Let It Be...

I am reflecting tonight on Christmas past and looking forward to Christmas present...spending it with family. For the first time in twenty years I am not going to have to cook or lay a table, my daughter will shoulder that responsibility. I am so thankful for that but I also feel oddly redundant and find myself gazing longingly at material to make a cloth and napkins (something I do every year), worrying about how I should cook the Turkey, butter and bacon or apricots and apples? Polishing glasses, heating plates, juggling cutlery and spending a whole evening on the table centre. I am very unsettled by this.

My blog has always been pretty honest and I hope you will understand that what I am about to write doesn't just have a negative side, I do not feel sorry for myself but I am so frustrated at the moment at not being able to 'DO'.

Many of you know that I smashed and dislocated my elbow on the 6th of March. I ended up as a guest of the Royal Cornwall for 11 days, having two ops and a lot of physio. I haven't told the full story on this blog, so here goes.

I had been doing housework (ha, ha, ha...says my mother) and had just dashed up the stairs to empty the dryer. I also suffer with various forms of anaemia (3 at the last count) and felt very dizzy, whilst dumping said drying on bed...in fact I fainted. Came to, looked at strange shaped elbow, brain sent an urgent signal that read 'phones are downstairs, both of the buggers'. Foot hit bottom step, pain kicked in and luckily I managed to dial 999 before I was too incoherent. I spent at least 30 minutes abusing Paramedics until they got enough entonox and morphine in me to shut me up. Note I was still yelling as I was wheeled into resus (how DO you spell that?)

I vaguely remember begging a nice Doc for pain relief, who said she could not give me any more as she was a little worried about my BP and heart rate. Nice Doc then proceeded to try and put my elbow back in....twice. Luckily I passed out again and she felt sorry for me and administered lots of narcotics. No Pasenada, Eneshi Problema....just one of those bad judgements in life I guess! I really think my Ma (who was watching at the time) needed it more than I!

Big, complicated, very talented surgeon was very busy in the smoke so I waited 5 days with an unstable elbow for him to fly into exotic Newquay. During that time I had great fun abusing Ortho ward nurses (feck! they are made of stern stuff!) as apparently I get punchy on the morphine! Some Ortho nurses were great, others, you could hit over the head with a plank and they would not even blink! My surgeon, a Mr Wilson was three 'F,s' great, in fact he was the 'Puppy's Privates'. He gave me a new plastic elbow with lots of movement. I am struggling badly with the strength thing. I am left handed, guess which one I broke? Oh... and only one person in the whole world understood my pain, the legendary Mr John Hunter, thank you.

So to Christmas Past, I am the one that cooks, hand sews a cloth, wraps presents and writes cards. Now, I am afraid, I have sent barely any Christmas cards and even those have been a struggle to write. Forgive me if you have a 'missed' card from me this year. But I have to 'Let It Be'.

I still have a few molehills to climb. No matter, a lot of people out there will spend Christmas without their loved ones, some personal friends and of course the families of the brave boys serving overseas. Time to think of them.

Muse x

Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it Snow......

Being a Donut Child and ever prepared to batten down the hatches at the slightest sign of a National crises, smugly sitting among my tins of baked bean tins and kick starting my generator, I am of the opinion that if it is going to snow then let it SNOW. None of this little sprinkling that stays on the ground for all of 10 minutes, I am only happy with chest height snow drifts. Only then can you say to me there has been a blizzard in central London.

I was chatting to Mr S last night as he drove away from London, trying to stay ahead of the snow storm and we exchanged snow stories. These tales are like most Spanish Senoras, as they get older, they get hairier! He was telling me about the time, he took the last train to run out of London, in the middle of a snow storm. When he reached his destination in deepest Chav land (he is sooo going to get me back for that!), he found the station deserted and his car under waist deep snow. Wearing only a suit and a trench coat he decided, in his wisdom to walk home. His walk home involved cutting through a park, with a great big lake in the middle of it. This lake nearly always froze over but wasn't safe enough to walk on. He pushed his way through massive snow drifts and eventually reached home, safe and sound. When he got home, soaking wet and shivering, he finally realised what had been bugging him during the entire walk through the park. Not once had he tripped over a low flowerbed wall or stumbled into a fence. This could only mean one thing, he had walked most of the way over the lake and had survived to tell the tale!

I have a couple of tales myself. The year I passed my driving test I lived with my Army husband at RAF Upavon on the edge of Salisbury plain. At the time I worked in Tech Admin at the tank depot in Ludgershall and I had been on a tank driving course around the test track the week before. The course was so much fun and I got to drive everything from a Ferret scout car to a Chieftain tank, with a Haagglund Snow vehicle thrown in for good measure. In fact, it became a bit of a grudge match between me and my Officer Commanding. I disliked the man intensely as he insisted on calling me a camp follower, no matter, I used to spit in his coffee! (Shameful but true...)

Back to the snow story, during the night we had about three feet of snow. It didn't occur to me to ring in and say I couldn't get through the snow. Oh no! there was no way I was going to give the OC any ammunition to use in more sneering, chauvinistic remarks against me. So I rang Pa and took advice. Large sack of spuds in boot, check; blanket, check; spade, check; thermos, check. Army thermal underwear in olive drab, check! Off I went, dug myself out of a couple of snowdrifts en route and finally made it in two hours later.

I was feeling very pleased with myself until I heard a shout from the OC's office. 'If Mrs H has made it in, where the hell is Sgt Lamb' he roared. Turns out that Sgt Lamb lived 3 miles closer than me and had phoned in to say he couldn't get through. Poor Sgt Lamb pulled Duty Officer for some weekends to follow.....

More recently I was working as a Support Worker and covered an area from Plymouth to Liskeard. I had just dropped a lady off in Tavistock when my son's headmaster rang to say he was closing the school as it had snowed heavily in Bodmin. The difference in the local weather can be quite dramatic as not a flake had fallen in Tavistock. I raced back home as quickly as I could. I got to Liskeard, some 11 miles out of Bodmin and hit traffic. I was in the Glyn Valley, a beautiful winding tree lined road with steep banks and sharp drops either side of it. I stayed there for 8 and a half hours, choking on engine exhaust fumes and finally peeing in a MacDonald's cup! Luckily I was a Donut child and had water and blankets in the car.

I was pretty fed up and muttering darkly about my stupid bloody council not gritting that morning. I said as much in a text to David, the guy I was seeing at the time. But I inadvertently sent it to Dan Rogerson, my local MP, who's name was above David on my contact list....oops. I need not have worried as a text from Dan pinged straight back, "I am about a mile up the road from you...my sentiments exactly! Dan". To this day we text each other on New Years Eve and muse about the chance of snow. What a decent bloke.

I rang Pa tonight to get his snow story. 'Didn't you once dig Princess Anne out of a snow drift in Germany' I said. 'Nah' he replied nonchalantly ' I broke into her car in the middle of a rain storm, when she locked herself out....'!

So wherever you are I may be a fan of 'big snow' but I hope that you all reach your loved ones safely this Christmas.

Stay Warm

Muse x

Crab Cans and Soap Box Radios.

It has been six days since I have managed to share my thoughts with you. My blogger friend, Mr S and I usually spark off each other and he has been quiet of late whilst, I have been busy. We are generally competitive with one another and I will often end up in fierce debate with him.... me, stamping my foot at a bad mobile signal. The fact that he tends to put his mobile on hands free and then wander around, muttering to himself about technical things, does not help! He has a photographic memory and has to be patient when my ordinary one fails me, he continues to be generous and understanding of this.

My blog of last week discussed our childhood memories, what we remembered and how differently things were perceived through our childish eyes. The Muse household has been plagued with 'communication gremlins' of late. I live in the middle of Cornwall, fondly known as the black hole.The mobile signal defies belief and the land line and Internet can be sporadic, especially when The Git continually rides his bike into the connection! Well it dropped out last week and after 24 hours of waiting for the phone bloke to turn up, I had finally had enough. Friends had, had enough of me phoning them to ask if they could possibly check my hot mail and post on my FB wall and had stopped answering the phone to me! I had chewed my nails to the quick, read every book in the house (alright... I admit to not having finished the Palin Diaries) picked up the mobile and telephoned Mr S.

'Please, please tell me how I can sort this out or I shall start watching TV' I pleaded.
'Simple', he replied and proceeded to take me, step by step, through hot wiring a telephone socket. This is not as easy as it sounds. The basics were easy enough but you are talking to a complete blondie about all matters technical here and he had to put up with a lot of unlady like language, me shouting at him for not explaining things clearly enough. Bear in mind, he is working blind and having to put up with such little gems as 'it's the red thingummy attached to the round whatsit'. He was unbelievably patient with me. Oh joy of joys, it bloody worked until Pa came over and sorted it out 24 hours later. Oh and me? Well I did not say thank you to my long suffering friend, I told him, in the most threatening manner I could manage, if he ever told anyone I could do this, I would deny all knowledge!!!

These recent events sparked another conversation between us. I watched a film last week called 'When the Boat Rocked', telling the story of Radio Caroline, through the rose tinted glasses of the film industry. We talked about being children, a radio under our pillows, listening to Luxembourg. I was, of course, an extremely spoilt child as my father built me my first 'soap box' radio at the age of five. I remember it well, large regulation 'Crab Cans' a battery so big you could start your car with it and a tiny soap box clinging to the side of this mess. Et Voila! the Walkman of the 60's....bit of a shame Pa didn't patent it really! I still yearn for those Crab cans as my son regularly trashes a pair of headphones a month! Mr S, still wanders around with a large pair of cans perched on the top of his head, he has an excuse though, being a DJ!

So although I prefer simplicity, I adore the contact that the net has brought into my home, there are only so many conversations you can have with an 11 year old!

Namaste

Muse x

PS The Grumpy One AKA Muse has started her Christmas preparations so to all you Facebookers.... you may send me all the Christmas Yak you want and I will politely reply. You now have a 12 day amnesty. Happy Yakking x

Be True to Yourself !

The Muse has been unwell for the last week, unable to Blog and has lots to tell you. I had a huge response to the last Donut Child Blog, by phone, email, FB and text. I did not realise that I could evoke a reaction, thus.

All of our Dads were hero's, keeping us calm and lighting our way to bed. We remember the books they read to us, oh and The Muse learned a mean game of Chess, eventually beating her dad! Most of us remember that time, and practice something called 'Provident Living'...it just means that you make sure you are aware, and can survive by thinking about what you need. Not material possessions, just survival. Are we blessed with that knowledge, or burdened by it?

One of the most beautiful stories of that time was told by an old schoolie of mine. When I blogged about the terrible fear of Nuclear weapons as a 10 year old and not being quite sure as to where it came from, she explained it was the Government 'Propaganda Advertising'. The adverts ran in the 70's as to what we should do in the event that we were 'Nuked'. My friend is a couple of years older than me and remembers more than I did. She went to see Peter Pan at the cinema, was aware that her parents were talking about 'flying' to a posting. She was utterly horrified after seeing Peter Pan. How could she 'fly' with her brother, sister and teddy? My friend got on the plane, utterly sure that the decision she had made would damn her sister to fly alone, without her hand. She had decided her hands would be held by her brother and her Teddy!

What an innocent childhood we had...but how perceptive we were. I just hope that we can recognize propoganda from news. I can.....can you?

Be Kind to each other

Muse xx

Soldiers and Superhero's!

I was telling the Old Boyfriend I made contact with the other day about my previous relationships and had to admit to the 'lure' of a man in Uniform. All of the guys I have had serious relationships with have been in the Forces. I was thinking about it today and have decided that half of my problem....IE; unhealthy obsession with Brass Buttons and Brave Boys, is my survival instinct kicking in.

It harks back to the Donut Child in me. I was a child of the nuclear age and by about the age of 10 I was able to realise the awesome power of nuclear weapons, grasp a little of what the cold war was about and have nightmares about the whole damn scenario. If the TV suddenly went white and hissed, I was absolutely certain that the bomb was imminent and we should all proceed directly to the bathroom and push mattresses up against the window. My mind would tick over at night, thinking about how I could organize my impossibly scatty mother into buying compo packs and filling the bath with water every night. God only knows where I got these ideas, I don't remember. If the TV had gone off and dad was at work, I would stand by the window, anxiously waiting for him to come home, willing him not to be late because that would almost reduce me to tears and if dad was home then everything would be okay.

Dad was my Superhero when I was little, which is how it should be. During the 70's we had endured the power cuts that caused misery for many families. I had four younger brothers and sisters and Dad was bloody marvellous. We were languishing in Trenchard Road, Digby, doing penance between jaunts to the sun. The house was coal fired and we relied on Paraffin heaters for back up (ewww...do you remember the smell of those). Every house in the street had no lights, we did.. compliments of large battery. No one had radio, we... did. Dad wired the whole house up to his seemingly endless supply of batteries. We had hot food, cups of tea, courtesy of a single element and he even cooked the Sunday roast on the Paraffin heaters!! I was suddenly the most popular girl at school.

As you can see, no ordinary bloke would do me. None of these civilians thank you very much! Can you build a fire/sharpen a knife/survive on small furry things/catch fish etc.... Those were my basic requirements! I was going to stick to what I knew best. What I did not realise at the time was the equation, Uniform + Male = Superhero did not actually exist! I had a great life married to the Army and then the RAF (not quite as much fun as a Donut Child) but I don't regret it.

I am still the same today. My kitchen cupboards are stuffed full of lots of unnecessary things such as the entire range of Heinz foods, everything you can think of in dried form, tons of rice and pasta and I am still struggling with the amount of water needed to keep me and mine alive until rescue. I am an avid viewer of Ray Mears and any disaster film you care to name, all in the spirit of research you understand!

The difference today is, it probably won't be the Bomb that gets us in the end but a nasty little flu virus that we cannot do much about. As usual my busy brain needs a rest and I will sign off leaving you with that cheery thought!

Namaste

Muse x

We did it all First !

Dark mutterings in the Muse household about writers block and lines being drawn. Have I taken on too much by creating two Blogs? It is not the volume of output that bothers me, merely the quality and I have been scratching my head in frustration, knowing I have to separate my thoughts and put them in the right order, in the right place...ggggaaaggghhh!

I have had an interesting couple of days catching up with almost forgotten friends from my past. I was so young at the time but as we get older, the memories become stronger. Funny, those moments in time surface so readily when you cannot even remember what you had for dinner last night! Oh bugger, I sound positively geriatric now...

Then an unexpected contact with a boyfriend from my teenage years. Wow, that was pretty spacey. He was older than me, not by much, I don't think....so it must be very weird for him to have to comprehend my status as a grandmother. It is almost as though we are catching up with our parents...kicking screaming and shouting all the way of course! If I had to work in a shop selling alcohol, I would have to ask about 90 per cent of the clientele for I.D. My ability to 'age' a person has been lost and I find myself staring at impossibly young mothers pushing prams. Then I shake my head, get a grip and realise...we did it all first!

My older children are very fond of parenting me and telling me what I can and cannot do. They have been doing this as a matter of course, throughout their lives. How did I manage to bring up two well balanced, thoughtful, gentle, admirable, individuals when I have been such a 'heller'? I mean don't get me wrong, I did the maternal thing in my 20's....actually I didn't, I went back to work as quickly as was decent, after giving birth! The Git has had much more time with me. Just recently I have realized that I am a person in my own right. Not just a mum or a grandmother and have been busy making up for lost time.

This has involved lots of things including; not eating all the pies,going to hairdressers and keeping still whilst they make you lovely, letting a Beautician do unspeakable things to you and trying not to fall asleep in your dinner when you date a boring bloke! The flip side of this is chatting up/being chatted up by lots of interesting guys, creating this Blog and finding a new confidence within myself.

So as I approach the slippery slope to my next birthday I am thankful for my family, my children and my wonderful friends.

Namaste

Muse x

Cyber Stalking

My last Blog explored how we use the text message as a form of first contact even though it is a completely inappropriate means of contacting a prospective date. Well, it is for me but for others who are not quite as gregarious, it may just be a way of over coming their shyness.

Tonight I want to talk about 'last contact'. Text is of course a very useful tool during the break up of a relationship. It can be used to initiate the break up (rude and cowardly!), to exchange heated horrible insults that you would never dare utter face to face and then it is a most convenient way of stalking the person who you have unfortunately been dumped by! Text is an effective, entertaining, dangerous, powerful and cruel way of communicating with another.

Moving swiftly on to email and other forms of electronic communication. I have talked about this to a couple of friends recently. One, has a family member who's life has been virtually turned upside down by a woman that has seen fit to use all available means... text, email, and social networking sites to stalk and attack this guy, he has done nothing to deserve it. The other is fighting for the rights of his youngest child through the courts and has had to put so many security measures in place his computer is akin to Colditz. He has had to spend hours and hours doing this just so that he has the freedom to Blog about non-related subjects.

Has the surge in use of Cyber communication and SMS brought out a frightening aspect of our personalities? Do we all have it in us to become a Stalker? I thought at first the word 'Stalker' was too strong but I am realising that the word fits this type of person all too neatly.

I had an insidious email today, from a guy who is unable to let go and wants me to take responsibility for his actions. It didn't upset me because I have moved on. I have done all the angst and the guilt and have left it behind. I am not going to put security measures into this Blog because that defeats the very essence of it. My friend who is fighting for his parental rights, alas, does not have that luxury.

Back to my question. Are we all prospective Stalkers? In my opinion we are all prospective killers but what separates us from those on Death Row is a conscience and an intelligence far superior to those serving time. It may be within us, but it does not mean we can act on our most basic of instincts.

A reality check to all you hiding behind your computers. This technology is a two way street.

Be Kind to each other.

Muse x

Phone, Text or Message.

It is Muse time. The early hours of the morning and I am awake as usual. The Git safely ensconced with my mother. I have been writing to an old friend (less of the old, we are young girls at heart!) for the last few weeks via Facebook and today we finally swapped phone numbers.

Twelve hours on and neither of us have phoned or texted each other. Why? It is quite simple. We do not want to break the spell of writing to each other. The thrill of finding a decent message in your FB inbox means a lot and whilst she may not realise it, her writing skills 'ain't 'arf bad' and I appreciate her messages. Expression in word can mean so much more than ill thought out speech. No matter, that our messages are sometimes a little misunderstood. We know each other well enough to forgive such clumsiness.

This leads me neatly on to texting and the misconceptions it can provoke,especially when texting a stranger. Yet, it is often the preferred method of 'first contact between parties. I am a self confessed text snob. I cannot stand texts that omit vowels and include numbers. My love of language dismisses them as the work of idiots. Likewise unnecessary kisses and the LOL's set my teeth on edge to point of gnashing. I am either very old and grumpy or maintaining my standards.

So WHY?? do we use text as a method of 'first contact'? Surely it is a recipe for disaster and going back to my dating shenanigans...I have had to dig myself out of a few holes created by my thoughtless texts. I was just trying to convey humour, however, if someone is not on your wavelength then texting them is only going to make it worse!

Think about it. I may be an IT Incontinent (sorry for shouting at you Mr S when you were trying to teach me) and impatient with ever changing technology, but I am not stupid and whilst it is ultimately wise to stay abreast of things, it doesn't hurt to revert to a bit of old fashioned language from time to time.

Namaste

Muse x

PS Talking of communication in all forms. Thanks Jo, you are the first and only to comment on my blog!

Mrs Robinson Strikes Back!

I have finally done it! Created another Blog. The Donut Child Blog is, I suppose, my meanderings on daily life but it is not the heart of soul of me. My sister, daughter and school friend read this and I must temper it to reflect who I am to them. Only a handful of people know the true me.

The Donut Child Blog has given me the confidence to create another Blog, introducing an alter ego and to Blog without constraint, without worrying if I offend or shock or perhaps tell the truth to those that do not want to hear it. It is not about my everyday existence but about what makes me tick and explores some questions I have been asking myself for a long time.

Mr S has been partly responsible for this. He has pushed me to 'Blog and Be Damned' but I wimped out. We have had many conversations about this and he cannot understand how I can Blog as 'half a person' as I am so worried about offending those that love me.

The answer is simple Mr S. I am a kind, caring, loving individual who adores her family and is grateful for her lovely friends. I also carry a darker, more interesting side within me but I do not want to share this with my loved ones. Just recently my Donut Child Blog has become a little more salacious merely because of the frustrated writer in me shouting about wanting more.

So Mrs Robinson strikes back and I hope that my posts on the the other Blog will ensure that Donut Child remains exactly what it is meant to be. A humorous take on life of a forty something mum of three.

Tell me what you think.

Muse x

Mrs Robinson!

Blogging today about beautiful, impossible, older, younger, predatory and naive men. Phew...that was a bit of a statement!

I have been quiet for the last month and not responding to any of them. Actually I have not been in a shell, just thinking about what has gone on in my life. Musing about all the guys I have met, some beautiful, some thoughtful but most of them at odds with me.

I spoke to P about it tonight (the Para Glider), who really does get me...in an intimate sense (not that we have met). It is so good to talk to him. We are very like minded individuals. He knows what I want and it is only distance, both in miles and in heart that separates us.

The 'Mrs Robinson' tag just frustrates me. I have been asked out this week by two 34 year olds and one 23 year old. I am 46 in December. If you have been following my Blog, you will all know that I have dated many younger 'pretty boys' and I have become jaded and bored with them. Hey!....don't knock it! It is fun to realise that you are actually desirable but to be honest I need someone a little more cerebral.

I have been speaking to a really lovely guy tonight and enjoyed talking to him. M is a local guy and we really get on. He is, for once, older than me and I am looking forward to meeting him. I have told him about my experiences (or tried to) on the dating site and I hope he looks at this post as a way of banishing all those younger guys. As Mr S said to me 'stop playing with the pretty boys, you deserve more'.

Going to put some pics up for you curious lot..... of guys I have dated. Have fun looking.

Muse x

PS - The coolest guy in my life (oh... he has a beautiful squeeze who puts me to shame) is 50 and I cannot believe that the 'Heller' of my school days is thus! You are still cool J and all I can say is 'respect' x

My Family and Other Animals

I have been suffering with writers block, boredom and lack of motivation. Never mind the Winter Solstice approaches, then it's all downhill from there, the dark evenings getting lighter as each day passes.

Bit of an odd week in the Muse household. The weather has been spectacular, horizontal rain and high winds. My parents could not get out of the farm where they live because of fallen trees. Serves them right for living in the middle of nowhere. I still maintain they got so tired of answering the phone and of various offspring coming to squat, that they moved into a one bed farm cottage on purpose! Oh and let me tell you about the pigs. They live about two hundred yards from a barn containing a couple of pigs. Said pigs bred and lo and behold, lots of piglets. Now, my mother is animal mad and has fed these little bacon rashers from very young. Sorry you veggies out there but I could not resist. I love piggies, especially with apple sauce! The upshot is they think she is their mother, so instead of children she has now become the proud parent of almost fully grown piglets. A typical phone conversation with her goes something like this:

Me - Hi mum just wanted to tell you about....
Mum - Hang on darling one of the pigs wants to come in.
Me - Why are you letting a pig into the house?
Mum - Ahh he wants to play with his ball, come here boy. Ahh do you want some apples?
Me - Anyway mum I just wanted....
Mum - No piggy don't put your head in the fridge, no, no...good boy come to me.
Me - You are completely barking mother.
Mum - I have to go darling, he's lost his ball under the sofa...

I promise you I am NOT making this up. Picture all of this with my mother in her rollers, speaking in her best Mrs Bouquet voice and you should have some idea of what I have to deal with!

As I said before, it has been a bit of an odd week. The Git has been driving me mad as he needs to run free and that has been impossible during the stormy weather. The poor little man has had a few nightmares after his brush with the bullies but when he woke me at 2 am this morning I had no sympathy. We watched Dr Who together last night and I was cowering behind the sofa (I am such a girl...) whilst he laughed at me. I think last nights viewing was responsible. Absolutely no chance of him admitting that, after all he is a bloke!

A police officer finally visited him tonight after a missed appointment on Friday, to which my father grumpily commented that I should proceed to the nearest motorway, where I would find hundreds of the boys in blue. I have to admit he has a point. Okay, so the upshot is that The Git does not want to go to court as he finds the very concept terrifying and we have agreed to go to mediation at the school, where the bullies will be formally warned by a Community Beat Officer. I asked Josh what he thought the police should do. 'Send them to boarding school' was his reply. Interesting, I would have given my left ear to go to boarding school! I was going to say that I was reading Enid Blyton and Mallory Towers at that age but I wasn't. I was actually reading Daphne Du Maurier and The Bronte Sisters.

The 'Other Animals' in the title does not refer to the pigs. It refers to a human being who has no social skills or grey matter at all. An old school friend of mine has a son in the forces. She is currently overseas with her husband and we keep in touch via Facebook. Her son went into a kebab shop in Portsmouth with a few mates last week. They were all wearing 'Help for Heroes' wristbands. They ordered and paid for their food and were chatting to the owner. He asked them what the wristbands were for and they duly explained what they were. The owner ordered them to leave the shop straight away, saying he thought the war was wrong and he wasn't going to serve them. ....

As you all know, I am a big supporter of our Armed Forces so what follows may be biased but I don't care. (I should also point out that there are 17,600, tri-service, serving personnel in GREAT BRITAIN. Of them, only 4,200 are English. Thanks for the information, John.) I feel utterly sick and bloody furious with this ignorant Fecker. If I lived there, I would bloody picket the place. The man has no brains and deserves to be publicly outed. Don't get me wrong, I advocate free speech and debate but to throw those guys out was an extreme and unwarranted action. There were 32 comments reacting to her post on Facebook, some of the more severe calling for him to be 'sent back to where he came from'. Hmmm....very scary how we can all revert to our most basic of instincts in times of trouble. Not very practical either as like it, or not, we have become a multicultural society. So, lets return to the 'Lead by Example' in an earlier blog and twist it a little. Make an 'example' of this individual. Name him, shame him and hit him where it hurts...his pocket! Simple but deadly.

Be Kind to each other

Muse x

PS Alistair, we are all very proud of you for doing a great job. Oh! and I still have the video of you at Sians second birthday party, how much is it worth mate ! :-)

Violence and Vandals

I am tired, tired, tired tonight and blogging a little earlier than usual. It has been a bit of a traumatic week in the Muse household and not for the happiest of reasons. I have avoided blogging about it as I just wanted to move on and get over it. As usual, Mr S has given me food for thought and I need to get it out of my system so I CAN move on.

Tonights post is about vandalism and mindless violence and how it makes me feel physically sick to bear witness to it. What makes a person attack another for no apparent reason? Why are we even tolerating these people? Hmmm...questions I have to ask myself as I have been a victim of it this week.

Bonfire night arrived, cold and clear, perfect weather for watching the Fireworks. I didn't go, I hate the damn things and as far as I am concerned the best place to be on Bonfire Night is under the duvet with a torch and a good book. My kids are usually escorted to these events by their grandparents. That night, three cars parked outside my home (mine included) had their back windows smashed. I was bloody irritated when I discovered this the next morning. It had only been about a month since one of the council grass cutters had inadvertently put my side window in with a stone. However,it is only a car and not really worth getting too stressed about. I cleaned up the glass, battled howling gales to seal up the window and logged the incident with the police. I haven't heard anything from them thus far. Ce la vie...at least no one was hurt...or so I thought.

I live in a small market town in Cornwall and the news that followed that day was utterly shocking. On the night the vandals had been busy breaking glass, a firework had been put through the letterbox of a middle aged woman. The house went up in flames and whilst she heroically managed to get her 16 year old son out, she went back for her cats and lost her life. Awful, just awful and all because of a supposed prank? This was no prank. She was targeted. Her son has a learning disability and she was known to be victim of local thugs.

Yesterday the 11 year old (also fondly known as The Git) came in from school. He had been helped home by two friends. He was walking home in a daydream, as usual, when he was attacked by two boys in the same year as him. They smashed his head up against a fence post, kicked him to the ground and stabbed him in the hand with a compass. The two friends that helped him home were some way behind and witnessed this random and completely unprovoked attack. I am so angry that the moment I finally give him some personal freedom, two disgusting bullies are responsible for stealing his confidence. My heart breaks for my little boy.

The Git is pretty bruised and stressed, he has a sore head and is complaining of a ringing in his left ear. His hand has three wounds. Last night was difficult, he woke several times crying out for me. His friends have been bloody marvellous... bless their hearts. They were equally shocked and have been round several times to check on him.

My day has been spent dealing with his school and The Police. The school have reacted strongly and swiftly. Both boys have been excluded, they will decide whether to exclude them permanently when the police report comes in. The Police are sending an officer around tomorrow to take a statement from my son. All I can do is give him lots of love and reassurance and hope that this has not completely destroyed his new found self-reliance.

Deep breath! I heard today that 'The Washington Sniper' was executed in the early hours of this morning. An eye for an eye...The very thought makes me shudder. Are we any better than him if we kill another? Would I be any better than the bullies if I physically retaliated? What of the thugs that killed an innocent woman and orphaned her son? Three teenage suspects are being questioned as I write. Should we lock them in a house and set fire to it?

I cannot debate this with you, for the answer is simple to me. The answer is NO. We must lead by example. I, personally could not hurt another. I have the power of words to do that and I abhor physical violence. You will have to decide for yourselves.

Sorry the Blog has been a bit serious of late but shit happens and you have to deal with it.

Namaste

Muse x

Bloggers Beware

I have been talking to Mr S tonight about why we blog. As tired as I am, I have got to get this down on paper or should I say screen! He is writing about something similar tonight but from a different angle.

My biggest reason is the arm injury that has stopped me writing and I missed keeping my Journal so much. That said, Blogging is totally different form of Journal keeping. Writing a Journal is a private experience, you can say what you want, when you want, safe in the knowledge that it stays with you, at least until you go to your grave. I have read bits of my Journal to others but even those have been heavily censored, sharing only the tamest parts with them. I still maintain there is something very satisfying about beautiful suede bound creamy paper, just begging to be marked with a pen. I had no choice so here I am.

Mr S and I talked about this a few weeks ago, asking ourselves why we even bothered. I think you have to be a bit of a frustrated writer to start with. My Journal was my safe space, somewhere I could let my innermost feelings run free. Forget therapy of any sort, writing and recording events was better than telling any counsellor your thoughts, fears and dreams. Then on a lonely night awake (as usual) it was a place to go back and look at how you had dealt with certain things in your life.

I wandered happily onto Blogspot and was just relieved to be writing again. But I did not question the bigger picture and how different an experience it was until I had posted for about three weeks. I also posted a link to my Blog on FB, I did not even justify that, as I was always careful about who had access to my FB wall. It's a contrasting experience because by making your Blog public, even to a small number of people, you are opening up you private life, so it is inevitable that it must be somewhat sanitised. Then you ask yourself the question... why don't I just block my Blog to anyone apart from me? Hmmm....that is where I start to question the validity of my statement, 'I had no choice....'.

Lets go back to the frustrated writer in me. Every writer wants to be published and when you look at this at its most basic, it is a form of vanity publishing. Friends have encouraged me, egged me on after my first few posts and I loved that, yeah, I was at least giving others enjoyment. Then I got frustrated because I found myself not wanting to Blog if I did not have something positive to say. It has taken a while, and I am not completely comfortable with letting you into my most private moments but I have become more confident and hope to relax just a little more with it.

The Beware in the title is a warning to those that think their Blog is bomb proof and they can say exactly what they want, on any subject. As well as the usual libel laws, Blogs are now admissible as court evidence and are routinely being used as such. Oh, by the way, I am as guilty as the rest of using my Blog for propaganda purposes, as my recent posts regarding our Armed Forces show. On the plus side, it is an excellent way of staying in touch with your friends, soothing your ego and trying to give someone a smile. The Blogs out there are a fascinating insight into other peoples lives. One thing is for sure, it is highly addictive!

Be Kind to yourself

Muse x

Sandstorms, Soldiers and My Son

I am supposed to be asleep. In fact, I am proverbially on my knees as have only managed about 6 hours in the the last 48! (No cheeky comments from you please Mr S!) I wanted this post to be uplifting and enlightening but sorry folks, just gotta get it out of my system.

Much of my sleeplessness and angst stems from today (actually 44 minutes into tomorrow as I write this) and of course Remembrance Sunday. Forgive me, whilst I dwell on it for a moment. I will try and make you smile later....honest.

I watched the ceremony at Camp Bastion very early this morning. Somehow, they had managed to gather about 2,000 troops (quite a 3 line whip!) and hold a simple but very poignant Remembrance Service. A sandstorm was threatening, the desert wind, stealing voices and the visibility low. The men and women stood, proud and straight in their dusty desert colours, cap badges displayed and faces grave and sombre. I wondered, whilst watching them, what was running through their minds. Fear, pride, sadness, thoughts of home and memories of funny lively guys, who, were no longer with them but at home, at peace, their lives tragically cut short.

Every one of those men and women feeling the force of that moment in time that we could not possibly imagine as civilians. I had a little tear as they sang, no music accompanying them just the hearty voice of the Chaplin and those roped into the hastily assembled choir. Forget all the pomp and ceremony of The Cenotaph. This beautiful and moving moment in time captured our hearts. Anyone who watched this live will agree with me.

One more thing, before I attempt to lighten the subject. Today is about remembering our Heroes. It is not about gaining political points and jumping on any band wagon that may pass. I am angry about Politicians and News Editors using it for their own gains. What easy, corpulent lives they lead. They disgust me.

Yesterday has passed into today as I write. My son, James also known as Harri is 22 today. I mentioned forces hospitals and their excellence in a previous blog. My son was born at RAF Wroughton in 1987. He has never given me a moments trouble in his 22 years but his birth was a very funny and surreal experience.

My then, husband and I were at RAF Brize Norton, living in dear old Carterton, Oxfordshire, existing amongst the Vicky 10's coming in from far climes and the Hercky Birds droning overhead. Very soothing for us forces brats. My father was serving a tour of Ascension Island at the time and I would regularly 'feed and bribe' flight crew to take emergency pork pies out to ASI for them. They were fairly keen, as most of them were single and I am a Cordon Bleu cook.

I telephoned mum on the 7th of November and said I thought I was in labour. My contractions stopped and I thought nothing more of it. We did not have the Internet back then and the phone was hideously expensive. Apparently, on hearing my news, Ma had jumped on a plane and had forgotten to mention it to me. Further complications came about when the stewardess (coz that is what they were called in those days) the gorgeous Ali Blindell (old school friend.....erm...small world) asked Ma if she was ok. Ma duly explained the situation and Ali (obviously being very capable, organized and going out with the pilot at the time!) went to the flight deck. What followed was hilarious. I was sat at home getting twinges and a pilot 36,000 feet above the Atlantic radioed in and asked Air Traffic Control to patch him through to RAF Wroughton! Feck! Some poor midwife putting her feet up at two in the morning had to deal with his radio call!

By the time I was admitted on the morning of the 9th of November (ma had flown in that morning) I was met by a welcoming committee of senior staff and midwives, all thinking I was a big noise, flown in from ASI. All very embarrassing! I was given an Officers 'Ladies' bed for the first night and as soon as they had checked me out, I was moved, very swiftly to the big ward where the lowly CPL's wives resided!

No matter. My beautiful son James was born at 5.38pm, after a 3 hour labour....fast asleep and he stayed that way for 24 hours. Hey....he was three weeks early and needed to rest a bit. I will never forget what my wristband said. W/O 244837835 CPL Harrison and James...S/O 244837835 CPL Harrison. No worries about hospital security in those days! Oh, and after lunch we were visited by a drop dead gorgeous PTI. He would take us through our 'post natal' exercises. I could not be bothered and he asked me 'If you are unable to manage the pelvic thrust Mrs Harrison, what the hell are you doing in here?' Bloody funny but cheeky!

Ali Blindell came to visit me a few days later on her next flight in. I was in my nightie and feeding James. Unfortunately we were unable to find her for the school reunion this year. James is in his last year at Uni and I am so proud of him. He is a fabulous camera man and has found his niche in life. My ex is working in Ghana and is fairly happy.

Peace to you all

Muse x

PS When my husband collected his 15 years of Undetected Crime Medal, the Brig who was presenting it said 'Fucking Hell Old Chap, you are more decorated than me!' Time we gave the wives some medals I think.

Remembering The Lost Souls.

I have been dreading this post. I honestly thought that I could leave it until the eve of Remembrance Sunday. It seems not. My heart is breaking for the lost soldiers, 5 of ours 8 of theirs. Sorry, but that is how I feel about it.

Trying to think about politics but to be honest I am just angry.

Brown is an accountant, not a leader. Yeah, harsh words but true ones. Get off your Ass Brown and give our guys the kit and support they need. Not just in the field, but when they come home with serious physical and psychological injuries. As a 'Forces Brat', I enjoyed fantastic health care, right up to the birth of my second son, who is now 3 days short of his 22nd birthday. All the forces Hospitals that I knew as a child and a young woman are now closed.

The names Obama and Osama sit badly with me. What is the difference? Apparently, we are waiting for Obama to give us 'the nod'. Why?

We need to stand up for our troops, support them, give them what they need and stop being pulled around by powers that think they know better than us. We have the history, we have the know how and we need to stand up and be counted.

We may be a small Island but we have the knowledge and true grit to show others the way.

An emotive post, I know, but I am passionate in the belief that with our support our troops will win through, whatever the politics. We are the best and the most heartened and always will be.

Leaving you tonight with a poem from Rupert Brooke. I read a lot of his stuff before he went to war and he was 'happy'. Shame I cannot find it on the net. I still have my treasured volume of a young man going to war.

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Muse x

Insomnia Rules

Talking tonight about Insomnia. I have, so far, refused to admit I am an Insomniac but meeting Mr S has put a different slant on things and I must now hold my hands up and be counted. Mr S had counselled me about this but I am still reluctant to admit that I suffer. He is a true Insomniac, he gets up when others do but generally only sleeps between the hours of 3 am and 8am.

Me....hmmm... I am a bit more complicated than that. I am a 'Binge' Insomniac. I can do 48 hours without sleep and then I will fall over for 12 but this pattern repeats with me, again and again. Sometimes I go for 72 hours and manage to cope (note, I do not ever drive during this phase). So am I an Insomniac? or do I need to re-learn my sleeping habits?

I think I am scared of missing something. I do not normally watch TV nowadays but a few years ago, when I was still ensconced in the Green Eyed Monster, I drove myself mad, channel hopping as I thought I might be missing something! NOT! A DVD box that records has solved that, so where does that leave me?

I did try and re-learn my sleeping habits when in Hospital with a shattered elbow. The nurses were pretty fed up with me, as despite morphine, sleeping tablets, I could not sleep and give them peace to stand at their station and gossip. One nurse came up to me at 3 in the morning and asked me very gently if I was a drug addict!!!!!....I was in terrible pain and just cried in front of her. When I recovered I found her and explained to her that not everyone sleeps as she does. She was mortified and apologised to me.

In the wee small hours, there are not many like me and I am grateful to have found Mr S. I am not sure there is not any cure but meeting him has, at least, shown me that I am not alone.

Hope you are sleeping safe in your beds.

Muse x

The Power of Music

It is late or perhaps early, dependant where you are in the world. I cannot sleep, but no matter as I have had an excellent evening.... on my own. The Git sleeping safe, a warm fire, scented candles and me catching up on some songs I have not listened to for years. More in a minute.

The power of Music is unbelievable. Organised Religion sets my own teeth on edge ( hey, each to their own) but Music....now that is a freedom that every one of us has from an early age. We are (or used to be) taught Hymns at school (Lord of the Dance), silly songs that our fathers sang (You are my Sunshine), Brownie/Cub songs (Kookaburra ....yeah, you are all swearing at me, so I won't give you the full title as you will sing it all day tomorrow!) Ad infinitum. Tears in my eyes now as when we grow up we can't sing in public, only in the shower or the car. Actually I am not allowed to sing in the car as The Git has the gift of perfect pitch and shouts at me when I do.....spoilsport.

Why don't we sing more, why don't we get together and sing our hearts and worries out? It is such a blast to sing out loud and free. The western world frowns upon singing. Other cultures know better and they sing throughout their adult lives. It is about time we bloody did. Doesn't matter what you sing, just do your best and have fun.

I don't usually watch the Green Eyed Monster that most of you know as Television. My grandfather, Samuel, was one of the very first TV Engineers and always told me that unless TV was used to educate, it would be the drug of the masses. I think I was about 9 or 10 at the time. How right he was. Sorry digressing again! What I meant to say was I loved watching The Choir programmes (one about teaching inner city kids to sing, the other a competition). My point is that you do not need to worship any God, Church or other to be able to stick on a pair of headphones or whack the volume up and SING! You never know it might just unwind you a bit and pull you back to that place in your heart.

That is exactly what happened to me tonight. Headphones on and volume up! I started with Hallelujah by Jeff Beck then somehow it morphed into Eric Clapton and Stevie Winwood singing, Had To Cry Today, Presence Of The Lord, Georgia On My Mind and Cocaine. On it went ,Led Zep with Stairway to Heaven and Kashmir, which somehow led me neatly into George Harrison. My Sweet Lord and Here Comes The Sun, among others.

John Lennon was next. Fabulous writer and musician. Shame he had a large thumb print in middle of forehead! Listened to about an hour of his stuff and of course the song 'Woman' came up. Playing it brought back some wonderful memories for me. Sweet sixteen and a dalliance with a fairly famous older man, known to many in Cyprus. All very innocent. Sweet kisses, lots of respect and true friends. When he returned to the UK he sent me a record. That record was 'Woman' and I was heartbroken he had left me without a backward glance. Back in London in the 80's we met and finally came together. A perfect six months between us, where we shared our souls. He has gone to another place now and I miss him. Ever the romantic...that's me!

Finally back to my roots. Yep. Van The Man. Thirteen years old and 'Into The Mystic' blew me away. Had a lot of fun listening to him tonight. Funny really as I never listen to him now because his songs bring so much of my past back to me and sometimes that is hard.

So former old schoolies out there and all you 'Gypsy Souls'....I will attempt a link to a wonderful and beautiful cover of the song.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAft9O0Lsss&feature=related

I hope it works as I am IT incontinent. His name is Lukas Grant.

I'm tired but happy tonight.

Stay strong and true to yourselves and Bloody Sing!

Muse x

PS Mr S. Your last post was lovely but I could not comment on it for some reason. Big Hugs. Muse xx

Halloween....El Día de los Muertos or All Souls' Day

Halloween has arrived with indecent haste and for once the children playing Trick or Treat did not freeze. How weird is the weather? It is quite a miracle for me to be feeling warm this time of year. There are far too many customs and celebrations of this night, which seamlessly segue into tomorrow, to blog about so I will take it easy on myself and mention just a few.

My first memory of Halloween is running around at the age of 9 in RAF Gatow (Berlin), knocking on doors and actually being expected to perform a trick, in order to gain a treat. I wasn't quite sure where I got the idea from, possibly the American kids on the base. I can't remember dressing up either. One thing is for sure I didn't know why I was doing it, just that it was fun and being a fairly gregarious child, I was up for it! The mischief making generally ran to knocking on windows or doors and running away or using a water pistol. All very innocent.

Fast forward to tonight. I think I had around 60 kids knock on the door, all of them dressed as various ghoulish characters, from babies in prams, dressed as Pumpkins to larger boys in Scream masks. Every single one of them has been polite, supervised, or solo. With the help of Cadburys, I have avoided the tedious window cleaning that accompanies spirited egg throwing! Whilst I love to see the kids having fun, the question I ask myself is, am I paying my 'Shadow Taxes' to the racketeers of tomorrow? The children's costumes were, without exception, purchased and not made. I said 'Trick' once or twice just for the hell of it and was met by bewildered looks, one little boy almost bursting into to tears before, I managed to make up for my gaff with double chocolate rations. (These Vampires aren't what they used to be you know!)

The children do not know what this celebration means. Not in their own culture or that of the more diverse ones around the world. Just as many children are unable to explain the meaning of Christmas or Easter because of the tedious commercial circus that surrounds these events in this country. Yeah, you know where this one is going don't you! I could blame it all on our American cousins, but if they jump off a bloody cliff, it does not necessarily follow, that we should! (Unless your name is Blair, initial T!) If you are reading this , please take the time to explain to your children the roots of the calendar events we celebrate, because they are fascinating and educational. Mind you, if you are reading this, then you probably already have....she says grumpily! Lecture over.

Now to my romantic view of Halloween, All Hallows Eve. The night a Bridge is opened between the dead and the living. When midnight arrives so does The Day of the Dead. For the Mexicans and Spanish it is an important day. On All Hallows Eve, families go to the gravesides of their loved ones (in other cultures, it is to infants graves who have perished during the previous year) and clean the grave. On the Day of the Dead, donning their Sunday best they visit the graves on this day, often bearing gifts of food and trinkets. Then back home for a family meal and lots of anecdotes and toasts to their dearly departed kin.

What a fantastic idea! I have been in Spain for a couple of El Dia de los Muertos and what fun they have, remembering how great Uncle Miguel used to pass out when he had imbibed exactly 7 beers or how they miss and love their mother/father etc.... It is soothing for the living as well and they know that when their time comes they will be remembered in the same way. Arriving home, they all sit down eat a huge meal and get tipsy. Triffic!

I have had a good couple of days. I went out to dinner last night with another beautiful but unsuitable man. He was a lot of fun, good company and cheered me up no end. I have decided to try and avoid mentioning the 'A' word (age). I won't apologise for being 45 and he knew that when he asked me out. Why should I justify it, if it isn't an issue to him. Obviously I am not going to wander off into the sunset with him but we enjoyed each others company, had some good food and lots of laughs. Excellente! Sorry, I seem to Spanish tonight....

Ma and Pa came over today with the beautiful granddaughter Angelina. They brought The Git home, he has spent 5 days with them, giving me a much needed break. Angelina was very cute and such a good girl. Sian took her to the Eden project last night for a Halloween Party. Angelina took me by the shoulders ( I was kneeling down) and leaned close into my ear to tell me that the naughty dancing man did not scare her one bit! My girl is made of stern stuff , just like her Nanny! About half way through her story, she looked at me, frowned and stepped away. My mum is waiting for her new hearing aids and Angelina has been used to talking into her ear to make herself understood. We all had a good giggle and Angelina gave us the 'naughty face' and stamped her foot....see, just like her Nanny!

A bit of an embarrassing confession to end on for tonight. I got in the car (also known as shoe and evian water carrier) yesterday and couldn't start it. Battery fine, turning over fine (hot wire switch on...erm...long story) fine but it wasn't firing. Oh shit! I thought to myself, dad is going to have a field day when he comes over tomorrow. When did I last put oil in it...erm....how long since I checked the tyres...erm, better make up a story and get it straight before he arrives.

Dad stomped in and gave me the third degree. 'The thing with cars, Lynette (ouch...my given), is they need oil, water, petrol and servicing. You never do any of these things, and you expect it to run'. I stuttered for a bit and realised (yet again) that I was 5 years old, not 45, as I had previously thought! Its no good, as hard as I try, I cannot lie to Dad! He buggered off to the car and I grumbled to Mum. 'Well jolly well stand up for yourself' ,she said. 'Can't' I mumbled, 'I am only five'....

Two minutes later, in strides Dad. 'You' he scathed ' are out of petrol'! The silly moo bit was thankfully left out. Its a girl thing.......honest.

Stay Happy and Warm

Muse x

Back on Track

Musing tonight about a few things. The dating site I joined really has been an eye opener and many on the site do not actually know what they are looking for (me included)! I have been very lucky with the guys I have met, and in general, they have been personable and have treated me well.

I have been talking to another couple of guys from the site but we haven't 'dated' (awful word). M is someone I met whilst out on a date with another guy. We have the same background and have got on fantastically. He is going through a bit of a crises at the moment and has talked to me about it tonight. He has been offered a part in a Porn Film.....he he he....I can see you all hiding your shocked mouths behind your hands. Get over it!!

I was most interested in his news and proceeded to quiz him on it. I really thought he was winding me up and made him jump through some hoops in order to satisfy my curiosity. Apparently the form, is to submit your C.V, complete with most intimate detail, then off for medical tests (which apparently come back in 24hrs) and 'Bobs your Uncle'! He is looking forward to having fun with a couple of nubile young women, who would probably not normally give him the time of day (a little unfair as he is pretty gorgeous) but hey ! who am I to judge. Have fun M! Oh and do not forget to report back to me!

Another guy who is known to me as P is going through a long recovery after a Paragliding accident so we talk about pain and drugs and dealing with bad breaks in life. He is such an interesting guy and I love talking to him. He is also much braver and stronger than I will ever be. The lesson I have learned from the site is that there is more to life than dating pretty boys and there are some great people out there.

I have been ensconced in the Michael Palin's diaries. 1969 to 1979 - The Python Years. He is a very mild mannered man, who expresses himself in his writing. Until now, I did not realise how much of the Python/Ripping Yarns/Holy Grail/Jabberwocky/Life of Brian he was responsible for. I honestly thought it was John Cleese that wrote most of Python. It seems not. Cleese has been in psychotherapy for most of his adult life (not a critiscism) and it seems, is unable to multi task like Palin. Funny isn't it? It is always the quiet ones you have to watch! Palin is a very principled man and I admire his personal discipline. I suspect he also suffers with Aspergers.

One of his entries is dated Tuesday March 16th, 1976 (just managed to miss the Ides!). He says 'Harold Wilson is resigning'. At that moment in time I was in an R.E lesson with my form tutor a Mr Phil Jagger, who we absolutely adored. He would say things like 'pin back your lug holes and listen!' It was my first year at 'Big School' before swanning off to KRS in Cyprus, where school was much easier. I digress, our R.E teacher had gone off sick so Phil Jagger took the lesson and decided to play us The Lumberjack Song and other bits of Python rather than teaching us about religion. Most of the class were bored but even at the tender age of 12 , I got Python and was overjoyed at the Python record. Another teacher came in (his first name was Bill, P.E teacher and a good all round shouter, large gold rings and a medallion) and muttered to Jagger ' Wilson has resigned'. 'Fucking Hell' said Jagger. I was monumentally shocked, not by Python but by Jagger!

Thirty three years later and reading about that moment in time, took me right back to it. That my lovely readers is what my previous journals/ a blog is all about. It is recapturing a moment in time and being able to revisit it.

Namaste

Muse x

A Tough Week

I cannot believe a week has passed since I last put keyboard to screen. It has been a bit of a toughie on the Muse front. Close friends will know the main reason, I am unable share it with you as it may hurt another female, but I will no doubt get it out of my system eventually.

One of the reasons for my angst is, the dark approaching fast. The day after tomorrow, the clocks will go back and the sun will be low, just like my mood. It will take me a couple of weeks to adjust but I am determined to do so. Next week is carefully planned - three visits to the sunbed ( I normally do two a month), hairdresser and lots of cleaning. Turfing out spiders, cleaning windows, getting rid of clutter, passing on books. It is something I do every year, not spring cleaning but divesting myself of everything unnecessary as the the winter months crush me so badly. I will not let the dark beat me this year, 'think positively, act amazingly and pull yourself through' is my current Mantra. None of this would be possible without my loving friends and family. That is the difference this year, I am finally out of my shell and embracing life. Bless you Helen for reminding me of the important things in life. Thank you Kath for being steadfast and sure. Mr S, you have been wonderful and I am so lucky to have you in my life. Okay, emotive bit over!

Some of the difficulties this week have stemmed from The Git and of course the TWMBO's. However, his teachers have been very patient with him over the last two weeks and he has been uncooperative and sullen, refusing to take on any responsibility. The mornings, in particular, have been very difficult and stressful. He refuses to shower, clean his teeth, do homework or talk to me. The turning point came last night, when I burst into tears before him. He was utterly horrified and put his (somewhat unclean arms) around me. We sat and talked and he realised how much his Ma worried about him and said he was sorry. No doubt the problems will continue, of that I am sure because an 11 year old boy, who has difficulty communicating with anyone can only snatch a moment to realise that actions have consequences. However, it was enough to calm me and enable me to renew my connection with him. I am so grateful for that moment in time.

Time to lighten up and get back to myself. Had a weird day on Wednesday. I spoke to Hyacinth (the mother who must be obeyed at all costs), she told me that my ex husband was coming down to visit older chicklets. I have not seen him for nearly 15 years.

This is due to:-

a) Me being completely impossible.
b) Him having a long relationship (plus lovely child) with rough Edinburgh woman who said she may kill me if I dared go near him!
c) Him working abroad so we were never in the same country at the same time.

I digress. I spoke to the chicklets and they assured me it would be fine to satisfy my curiosity. I drove to Sian's and tried to look my best, difficult when I could not get a hairdressers appointment that morning. Ce la Vie! Wandered in, very calm, said hello to my beautiful granddaughter and pecked him on the cheek. He looked exactly the same. Tanned, 6ft and the biggest beer belly I have ever seen! He is naturally tall and thin and he looked like he was about to give birth! Nope, not being bitchy, just telling it like it is. He seemed much more confident in himself, which is good. We went outside for a smoke and he immediately got nervous around me. I wonder why? So much water has passed under the bridge that surely things between us should not matter? I was sad to discover that he had still not forgiven me. He was married to the army and not me, which is why, when he was posted to Scotland, I refused to go and moved to Devon, where my parents were. I obviously hurt him badly and finally realise how much that has affected him. We had a picture taken together. I am glad we met. I have learned that facing your past, square on, will help you to MOVE ON.

Bit of a serious post tonight but its good to write it down. The Muse may not be herself at the moment but she is determined to sort it out.

Love and Peace to you All x

A Fine Line......

Musing tonight about the fine line between love and hate. I have been sat here tonight thinking about my true friends, thinking of past and almost, present lovers and trying to get up to 'two' hands counting them in. I have a very small number of true friends, they know who they are, but can you indulge me for a sec' when I say, 'miss you so much Nige'.

The thing is you either 'get' a person or you don't, it really is that simple. A blogger friend, Mr S, talked about the subtle difference between love and hate and I think his words make an awful lot of sense. No matter how close you are to a person, you have the capacity to do both.

What makes a wife hate her husband, when she dislikes and tolerates him 'for the sake of the children'? What makes a husband betray his wife, when he does everything he can for the kids, that are not his own in the first place, whilst his wife shows her dismay?

Just questions...... not judgements. The only thing is to sit down and evaluate all that you have achieved together. Hey, you both started out with a big dream and that dream has had it's hiccups. It is not impossible to get back on track and see this whole thing as an opportunity. Perhaps you will get back to that dream in your heart? Let's hope so.

I am a little bored at the moment, reading a lot, cleaning the house, shoving conkers in odd places as Marie, has assured me, this will keep the 'Harry The Bastards' out of the house. Erm...perhaps I ought to explain 'Harry The Bastards'. The Harry's in my house are large Hairy Spiders, dutifully named after my ex-army husband's Staff Sgt, who was called Harry, he addressed every Junior Rank as Bastard and stole all their ciggies! (Oh and he was very hairy!) By the way, I can do all the small ones, no problem! Some other quaint nicknames in my household are 'Egg and Civvies'. Well, we could never do Egg and Soldiers could we?, not with our background!

The others are my children, being beautiful in their innocence. I planted Marigolds and photographed a 3 year old James (who is now just a few days short of his 22nd birthday) in the midst of them and he told me that he loved the Garimolds (yeah, I know you will smile at that one Mr Farrington!). There are so many, but one of the funniest was spending 4 years on the North Devon Coast with The Git, who told me he hated the Ski-Gulls! (One had swooped and pinched his ice-cream!)

Muse signing off now but just a little thought to leave you with.....

All men dream but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes to make it possible.
T.E. Lawrence

Stop All The Clocks.

Posting this for the lost boys......

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Time to Emigrate to Ascension Island

I have been unable to blog the last week as I really haven't had the energy. I have spent the whole of the last week trying to put my finger on the source of my ennui and lethargy. Then it hit me! Somehow I had not realised that September had slipped into October and for me that is the time of year when my body tells me winter is upon us and I should go to bed and hibernate until at least mid February. No cheeky cracks at my similarity to a hamster please!

Being a child of the sun, I suffer with Seasonal Affective Disorder, known to many as SAD. When I first came across the condition, I did not take it seriously and dismissed it as another label used to describe lazy people. But as the years have gone by, I realise that this is me, whether I like it or not.

I hate the winter and I think the only place I could escape this condition is a climate such as Ascension Island, subtropical and on the equator. Hmmm....bit of a rock in the middle of the Atlantic but what a fabulous place. I was lucky enough to visit three times as my father was working there for the Donut Fryers. I was pregnant with my second child during my first visit and remember everything about it. No alcohol to kill off the brain cells you see! I also met people that would become my lifelong friends.

I had a wonderful time full of beach barbeque's, sun downer parties and the strange dancing habits of the St Helenan Male! Most of the British husbands (mine was serving a tour of Norway at the time) refused to dance so the lovely Saints became our dance partners. Oh, they were the days of legend, when Tag Mullins, jumped in the sea at night and swam across the bay, closely followed by two (or was it 30) large sharks! (Sharks were just paying him back as Tag was a lunatic Shark fisherman, despite, somehow, passing the security vetting the Donuts imposed.) Driving around the place was hazardous to say the least. The roads were regularly washed away by rain storms and donkeys just loved to stand in the middle of the road on a particularly dark night. The St Helenans gave everyone a nickname and the mechanic was called Small Change! My dad was called 'Knife Man', quite a compliment as the Saints usually only gave names to their own. So, no roads, donkeys and waving at every single driver you passed was the cause of much havoc.

Eight years later, newly divorced and newly redundant I was looking forward to a few parties. I arrived on the Tri Star and promised Dad, I would not sign any bar chits. Bar chits are a pretty wonderful thing. The Island population didn't usually deal in cash, subsequently, everyone had an account with all the Clubs/Petrol Station (one pump only) and NAAFI shop. I was supposed to stay for 10 days and ended up staying 7 weeks! Friends looking after my house/car in the UK nearly reported me missing to the local constabulary! I was so careful at the start of my visit to give dad any money for drinks imbibed but at 3 in the morning, all common sense goes out of the window. Actually my bar bill was only about £200 but my younger sister's (who had visited a few weeks before me) bill, apparently broke all previously held records! Poor dad! All he did was stomp about and mutter about petrol and beer bills.

We had a fantastic time. The parties were out of this world. I went to a beach party at the American base. Say what you like about the Americans, but they certainly know how to throw a good party. Large amounts of gorgeous food, lots of ice and a lot of funky, if somewhat dated music, right on the beach. There was no licensing so everyone bought a bottle of spirits and a case of beer, problem solved. I came across the Chief Clerk at one point, holding tightly onto a post. "Why are you holding on to that post Dave", I said (it was early and I was still capable of speech). "If I let go, I fear I may fall over" was his reply! Chief Clerk was to be seen at his desk in fully pressed uniform and shiny shoes at 07.00 next morning. Talk about stamina!

Every club on the Island has a beach hut and one of my favourites was the Turtle Beach hut owned by the RAF. Turtle Beach is one of the most beautiful on the Island and named for the green turtles that lay their eggs there. We used to camp out over night at the hut, erm...camp is a bit of a strong word actually. Every beach hut had a mains power supply, kitchen, loo and BBQ. So it was great fun to chill, have a few shipwrecks (rum and coke) and after you had got long suffering dad to drive you there in the first place, go find a turtle hole, in which to snog your latest beau. In my defence, I met The Gits dad there so only actually had two beaus! I remember waking up with a start one morning as half the US Air Force flew over Turtle Beach and I am not exaggerating! I was pretty grumpy as we barbied our sausages for breakfast. Turned out the, then Vice President, Al Gore was visiting for the day. Seems he wasn't 'Mr Green' way back then!

Now there is drunk and there is stupid and drunk. On one occasion I was the latter. I decided in my 4 a.m. wisdom that I wanted another drink and nothing was going to stop me so I went to The Exiles Club, which was situated on the top of an 18th Century marine barracks with an outside staircase leading up to it. The bar had a key code to get in and you could get a drink at anytime of the day by using the code and signing a chit. The door had a pillar next to it and it was actually possible to climb over the balcony without using the code. I was so blasted I could not remember the code and decided to climb around the pillar (some 30ft up) in four inch heels after 13 shipwrecks! Not a good move, how I survived to tell this tale, I have no idea!

Oh I feel better now. This blog tonight started out as a rant about the British winter and turned into a wonderful trip down memory lane. Just what I needed to stave off the winter blues.

I suppose I ought to update you on the bloke situation. I had a lovely time last weekend with 'Mr S' and feel I have made a friend for life but I am still single and quite determined to get out there and meet more people.

Be Kind to yourself.

Muse x

Facebook...a scary premis?

Here I am at last, after a few days of hell with nasty toothache. It is still going on and I am just about ready to knock on the the local vets door and beg him to put me out of my misery. I was prescribed the wrong dose of antibiotics and so 5 days later there is no improvement and I have to admit I am struggling. I am trying not to be too grumpy but when you are in pain its so difficult to put a smile on your face. Oh well, I am looking forward to 'another' putting that smile back this weekend! Brings new meaning to the words 'take your mind off it'! Hee hee, just a naughty little Muse joke!

Those that know me are aware that I have a terrible facebook habit and really must seek professional help for it. However, when I broke my elbow, it became my lifeline and a way to keep in touch with all of those nearest and dearest to me. My love affair with FB is slowly fading, as I once again embrace the real world. I have discussed FB with a few people and they are divided into two camps. The first say it is a wonderful thing to do and love sending hearts, bunnies, kisses and other various yak to each other, whilst playing mindless addictive games. The second say they would never put their details on there as FB is used by the government as a way to snoop into peoples lives. Each to their own I guess.

I have one foot in each camp. Yeah, I love keeping in touch with my friends and play a word game called Pathwords because I can no longer write for long enough to do a daily crossword and need to keep my brain active. But if anyone dares to send me bunnies, teddies ..etc they are immediately ex-communicated, never to be seen again.

I have happily posted my details, and tend not to worry about it because HELLO, you are talking to a Donut child here! Yes the big 'G' probably do have a wander around FB but exactly what are people posting that could be of interest? Lets face it, you are in control of what you write and if you are stupid enough to include your bank details, complete with pin number, then on your head be it! If you have an email account or have ever shopped online or indeed use the Internet at all, you are exposing your personal life willingly and often without thought.

The only thing that sets my teeth on edge about FB, is that 'six degrees of separation' thing. I already know how small the world is because of my background. For instance, back in June I attended a mini school reunion in Dorset. A couple of old school friends from the frozen North came down for a holiday and booked a tiny cottage in the middle of the beautiful Dorset countryside. Nothing for miles,(not even a mobile signal...grrrr!) except for a picturesque pub and I travelled up to see them, booking a room at said pub. Regular readers of this blog, will know we went to school in Cyprus, on a military base. We got chatting to the landlord, only to find that he was Head Army Chef at the base whilst we were at school. Cue Twilight Zone music. Of all the pubs and all the villages we could have chosen....

I guess what I am trying to say is none of us usually sit down and think about how entwined our lives really are but with the explosion of the WWW the world has become one Lilliputian village. That doesn't sit very easily with me, in fact it disappoints me because that insistent travel bug in my blood still swims strong and as soon as The Git is old enough, I shall be off again. No pipe and slippers for me, thank you very much! Enough of my meandering thoughts, its these pills you know, I do feel very out of focus at the moment.

It has been a good but tiring day. I went to the hairdresser as usual, I go twice a week and let the juniors practice on me. My lovely hairdresser Jess is nearly 18 and learning to cut. Sitting still was never one of my strengths but with a bad tooth it was even more difficult. I was a good girl though, I sat and watched the concentration on Jess' face as she cut my hair beautifully and gently reminded her to breathe from time to time. So well done Jess, you are a little shining star. Then to the beauty salon for.....ahem, well what goes on in the salon is between a girl and her beautician. Oh and clothes shopping. I failed miserably and returned with two pairs of boots. Bad, bad Muse, tut, tut! Can't help it, shoe habit, must seek urgent help!

So I am sat here blogging when I really should be upstairs sorting out what to wear on my date tomorrow night. Right I had better leave you in peace and have a wander through my wardrobe.

Be Kind to yourself

Muse x

A Sick Muse

I haven't blogged in the last couple of days as I have been in a lot of pain with tooth abscess and barely able to raise my head from the pillow. I am still unwell but so full of painkillers/antibiotics I am at least able to write for a bit.

First some good news, my daughters best friend Kayleigh, gave birth to a baby girl in Denia, Spain. She is a gorgeous little blondie and looks like her mum. Thank the gods for delivering her safely to us. Welcome to the world Carla Enola!

I have been talking to a couple of friends about my blog. Asking, how far do I let it go? How far do I let you into my life, my thoughts, dreams and passions. My hates, spoilt moments, hissy fits and general grumpiness?

I started this online blog as after a recent arm injury, I am unable to write for long and as a prolific journal keeper, I missed writing so much. Putting my thoughts on paper (or now in blog form) helps me to make sense of them and think things through. It helps to talk about my day, purge any bad thoughts and embrace any good ones.

So how far do I go? It's not that I am shy, far from it but do I want to spill all? The general consensus seems to be 'spill', but that poses its own problems. Oh well, I guess I will just let it develop and if anyone finds it difficult to read then they can always leave it alone.

Right. I have had an interesting few days with the 'other guy', I mentioned in my last blog . Lets call him Mr S, short for Mr Sensual. Mr S, rightly pointed out that I was wrong to cut communication with him just because he has a complex personal life. I hate it when I have to admit to being wrong but admit I did, and I am glad I held my hands up because he really is the most interesting guy.

He accused me of playing with pretty boys and not knowing what I wanted. Hmm.., that was a bit hard to swallow but he was right on that score. I just did not realise what I was doing. Lets face it, its all very well going out with a 32 year old, the flattery, the gorgeous looks and the fact that ME, at the grand old age of 45 pulled him! But I can't carry on dating unsuitable men, no matter how beautiful they are. I do not care what any woman who dates a man more than 10 years her junior says, it will never work! You are either replacing his mother or you have money and he may not even comprehend it himself, but no way is your relationship going to last more than five years. I suppose you could also argue, well five years is five years and we'll have a good time. Hmm...then you will be 50 dear and what will you do, have a face lift or dash off for a 'Demi Moore'?!!

So yes! that is what I have been doing, having a bit of fun and they didn't seem to mind but I have to stop it at some point. Its a bit like chocolate it tastes fabulous, makes you feel happy and then you reach for another bar and feel very, very sick. I am not quite at the feeling sick stage yet but I can't see it being long!

Back to Mr S. I can only describe him as an anomaly. He speaks like a Chav (ouch, no doubt I will be soundly reprimanded for that one) but writes beautifully. He is a man of many talents, can turn his hand to anything plumbing, decorating, carpentry, mechanics and yet is an Engineer by trade (I know, I know..another one!) Then his interest in, and love of, history and art belie his persona as a sometimes DJ and clubber. He has also, somehow managed to work out a little of what I am about. He is quite an antidote to those toy boys, ah but I have to confess he is 5 years younger than me. All I can say is I am a young spirit and he has been back on earth many more times than I, so I shall endeavour to learn from his example.

I am meeting him on Saturday and for the first time I am nervous. I wasn't nervous about any of the other dates as they did not really mean anything to me and I was quite happy to walk away if things didn't work out. Now before Mr S, gets a big head, its nice to get a few flutters about a date, doesn't mean that I want to marry him! Yes don't panic, I am still a feisty Muse and a bit of a handful but I am sure he wouldn't have it any other way!

I will let you know how things work out. Now I had better get some more painkillers and lay my head down again. After all I need to be fit and gorgeous for Saturday!

Namaste

Muse x

Being Gentle

It is very late, or very early depending on whether you are a night owl or an early bird, and for once, I have an excuse for my insomnia. Ghastly toothache! A little high on painkillers but just about able to blog sensibly, erm...do I ever blog sensibly?? Oh a little apology to all those I have inadvertently blocked from my blog, forgive me, I am an IT incontinent and pressed the wrong button!

Talking of pressing the wrong buttons.....I was reading back my blog of the last week and it seems very cold and clinical. It is so difficult to write in a balanced way about the dreaded subject of the difference that exists between men and women, without sounding spiky and man hating or as though you have swallowed an American self help book.

I guess I have talked about specific men on here (named by profession only) in a light hearted way. Just guys that I have dated or had 'fun' with (read into that what you like!) and I meant them no disrespect, suffice to say they were not right for me and whilst leaving me frustrated, did me no harm.

Two guys I have not discussed with you are still stuck in the front of my mind and I so wish they would go away! However, they are unaware that they invade my space and, should not be blamed. I wonder if this is the cowards way, to use my blog to apologise and tell them how much I think of them both? I am only apologising for putting up barriers and protecting myself, nothing more.

I miss my Mr Engineer so much, I adored (past tense) him but he belongs to another and I cannot deal with the guilt that goes with that. I miss you Mr Engineer but I cannot carry on and feel more settled for ending things between us.

The other guy is a recent acquaintance and I enjoyed his company. I was very unsure of him (I still am) and I could not possibly see how we could actually overcome the high fences that surrounded us. I am at a stage in my life where family life is at long last, not the be all and end all of my existence and I am looking forward to some freedom. So after learning of his various family complications, involving children, I could not see a way forward. I dutifully wished him goodbye in what I hoped was a civilised manner.

What followed between us shocked me. He told me that by cutting contact with him I had humiliated him. Oh dear, not something I would ever want to do to another. I have sat and mused about this and can only come up with the following:

1. I have behaved in a blokish manner and should be reprimanded forthwith!
2. He should realise that not everyone is compatible and Move on!
3. I am way too prickly and should try and be more understanding
4. Yes I know blokes have feelings but this is the first example I have come across in a while...

You see! There I go again 'Ms Put Up Your Fences and Prepare to do Battle'! Can't help it can I?

I have to find someone who makes my heart skip a beat every time he enters the same room, a guy who knows how to kiss a girl softly and then take her breath away by grabbing her when she is least expecting it. Someone who can finish my thoughts, be completely at ease with me and talk to me about his hopes and fears.

That, I suppose is the literary romantic side of me talking, but it does exist. Despite my full on 'deal with it' attitude I do have that side. It's an awful long time since I showed it to anyone though. Who knows, perhaps there is no hope for me? When we get to this age most of us are damaged goods in one way or another and my most significant damage must be a lack of trust in others.

On the up side of things I am more confident in myself, my parents and children are delighted by the change in me. I am pretty happy being a solo in this world, but it would be so good to find someone like minded. My darling girlfriend Jo, told me I have to kiss a few frogs in life to find my prince. Yes I know its a bloody cliche but hell she is so right!

Right enough of my pondering for one night. The Muse is off to write to some dear neglected friends.

Love and peace to all of you out there x

Are The British a nation of 'Fakers'!

This blog has become a bit 'mumsy' of late and whilst my kids are a big part of my life they are not the whole of me. I wanted to talk about sex and what people out there actually want. I wonder if I can do that in a lady like manner, very much doubt it, but I'll give it a go. Those of you just about to eat your dinner may look away now!

A lot of women (and men) read magazines, most of which are full of hype about 'how to turn her on' or 'how to satisfy him' and I wonder how many of these articles are actually written by real people. I strongly suspect that they are penned by bored journalists trying to spice up the cover and increase circulation figures. Failing that we are a nation of FAKERS!

In my experience, lets just say that (oh god, how do I put this delicately) the average bloke only knows which way is up and which way is down! Feck it, (to steal the words of another) pass me the shovel! Actually, todays man is a poor confused soul who has to live up to the expectations and desires of an entirely selfish, dominant female press. Likewise, todays female has had words like G Spot and Orgasm drilled into her mercilessly until she actually believes the hype.

So lets start with Mr Metro sexual/modern/in touch with my feminine side (I bloody hate that phrase) man...whatever you want to call him. These guys are full of their own bravado, telling you, they are fantastic in bed and really know how to turn a woman on. Really? Erm...I don't think so. I have to say that when you come across a 'bragger'. leave him alone and move on! They think they know which side is up but rarely do and will disappoint you and leave you wondering why? you let him into your bed in the first place!

Then you get the kind and caring romantic guy, who promises to treat you gently, with love and care. Ummm... no thanks to that one as well guys, sex is a primal urge, an emotive, passionate act between two people, not a flipping scene from a cheesy Hollywood Movie.

Okay lets try and balance this out a bit. The females have a lot to answer for too! Whilst they are, generally not as vociferous in their sexual exploits as the male of the species ,I have to ask a scary question, scary because I am ducking low to avoid the insults coming my way! How many of you girls out there a responsible for FAKING it? Come on own up, the members of the 'oh, if I fake it, he'll just get it over with' club. Well, ladies, you are the reason so many guys are crap in the sack! See.. told you it was impossible to talk about this in a demure manner!

What happens is he spends about seven and a half minutes on foreplay, she fakes it and he thinks he is a sex god. Not good! You can forgive the poor guy for not being able to understand how to please her in bed. Oh that terrible phrase 'please her', actually I thought sex was a two way thing.

This brings us neatly to what is known as the 'Catch 22' situation. You're darned it you do and darned if you don't! I am sooo...not going to discuss my sexual leanings with you but I think the best policy to adopt is throw all Sad Mags away and bloody be honest! We are supposed to be grown ups but alas my name is not Dr Ruth and I can barely find my own way through the sexual minefield that is the modern dating world, but I am sure as hell going to stop talking about it and try and find someone who agrees with me!

I have been preoccupied for the last few days and in no mood to write....and no! my time has not been taken up with impossible but beautiful men...alas! I wish it had because I am very, very bored at the moment.

As you know The Git recently started big school (also known as the terrible place that you are made to attend by the government) and I have been busy being his Social Secretary. How ever did Number One son manage (the 21 year old)? I honestly can't remember doing anything at all for him..I phoned him in a terrible panic last night, almost in tears...

"James, did I actually get your PE Kit/cookery ingredients/trip money etc.. for you?"
"It's okay Ma, you did your best and you always got my cookery stuff for me, even though I hated the damn lesson".

How very diplomatic of him, and then it struck me, when he was at College, I was in the grip of a a hideous fog called post natal depression. Four years of stumbling through life, going through the motions of living and wishing for every day to come to an end so that I could go to bed and thankfully pull the covers over my head. That is why I have absolutely NO recall of James' time as a newbie at College.

Anyway I am wandering off the subject again! Back to me as The Gits personal gofer. I need a holiday already. Letters arrive like a blizzard, sign me, money please, give permission, Joshua needs... . Joshua's shoes are not regulation colour, Joshua is playing rugby after school and needs a rugby shirt....Is he? Bloody hell, they had better make sure an ambulance is standing by then, The Git is absolutely solid and if he brings someone down, they will stay down!

So ever the dutiful mother (I can hear my oldest two laughing from here as they read this 35 miles down the road) I empty out his school bag and spend the evening obeying the instructions of the faceless 'they who must be obeyed'.

You did not sign Joshua's homework diary. Feck! I had better scuttle off and do that then or I will be in detention as well as the poor Git. I am exhausted already and horrified at the prospect of spending another 6 years doing this. Light bulb moment! Boarding school, that's the answer, then the TWMBO's (they who must be obeyed) will have to deal with the little boy slumped in the chair who is so tired from big school he can barely keep his eyes open, let alone do bloody homework! Irrational hatred of the TWMBO's surfaces and I feel as though it is I, not The Git , who is 11 again. He came home from school today and said, "I really hate The Government mum". I was busy at the time and replied distractedly, "yeah don't we all son". Then I sat up and asked him why he hated the government, I mean what an odd thing for an 11 year old boy to say. "Because they make us go to school", he said somewhat mournfully. Poor little man.

So here I am stamping my foot and wishing my son could attend my secondary school in Cyprus, where there were only about 200 pupils, you started at 7.45 and were done by 1.15. I was often to be found at the Water Ski club, teaching the latest contingent of Marines to ski, instead of Double English with Mr, I spit in your face, Denholm. We got away with murder and still managed to learn something. We didn't turn out so badly, among our numbers are Nurses, Midwifes, Teachers, Engineers, Top Civil servants and Paramedics.

What I am trying to say is, that whilst I realise the TWMBO's are showing The Git who is boss for these first few weeks of term, education at this age is not the be all and end all of a child. They either want to learn or they don't. I didn't and neither does The Git. I will not worry about this, he will find his niche in life and learn when he is ready, just like his Ma. In the meantime, I will continue in my full time job as his Social Secretary.

Before I finish this post it is time for a bloke update. I had been talking to a guy that I wasn't entirely sure of and as we talked more on the phone I realised he was definitely not for me! So no dates for 2 weeks now. See what happens when you try and be sensible and avoid the pretty boys.....absolutely nothing! Yawn.