I am always Blogging about The Git. He is at an age where he is funny, sweet and bloody irritating. This does not mean that I do not think about Number One Son, James. Known as Bear to his family. I think of him every day and miss him so much.
James has just attained a 2:2 in Media Studies this week. I am so proud of him. I actually talked to his dad tonight. We don't often talk, as firstly he had a very 'rabid' girlfriend and secondly he has been abroad for some years. The Grill-Friend is past history and he has returned home. We are both so proud of James' achievement.
I want to tell you the story of his birth some 22 years ago......
We were looking forward to having a son. We had a daughter, a beautiful, blonde curly daughter, with a sweet voice and an angelic personality. She was 2 years and 10 months old when he was due. My daughter was very excited and wanted a sister. I remember wanting a sister, we were two boys and two girls. When my mother became pregnant. We soooo....wanted a girl. Even in our innocence, the battle of the sexes prevailed. Jax was born at RAF Norton Hall - a very small, little girl.
I carried my son well. Worked through most of the pregnancy, moved house and was quite happy. No scans for the baby's sex....not then. I was was quite sure I was carrying a boy. A false start happened on the 7th of November 1987,( some three weeks early) which is why I still stutter over his date of birth, 22 years later.
Steve ( James' dad ) drove me to the hospital. We arrived and a midwife came in, she was being a bit strange with me and I could not understand why? I had rung my mother who was serving a tour on Ascension Island at the time to tell her I thought I might be in labour. Unbeknown to me she had jumped on the first available flight (we did not have T'Internet back then) and one of the old schoolies was a Flight Attendant on the plane, the gorgeous Ali Blindell. She asked Mum why she was so unsettled and when she heard I was in labour she went up to the flight deck and asked the Captain to patch a call through to RAF Wroughton, where I had been admitted. The conversation went something like this...
Captain: Hello this is Tristar, currently over the Atlantic Ocean, can you please give me an update on Mrs Harrison's (my married name) condition?
Midwife: Mrs Harrison has just been discharged with a false alarm, I have just put my feet up and your girlfriend is not on duty! ( Apparently, said Captain was going out with a Wroughton Midwife at the time).
Captain: (Obviously pissed off at grumpy midwife and egged on by Ali ) then said ; If Mrs Harrison comes back in to give birth, ensure she is treated well as she is the daughter of a V.I.P. Over and Out.
My mother landed and was surprised to see me heaving my pregnant bulk behind the wheel, meeting her off the flight. Luckily I was a resident of RAF Brize Norton at the time and only had to drive 5 minutes up the road. I suppose I got half the story from her but being heavily preggers did not take much notice. I finally went into labour in the early hours of the 9th November and whilst my mum flapped, Steve went into the bathroom and had a shower and a shave. I remember shouting that I needed the loo and could not get into the bathroom. Seems he was determined to meet his son as a clean shaven 'Civvy'!
I was admitted and subjected to so many questions...that I was in tears. The Captain of the plane had put this "CORPORALS WIFE" in an impossible situation! My mother railed at me being questioned and told the "madwifes" her husband was a big noise in the civil service...hilarious! He actually was at the time but if I tell you what he did I would have to 'keel you'!
It was all sorted about an hour later and it was my turn. No shouting, no screaming. Just me, his dad and a gentle midwife. James came into the world, fast asleep. No pain, no problem just my beautiful son. He caught the lovely midwife on the hop and she delivered him with one hand and opened the birthing pack with the other.
James was a little cold and sleepy so it took us two days to warm him up. I was finally allowed to leave hospital 48 hours later. My husband was away on a course and my mother drove us the 30 some miles home. A huge sense of responsibility on her shoulders.
James didn't really cry out loud for about six weeks, then he found his voice, taking us all by surprise! I adored him so much. His older sister decided that he was her dolly and shoved a week old baby into her dollies chair. Luckily my mum was there and stopped me from murdering her!
So that is the story of our sons Birth.
Steve now has a beautiful daughter by the name of Kirsty and I have the Git. The brothers and sisters all get on well. I refuse to call them 'half' - it really does not make sense. Family is family.
Namaste
Muse x
Sunday 27 June 2010
Friday 25 June 2010
Folk On The Water and The Git
I am getting excited now as Folk on The Water - http://www.folkonthewater.com grows ever closer. I was musing about it today and went on http://www.kateboats.co.uk/ to familiarise myself with 'The Patricia Helen'. The narrow boat that will will be my home for five days. The barge will meander along the Warwick shire Canal and stop at 15 venues. Fantastic live bands will be playing at each venue in aid of Zoes Baby Hospice. ttp://www.zoesplacemidlands.org.uk/
I was going to spend five days on my own,attending Folk on The Water, having a break from The Git. Last week, The poor Git had the most awful week in school and being a decent bloke The Dutchman spoke to him on the phone and asked if he would like to come along as his 'Roadie'. The Git was nonplussed and muttered something about the Bands being a bit crap ( NOT - he is 12 after all.... ) and told Dutch he would think about it. Get Him ! Dutch and I ignored him as best we could and then I sat him down and told him he would be required to work on this trip. Drive the boat, lay cables, set up Pa systems, and it was a big responsibility. He immediately became enamoured and excited. He is driving me mad now and not only attending but doing the ' how many days now mum' thing! Oh... and shouting at me that he needs T-Shirts saying 'ROADIE' on them....bless! Also great news as the school have given their support and the time off ...erm thank you Scott Helgesen!
The Git has thus far stolen my boat shoes, customised them and is reminding me what I need to pack. As we are going to Leamington Spa on the coach I rather wonder HOW we will carry it all? Problem solved, I have bought him a bag and told him that is all he can take. Hmmmm, no underwear, T shirts or shorts. As far as my boy is concerned he needs an SLR and Digital camera, a Laptop and a book. Simples....
Apparently I am a Donut Child, an adventurer and thrill seeker....Hmmm that remains to be seen! I had a conversation with the Dutchman the other day that went something like this....
Me, 'Erm so can I bring my hair straighteners'
Him ' Nope, no hairdryers either, banned on board I am afraid, they flatten the batteries.'
Large wails down the phone from me.
Me, 'You are bloody joking, a girl has to do what a girl has to do, I have already promised not to wear high heels on board, do you think I could do my hair at the Gig venues?'
Him ' Yes I can just see that. 'Here is the Stage Door, Artistes Dressing Room and first on the right is Muses 'Hair Straightening Room'.
Grumpy girl signing off now...
Wish me luck!
Namaste
Muse x
I was going to spend five days on my own,attending Folk on The Water, having a break from The Git. Last week, The poor Git had the most awful week in school and being a decent bloke The Dutchman spoke to him on the phone and asked if he would like to come along as his 'Roadie'. The Git was nonplussed and muttered something about the Bands being a bit crap ( NOT - he is 12 after all.... ) and told Dutch he would think about it. Get Him ! Dutch and I ignored him as best we could and then I sat him down and told him he would be required to work on this trip. Drive the boat, lay cables, set up Pa systems, and it was a big responsibility. He immediately became enamoured and excited. He is driving me mad now and not only attending but doing the ' how many days now mum' thing! Oh... and shouting at me that he needs T-Shirts saying 'ROADIE' on them....bless! Also great news as the school have given their support and the time off ...erm thank you Scott Helgesen!
The Git has thus far stolen my boat shoes, customised them and is reminding me what I need to pack. As we are going to Leamington Spa on the coach I rather wonder HOW we will carry it all? Problem solved, I have bought him a bag and told him that is all he can take. Hmmmm, no underwear, T shirts or shorts. As far as my boy is concerned he needs an SLR and Digital camera, a Laptop and a book. Simples....
Apparently I am a Donut Child, an adventurer and thrill seeker....Hmmm that remains to be seen! I had a conversation with the Dutchman the other day that went something like this....
Me, 'Erm so can I bring my hair straighteners'
Him ' Nope, no hairdryers either, banned on board I am afraid, they flatten the batteries.'
Large wails down the phone from me.
Me, 'You are bloody joking, a girl has to do what a girl has to do, I have already promised not to wear high heels on board, do you think I could do my hair at the Gig venues?'
Him ' Yes I can just see that. 'Here is the Stage Door, Artistes Dressing Room and first on the right is Muses 'Hair Straightening Room'.
Grumpy girl signing off now...
Wish me luck!
Namaste
Muse x
Thursday 17 June 2010
Ideas for Fathers Day....
I have posted a picture of my father and I on Famagusta beach on my FB profile picture. I am three months old and he is a gorgeous 23 year old, holding me up proudly to the camera. As many of you know, it is Fathers Day on Sunday. If you are short of ideas as to what to put in your card, then read on!
I rescued the card, I sent to him, a couple years ago as I was blessed with two upper limbs that worked at the time and was packing my parents flat up as they had buggered off to Oz. This is what I wrote....
LIST OF DAD's RESPONSIBILITIES.
1. Have five children...very quickly, (bit mad if you ask me...).
2. Come off shift, sterilise bottles, stay up with sick kids, change nappies, wake WIFE up with cup of tea, go back on shift.
3. Sign up for as many 'short tours' as possible in order to renew acquaintance with Sleep/ Alcohol/ Photography/ Fishing/ Other human beings.
4. Become a Grandfather. Come off shift, sterilise bottles, stay up with sick kids, change nappies, wake DAUGHTER and WIFE up with cup of tea, go back on shift.
5. Buy a really nice Sports Car. Return Sports Car quickly as Children/Grandchildren need bikes, loans, flats and nursery fees.
6. Buy a really nice house. Return nice House quickly when it becomes overrun by Children/ Grand Children/ OAP's and Illegal Immigrants.
7. Go to Australia for six months, Spend time looking after Grand Children and sweeping up toast crumbs....
8. In desperation, downsize to a One bed Flat. They can't get me here...mwhahaha....!
9. Become a Great grandfather. Fly to Spain. Sleep on Floor. Try to renew acquaintance with Alcohol but fail due to being completely besotted with Great Grandchild. Sterilise bottles, stay up with sick kids, change nappies, wake GRAND -DAUGHTER and WIFE up with cup of tea. Walk granddaughters Dog.
10. Stick two pencils up my nose, a pair of underpants on my head and conclude, it hasn't been a bad life!
To the BEST Dad, Grampy and Bampy in the World!
Dad really has done all this and more. He has been a fantastic family man and a few months short of his 70th birthday is an shining example to us all. Yeah I know I am biased but on Fathers Day, why not write something similar to YOUR Dad.
Namaste
Muse x
I rescued the card, I sent to him, a couple years ago as I was blessed with two upper limbs that worked at the time and was packing my parents flat up as they had buggered off to Oz. This is what I wrote....
LIST OF DAD's RESPONSIBILITIES.
1. Have five children...very quickly, (bit mad if you ask me...).
2. Come off shift, sterilise bottles, stay up with sick kids, change nappies, wake WIFE up with cup of tea, go back on shift.
3. Sign up for as many 'short tours' as possible in order to renew acquaintance with Sleep/ Alcohol/ Photography/ Fishing/ Other human beings.
4. Become a Grandfather. Come off shift, sterilise bottles, stay up with sick kids, change nappies, wake DAUGHTER and WIFE up with cup of tea, go back on shift.
5. Buy a really nice Sports Car. Return Sports Car quickly as Children/Grandchildren need bikes, loans, flats and nursery fees.
6. Buy a really nice house. Return nice House quickly when it becomes overrun by Children/ Grand Children/ OAP's and Illegal Immigrants.
7. Go to Australia for six months, Spend time looking after Grand Children and sweeping up toast crumbs....
8. In desperation, downsize to a One bed Flat. They can't get me here...mwhahaha....!
9. Become a Great grandfather. Fly to Spain. Sleep on Floor. Try to renew acquaintance with Alcohol but fail due to being completely besotted with Great Grandchild. Sterilise bottles, stay up with sick kids, change nappies, wake GRAND -DAUGHTER and WIFE up with cup of tea. Walk granddaughters Dog.
10. Stick two pencils up my nose, a pair of underpants on my head and conclude, it hasn't been a bad life!
To the BEST Dad, Grampy and Bampy in the World!
Dad really has done all this and more. He has been a fantastic family man and a few months short of his 70th birthday is an shining example to us all. Yeah I know I am biased but on Fathers Day, why not write something similar to YOUR Dad.
Namaste
Muse x
Saturday 12 June 2010
Men, Marriage and Love Sickness!
I was musing about relationships, friendships and marriage with The Dutchman the other night. I suppose I am a bit of an old cynic when it comes to the 'Till Death Do Us Part ' stuff. I mean that was what my parents' generation did and good for them too. My parents will have been married for 47 years on June 17th, quite an achievement. In a way it was easier for them as it was not only expected of them but they did not have the money to flipping separate. Especially my folks, four kids in five years...even if they had wanted to they had no chance.
During subsequent generations all sorts of things happened to facilitate the divorce rate such as greater independence in women with the advent of the pill, greater opportunities to travel. The breakdown of the close family unit due to cheaper and easier transport, ie; the motor car. Oh man I have opened a real can of wriggly things now... Hey this is not going to be one of those preachy Blogs of mine. If you want to learn about late 20th Century history then switch on BBC4.
It is so hard to maintain a relationship in the busy world that is now. Lets face it, mobile phones and the Internet haven't made it any easier for the traditional marriage to survive. This is of course due (she says in her most pious manner) to the inability of the male of the species to work a Zip! No seriously, its a minefield out there. I desperately want to solve this problem because I DON'T want a traditional marriage so what is the point in dating if you are just going to get bored, frustrated and cynical? I think I have come up with a solution....
Make all marriages fixed term contracts! Simple. When you get married, sign up for a minimum term. Okay so you've met the partner of your dreams and you are still suffering from that well known mental illness, also known as L-O-V-E. Most people get married during the time they are still infected so to protect your interests, only sign up for a certain amount of time.
Say you both sign up for five years, when fours years and five months comes around she will either be thinking 'Hmm time to shave the legs, lose a few pounds and break out the La Perla undies' or ' thank god I only have 7 months to do as if I have to make him one more cup of tea, I'll throw it over him'. Similarly, can you imagine the conversation down the pub between blokes.
Bloke One - I've got three months to push, I'm definitely not going to renew, a new singles site has come on line and I've registered with them.
Bloke Two - I wish you luck mate but I renewed last year because she lets me watch the Footie, brings me tea in bed and is a great cook. I'm still young so have decided to take a two year option with benefits. She did warn me though that if I keep leaving the top off the toothpaste, she'd have me for breach of contract.
Bloody funny.. but think about it? Is it any worse than what we are up against right now? We call ourselves a civilised society but believe me divorce is as about as civilised as a bull fight. Failing that we could all become Mormons and have sister wives to sort the hubby out when you are not in the mood. Hmmm....now theres a thought!
Namaste
Muse x
Addendum to Post - This Blog does not wish to offend those that are at the 'Truely, Madly, Deeply' stage or the 'Pipe, Slippers, Cuddles and Togetherness stage'. xxx
During subsequent generations all sorts of things happened to facilitate the divorce rate such as greater independence in women with the advent of the pill, greater opportunities to travel. The breakdown of the close family unit due to cheaper and easier transport, ie; the motor car. Oh man I have opened a real can of wriggly things now... Hey this is not going to be one of those preachy Blogs of mine. If you want to learn about late 20th Century history then switch on BBC4.
It is so hard to maintain a relationship in the busy world that is now. Lets face it, mobile phones and the Internet haven't made it any easier for the traditional marriage to survive. This is of course due (she says in her most pious manner) to the inability of the male of the species to work a Zip! No seriously, its a minefield out there. I desperately want to solve this problem because I DON'T want a traditional marriage so what is the point in dating if you are just going to get bored, frustrated and cynical? I think I have come up with a solution....
Make all marriages fixed term contracts! Simple. When you get married, sign up for a minimum term. Okay so you've met the partner of your dreams and you are still suffering from that well known mental illness, also known as L-O-V-E. Most people get married during the time they are still infected so to protect your interests, only sign up for a certain amount of time.
Say you both sign up for five years, when fours years and five months comes around she will either be thinking 'Hmm time to shave the legs, lose a few pounds and break out the La Perla undies' or ' thank god I only have 7 months to do as if I have to make him one more cup of tea, I'll throw it over him'. Similarly, can you imagine the conversation down the pub between blokes.
Bloke One - I've got three months to push, I'm definitely not going to renew, a new singles site has come on line and I've registered with them.
Bloke Two - I wish you luck mate but I renewed last year because she lets me watch the Footie, brings me tea in bed and is a great cook. I'm still young so have decided to take a two year option with benefits. She did warn me though that if I keep leaving the top off the toothpaste, she'd have me for breach of contract.
Bloody funny.. but think about it? Is it any worse than what we are up against right now? We call ourselves a civilised society but believe me divorce is as about as civilised as a bull fight. Failing that we could all become Mormons and have sister wives to sort the hubby out when you are not in the mood. Hmmm....now theres a thought!
Namaste
Muse x
Addendum to Post - This Blog does not wish to offend those that are at the 'Truely, Madly, Deeply' stage or the 'Pipe, Slippers, Cuddles and Togetherness stage'. xxx
Thursday 10 June 2010
Invasion of The Welsh Body Snatchers.
The Git has been in Wales over half term with extended family . Firstly, he returned in someone elses body. I asked him where he had Sunday lunch. ' I had it at Auntie Jacqueline's and we had boiled potatoes, Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding'. 'BOILED POTATOES' said I, rather incredulously. Hands on hips now. 'Since WHEN did you eat boiled flipping potatoes, without me knocking you over the head first!' He looked at me and actually had the nerve to say ' I ate them to be polite mum'.
Deep breath now. The Git's food intake is a carefully balanced plethora of chicken nuggets and spaghetti. Nursery food rules and if something, be it a biscuit or a chicken nugget. smells funny then he will a) refuse to eat for the whole day or b) vomit copiously and expect me to feel sorry for him! No really.... I have a 12 year old son with the taste buds of a 6 month old! Let me explain. He was unable to eat solid food until the age of two. We tried everything from Avocados to Zucchini (erm..A to Z ) and had no success. The doctors could find nothing wrong and we despaired, hands in heads until he finally ate...a chip! He just loved his milk but it meant that we were unable to introduce him to new foods as a baby. I suppose we were so desperate to get him to eat that we let him eat what he wanted.
He has either been invaded by those Body Snatchers, that I worry about, or is so enamoured with his extended family he will do anything to impress. Bugger Off! He is worried that his 'Great Aunts' (oh and they are Great by the way - I would always give them a good reference....just in case) will give him a clip around the ear!
The food thing is the least of my worries. He has returned from Cardiff with a Welsh accent. I find this a little disturbing as he is a natural mimic and sounds like my father did a long time ago. He has worn a Wales scarf for the past two days and is currently fast asleep in it. 'My Uncle Paul is going to take me to see the Cardiff Bluebirds and I am going to live in Cardiff'' he announced today. On and on it goes, how his two nanny (his great Grandmother) has a great little dog called Sam and he is going to take Sam out for walks. I think Sam might want to hide in the cupboard as he is an elderly, grumpy Yorkshire Terrier but for some obscure reason loves Josh. How Welsh water is far superior to English water and to prove the point bought me a bottle back. We had to do a 'Scientific Testing' today, involving Bodmin water and his bottle of Welsh water. I had to concur that he was spot on.
I bought him an England mug today, it is just one of the bits of World Cup paraphernalia around at the moment. He was unimpressed. 'Why didn't you get me a Wales one mum?' I am in fear for my life (and his) as he has taken down the George flag and replaced it with the Welsh Dragon. Where I live, we could be pelted with all manner of dreadful things during the World Cup. He is nonplussed and says, 'the fact of the matter mum, is that I am Welsh and they will have to deal with it'.
Sweet little man. Of course, I am proud of my Welsh heritage but I am such a country mouse that I could never deal with City life and have no wish to. As readers of a this Blog know, I managed a visit to Swansea and Cardiff a few weeks ago and spent the entire weekend trying to breathe. The Git has no such worries, he loved his trip and can't wait to go again.
On another note, my brother came back from Oz last weekend for an Army reunion in Cardiff (which is why The Git wanted to go) . I didn't manage to see him but it's a bit surreal as he came over about six weeks ago. Hmmm...we don't see him for years and then twice in 6 weeks!!
Perhaps I am a bad mother,but I don't think so. I think that its wonderful my son has a connection with his roots and by being with extended family he is able to understand that my lovely Welsh family is where my heart is
Namaste
Muse x.
Deep breath now. The Git's food intake is a carefully balanced plethora of chicken nuggets and spaghetti. Nursery food rules and if something, be it a biscuit or a chicken nugget. smells funny then he will a) refuse to eat for the whole day or b) vomit copiously and expect me to feel sorry for him! No really.... I have a 12 year old son with the taste buds of a 6 month old! Let me explain. He was unable to eat solid food until the age of two. We tried everything from Avocados to Zucchini (erm..A to Z ) and had no success. The doctors could find nothing wrong and we despaired, hands in heads until he finally ate...a chip! He just loved his milk but it meant that we were unable to introduce him to new foods as a baby. I suppose we were so desperate to get him to eat that we let him eat what he wanted.
He has either been invaded by those Body Snatchers, that I worry about, or is so enamoured with his extended family he will do anything to impress. Bugger Off! He is worried that his 'Great Aunts' (oh and they are Great by the way - I would always give them a good reference....just in case) will give him a clip around the ear!
The food thing is the least of my worries. He has returned from Cardiff with a Welsh accent. I find this a little disturbing as he is a natural mimic and sounds like my father did a long time ago. He has worn a Wales scarf for the past two days and is currently fast asleep in it. 'My Uncle Paul is going to take me to see the Cardiff Bluebirds and I am going to live in Cardiff'' he announced today. On and on it goes, how his two nanny (his great Grandmother) has a great little dog called Sam and he is going to take Sam out for walks. I think Sam might want to hide in the cupboard as he is an elderly, grumpy Yorkshire Terrier but for some obscure reason loves Josh. How Welsh water is far superior to English water and to prove the point bought me a bottle back. We had to do a 'Scientific Testing' today, involving Bodmin water and his bottle of Welsh water. I had to concur that he was spot on.
I bought him an England mug today, it is just one of the bits of World Cup paraphernalia around at the moment. He was unimpressed. 'Why didn't you get me a Wales one mum?' I am in fear for my life (and his) as he has taken down the George flag and replaced it with the Welsh Dragon. Where I live, we could be pelted with all manner of dreadful things during the World Cup. He is nonplussed and says, 'the fact of the matter mum, is that I am Welsh and they will have to deal with it'.
Sweet little man. Of course, I am proud of my Welsh heritage but I am such a country mouse that I could never deal with City life and have no wish to. As readers of a this Blog know, I managed a visit to Swansea and Cardiff a few weeks ago and spent the entire weekend trying to breathe. The Git has no such worries, he loved his trip and can't wait to go again.
On another note, my brother came back from Oz last weekend for an Army reunion in Cardiff (which is why The Git wanted to go) . I didn't manage to see him but it's a bit surreal as he came over about six weeks ago. Hmmm...we don't see him for years and then twice in 6 weeks!!
Perhaps I am a bad mother,but I don't think so. I think that its wonderful my son has a connection with his roots and by being with extended family he is able to understand that my lovely Welsh family is where my heart is
Namaste
Muse x.
Thursday 3 June 2010
Lest We Forget....
The News over the past week has been terrible to say the least. In the UK, we have had to deal with a grandmother killed by a drunk driver, her two grandchildren fighting for their lives in hospital. Three innocent women (and maybe more) murdered by a deluded violent man. Twelve people dead, 25 people injured by a man that allegedly 'snapped' for no reason. A small tightly knit community, torn apart by the actions of one man.
This Blog is not about them. I am upset and appalled in equal measure, listening to the News. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and suffering their families, colleagues and friends are going through. My thoughts are with them all.
I suppose this is a bit of a rant about how inured we have become to losing our Soldiers in Afghanistan. myself included, hence this Blog. Since January we have lost 45 British Soldiers, oh and don't quote me on that, they are the only official figures that I can access on the net. Other countries have lost a total of 1044, since the START of 2010. These young men, typically in their early twenties, patrol in APC's (armoured personnel carriers) , they are known as 'Kevlar Coffins' as they offer virtually no protection against roadside IED's. The black humour of the lads wins through and as one Times Correspondent put it, 'There is no point in sweating the small stuff when you are sat in a Kevlar Coffin'.
Our young Soldiers have to do these patrols as a part of their daily routine. Our Government sends these young men on these patrols and the only phrase I can think of is 'Cannon Fodder'. Bit of a nasty thought isn't it? Send your Number One son to war with a wave and a smile, a goody bag full of chocolate and hope to hell he makes it back. His chances are based on the quality of equipment he uses and the vehicle he is ordered to get into. I have ranted in past Blogs about our Governments inability to provide our lads with proper equipment so I won't go on about it now.
My problem is that we are all 'shocked and devestated' by the terrible news in the UK, yet we seem to have forgotten our Forces in Afghanistan. I feel as though not a day goes by without the announcement of a British death. It suddenly hit me today that I had FORGOTTEN, I was guilty too. So this is just a small attempt to redress my selfishness.
Many of our Soldiers are injured and we somehow manage to forget them. There are a lot of charities out there that we can give to, in order to make their lives easier. I will put some on the sidebars of this Blog.
Please remember our fallen. Keep them in your minds, they are doing a job that most of us would refuse. I cannot dismiss this war as something we should not be involved in because we are, Full Bloody Stop and there is no easy way out. Also, if I dismissed our involvement in this conflict then I would be insulting the names of the Soldiers that have lost their lives.
As the weeks UK News has taught us, we can also be on the receiving end of horrific stories. Just please try and remember that our Soldiers face this fear on a daily basis.
Thanks for listening.
Muse x
This Blog is not about them. I am upset and appalled in equal measure, listening to the News. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and suffering their families, colleagues and friends are going through. My thoughts are with them all.
I suppose this is a bit of a rant about how inured we have become to losing our Soldiers in Afghanistan. myself included, hence this Blog. Since January we have lost 45 British Soldiers, oh and don't quote me on that, they are the only official figures that I can access on the net. Other countries have lost a total of 1044, since the START of 2010. These young men, typically in their early twenties, patrol in APC's (armoured personnel carriers) , they are known as 'Kevlar Coffins' as they offer virtually no protection against roadside IED's. The black humour of the lads wins through and as one Times Correspondent put it, 'There is no point in sweating the small stuff when you are sat in a Kevlar Coffin'.
Our young Soldiers have to do these patrols as a part of their daily routine. Our Government sends these young men on these patrols and the only phrase I can think of is 'Cannon Fodder'. Bit of a nasty thought isn't it? Send your Number One son to war with a wave and a smile, a goody bag full of chocolate and hope to hell he makes it back. His chances are based on the quality of equipment he uses and the vehicle he is ordered to get into. I have ranted in past Blogs about our Governments inability to provide our lads with proper equipment so I won't go on about it now.
My problem is that we are all 'shocked and devestated' by the terrible news in the UK, yet we seem to have forgotten our Forces in Afghanistan. I feel as though not a day goes by without the announcement of a British death. It suddenly hit me today that I had FORGOTTEN, I was guilty too. So this is just a small attempt to redress my selfishness.
Many of our Soldiers are injured and we somehow manage to forget them. There are a lot of charities out there that we can give to, in order to make their lives easier. I will put some on the sidebars of this Blog.
Please remember our fallen. Keep them in your minds, they are doing a job that most of us would refuse. I cannot dismiss this war as something we should not be involved in because we are, Full Bloody Stop and there is no easy way out. Also, if I dismissed our involvement in this conflict then I would be insulting the names of the Soldiers that have lost their lives.
As the weeks UK News has taught us, we can also be on the receiving end of horrific stories. Just please try and remember that our Soldiers face this fear on a daily basis.
Thanks for listening.
Muse x
For Mr Tigger.....
This Blog is for someone I have made a friend of over the past few months. I will not post this on FB as it is just for him. So if you are reading this then, look away, it will not interest you. Move on to the next....but if you want to enjoy a 30 year old romantic story then...read on.
Living in Cyprus, I was 17 when I met him, he was a few years older and completely unaware of a little schoolie that followed his every movement with a wonderful teenage lust. I would imagine myself kissing him and use my Donny Osmond poster to practice on. Poor Donny, he got a lot of snogs!
The huge problem was thus. I was a 17 year old virgin and had a father that would deliberately sit any of my prospective suitors in his favourite chair and then yell at them.! Hilarious! Except that my dad did not get to bully him. I was too scared to even 'think' of bringing him home.
He was a soldier, a bit of an important one ( in my young mind). I knew exactly who he was. My 17 year old radar had contacts you would not believe. I stalked him, yep, have to admit that! But in those days it wasn't called stalking it was called 'mad, impossible adoration' of the victim! I wrote him a love letter in a final mad panic. I was 'egged' on by my best friend, by the name of Ann-Marie ,who lived next to me in Belmont Village.
I don't remember how he asked me out , funny really; as I remember everything else in such detail. He was very nervous. Hey! If you were a 20 something bloke going on a date with a 17 year old, you would be bloody nervous. Let me explain. Soldiers were off limits to us schoolies, they would be hung, drawn and quartered if they were found anywhere near us. Lets just say that his job made the situation much more difficult.
Oh ...onto Date Night, it has to be in Caps as it was such a big deal to me. He picked me up in his BMW. I had managed to sneak off, as my parents were entertaining visitors from some Middle East posting. I think I told them I was going to the school disco. Ann-Marie helped me to get ready. Endless discussions on hair and make up. I do remember what I was wearing. A pale pink pencil skirt, made for me by the Ay Nik tailoress, who admonished me and told me it was 'far too old for me'. A brand new, sparkling white 'boob tube' on sun kissed shoulders. Flat white flip flops and a necklace, my long, curly, sun-bleached hair worn on one side. Yeah! I looked good......
We went for a meal and I felt so sophisticated. He was such a gentleman and explained to me, carefully, why he could not go out with me. I, did not listen at all, just basked in his attention. I was so naive that I just did not understand. I did not hear from him again.
I was distraught and a few weeks later, I was sat with my friend Ann-Marie at CESSAC beach. His BMW pulled into the car park and an impossibly beautiful blondie tumbled out. Sun tanned and far older than I! I finally realised that I was just a 'little schoolie' after all. I broke my heart for weeks but time and priorities moved on.
So here we are, 30 something years on and about to meet each other next month. Not in a thousand years, would I have thought that our paths would cross again. He has not disappointed me. He looks good and is a philanthropist, a giver rather than a taker, much like me. My confidence is a little low at the moment so I am the 'nervous one' this time. But I am happy that fate deemed our paths worthy of crossing once again.
Muse x
Living in Cyprus, I was 17 when I met him, he was a few years older and completely unaware of a little schoolie that followed his every movement with a wonderful teenage lust. I would imagine myself kissing him and use my Donny Osmond poster to practice on. Poor Donny, he got a lot of snogs!
The huge problem was thus. I was a 17 year old virgin and had a father that would deliberately sit any of my prospective suitors in his favourite chair and then yell at them.! Hilarious! Except that my dad did not get to bully him. I was too scared to even 'think' of bringing him home.
He was a soldier, a bit of an important one ( in my young mind). I knew exactly who he was. My 17 year old radar had contacts you would not believe. I stalked him, yep, have to admit that! But in those days it wasn't called stalking it was called 'mad, impossible adoration' of the victim! I wrote him a love letter in a final mad panic. I was 'egged' on by my best friend, by the name of Ann-Marie ,who lived next to me in Belmont Village.
I don't remember how he asked me out , funny really; as I remember everything else in such detail. He was very nervous. Hey! If you were a 20 something bloke going on a date with a 17 year old, you would be bloody nervous. Let me explain. Soldiers were off limits to us schoolies, they would be hung, drawn and quartered if they were found anywhere near us. Lets just say that his job made the situation much more difficult.
Oh ...onto Date Night, it has to be in Caps as it was such a big deal to me. He picked me up in his BMW. I had managed to sneak off, as my parents were entertaining visitors from some Middle East posting. I think I told them I was going to the school disco. Ann-Marie helped me to get ready. Endless discussions on hair and make up. I do remember what I was wearing. A pale pink pencil skirt, made for me by the Ay Nik tailoress, who admonished me and told me it was 'far too old for me'. A brand new, sparkling white 'boob tube' on sun kissed shoulders. Flat white flip flops and a necklace, my long, curly, sun-bleached hair worn on one side. Yeah! I looked good......
We went for a meal and I felt so sophisticated. He was such a gentleman and explained to me, carefully, why he could not go out with me. I, did not listen at all, just basked in his attention. I was so naive that I just did not understand. I did not hear from him again.
I was distraught and a few weeks later, I was sat with my friend Ann-Marie at CESSAC beach. His BMW pulled into the car park and an impossibly beautiful blondie tumbled out. Sun tanned and far older than I! I finally realised that I was just a 'little schoolie' after all. I broke my heart for weeks but time and priorities moved on.
So here we are, 30 something years on and about to meet each other next month. Not in a thousand years, would I have thought that our paths would cross again. He has not disappointed me. He looks good and is a philanthropist, a giver rather than a taker, much like me. My confidence is a little low at the moment so I am the 'nervous one' this time. But I am happy that fate deemed our paths worthy of crossing once again.
Muse x
Tuesday 1 June 2010
EOKA and Cyprus.
The Git is on half term, staying with the parents. He has been away for 24 hours and I miss him. He is just at the stage when we can have an adult conversation and he will still kiss me on the cheek. This stage will not last long. I am hoping that he will be like my lovely James and just pass it by. James was always great and never gave me any angst, apart from not washing.....
I have to admit that I am Bored, Bored, Bored...in the immortal words of Viv! I have been doing some very unnatural things (arm wise), taking off the sofa covers and washing them and rather wondering, HOW the Feck, I will get the damn things back on...I have also been reading and want to share the book with you.
I have been reading a fabulous novel. Written by Sadie Jones, it is a descriptive but dangerous take on life in Cyprus during the late 1950's. The EOKA terrorists and the problems that the ESBA Soldiers faced. Trying to protect their own, whilst holding onto an important Colonial Territory. The book tells the story of their different struggles. The detail is amazing and I imagined my parents in the same situation as Hal and Clara .
My father was a young Airman at the time, stationed at Ay Nik. He has always been a gifted photographer and has a lot of photo's of that time. I spoke to him yesterday. Through reading the book, I finally realised how bad it was for him, trying to fly his pregnant wife out, but realising that it was touch and go. She might have been flown out but have to be evacuated the next day. The book describes a wife joining her husband, in Cyprus with twin girls. She manages her first few weeks in a hiring in Limassol and finally moves up to Quarters in Episkopi. But Clara is an Officers Wife. A totally different experience to the one my parents had.
My mother flew to Cyprus, at 34 weeks pregnant, with me, she looked stunning, tanned and beautiful in a white dress, a bouffant hairdo and lovely lipstick. They lived in a hiring in Famagusta. Mum has always got on with everyone and a couple of weeks later she was known as Mrs Pat, with Greeks and Turks, alike . I will attempt to tell you some stories but no doubt I will be attacked by 'Chinese Whispers' and not remember these as clearly as my parents.
I was born at BMH Dhekelia on the 1st December 1963. I was delivered by forceps by an Officer in his dinner jacket. I was "Sumo Baby" - 8lb 13oz! Phone calls were too expensive for them and my dad wrote to my grandparents, announcing my birth. I still have one of the letters. My parents were so broke that they had not had a square meal in days. Dad arrived at the hospital to find my mother in the ward designated for Officers Ladies, eating a lovely meal. It seems that she was so well spoken, they automatically put her there. Three hours later she was put in her rightful place on the'big ward' with the Airman's wives.
I was six weeks old and suffering with a little baby cold. Snuffling well, I was taken, proudly, to my mothers Hairdressers wedding, A lovely young Turkish girl. In those days the local Greek and Turkish villages were well guarded and fortified. My parents duly arrived at said village.
"Who goes there" - in Turkish.
"Mrs Pat" came the reply.
"Ah Mrs Pat- you are welcome, come in. come in...."
My parents had a great party at the wedding. I was whisked off by the 'Mamas' in black, stripped naked and held upside down over a bowl of steaming water. It seems to me that I really ought to have given up my weedy cold, or they may have beaten it out of me! My parents partied on and returned to their hiring the next day. What they found made there stomachs sink. Don't forget, though, that my mum was 19 and my dad was 22 at the time.
ALL of Famagusta had been evacuated. Imagine, getting back home, having attended a very Illegal wedding, to find that the whole of the British Forces had buggered off. I can tell you much more. The time they ran out of my formula, stranded on a boat in the middle of the Med and Lemonia fed me condensed milk, the time they 'inadvertantly' had dinner with The Chairman of The Bank of England.
Seems to me that Ma and Pa have a book in them......
Take care out there.
Muse x
I have to admit that I am Bored, Bored, Bored...in the immortal words of Viv! I have been doing some very unnatural things (arm wise), taking off the sofa covers and washing them and rather wondering, HOW the Feck, I will get the damn things back on...I have also been reading and want to share the book with you.
I have been reading a fabulous novel. Written by Sadie Jones, it is a descriptive but dangerous take on life in Cyprus during the late 1950's. The EOKA terrorists and the problems that the ESBA Soldiers faced. Trying to protect their own, whilst holding onto an important Colonial Territory. The book tells the story of their different struggles. The detail is amazing and I imagined my parents in the same situation as Hal and Clara .
My father was a young Airman at the time, stationed at Ay Nik. He has always been a gifted photographer and has a lot of photo's of that time. I spoke to him yesterday. Through reading the book, I finally realised how bad it was for him, trying to fly his pregnant wife out, but realising that it was touch and go. She might have been flown out but have to be evacuated the next day. The book describes a wife joining her husband, in Cyprus with twin girls. She manages her first few weeks in a hiring in Limassol and finally moves up to Quarters in Episkopi. But Clara is an Officers Wife. A totally different experience to the one my parents had.
My mother flew to Cyprus, at 34 weeks pregnant, with me, she looked stunning, tanned and beautiful in a white dress, a bouffant hairdo and lovely lipstick. They lived in a hiring in Famagusta. Mum has always got on with everyone and a couple of weeks later she was known as Mrs Pat, with Greeks and Turks, alike . I will attempt to tell you some stories but no doubt I will be attacked by 'Chinese Whispers' and not remember these as clearly as my parents.
I was born at BMH Dhekelia on the 1st December 1963. I was delivered by forceps by an Officer in his dinner jacket. I was "Sumo Baby" - 8lb 13oz! Phone calls were too expensive for them and my dad wrote to my grandparents, announcing my birth. I still have one of the letters. My parents were so broke that they had not had a square meal in days. Dad arrived at the hospital to find my mother in the ward designated for Officers Ladies, eating a lovely meal. It seems that she was so well spoken, they automatically put her there. Three hours later she was put in her rightful place on the'big ward' with the Airman's wives.
I was six weeks old and suffering with a little baby cold. Snuffling well, I was taken, proudly, to my mothers Hairdressers wedding, A lovely young Turkish girl. In those days the local Greek and Turkish villages were well guarded and fortified. My parents duly arrived at said village.
"Who goes there" - in Turkish.
"Mrs Pat" came the reply.
"Ah Mrs Pat- you are welcome, come in. come in...."
My parents had a great party at the wedding. I was whisked off by the 'Mamas' in black, stripped naked and held upside down over a bowl of steaming water. It seems to me that I really ought to have given up my weedy cold, or they may have beaten it out of me! My parents partied on and returned to their hiring the next day. What they found made there stomachs sink. Don't forget, though, that my mum was 19 and my dad was 22 at the time.
ALL of Famagusta had been evacuated. Imagine, getting back home, having attended a very Illegal wedding, to find that the whole of the British Forces had buggered off. I can tell you much more. The time they ran out of my formula, stranded on a boat in the middle of the Med and Lemonia fed me condensed milk, the time they 'inadvertantly' had dinner with The Chairman of The Bank of England.
Seems to me that Ma and Pa have a book in them......
Take care out there.
Muse x
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