
Hoping for forgiveness for something only she knows;
unable to stop or understand her need to hurt me.

Beautiful memories of proudly loving my eldest;
fending off her bullies, changing schools;
worshipping the ground on which she danced and skipped;
slowly nullified and blurred by a million tears.

Teenage years often painful, but how we laughed!
then cried for different reasons.
Accusations made, excruciating pain beyond belief 
for she hated me.
Never being right - Always being wrong,
yet feeling her misery
none-the-less.

I searched for months unaware that it was she
 who had instigated and orchestrated our separation;
amid hurtful, hostile lies.

Fifteen years on I still search for her;
the child I cherished more than life itself.
For she was my life
and now she wants me withdrawn from hers. 

Sunday, 11 July 2010

Our Heritage!



Is anyone else sick and tired of the stereotypical image which we as Brits are portrayed?  It does not seem to matter which international event; be it sport, historical, tourism or media, we are always portrayed and characterized in the same way.






  • Bald or sporting a mohican hairstyle; usually with George flag incorporated in design
  • Pasty-faced
  • Tshirts displaying preference to particular football team
  • Acned
  • Long flowery shorts that clash dramatically with chosen tshirt
  • Beer-bellied
  • Sweaty and sweary
  • Over-hairy armpits
And the men are even worse!