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
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
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