I have been very fortunate to visit Ascension Island three times. Not many people get to do that on HOLIDAY! My Dad was out there having fun on the Donuts expense account. A lovely girl called Jane Williams posted on the ASI Facebook page and was worried about serving a 3 year tour of ASI, accompanied by large centipedes and small children - aged 1 and 3 as I recall - the kids not the crawly things! I hope that I soothed her worries by asking if I could be her 'third child' I told her that the St Helenan's were wonderful, to check her bathroom carefully and to drink lots of shipwrecks! Perhaps not the greatest advice but honest I was sober there once, during my first visit....
I arrived on the great bird Tri Star, 16 weeks preggers with number one son. My Pa met me and I was shoved into a CSO nasty minibus, taken to English Bay (take note of this Jane) and introduced to a Moray Eel; a bit hot and stunned I was taken to The Exiles for lunch. Okay, Jane, that was the boring visit, where I spent a few weeks in hospital. I went into labour at 26 weeks and having no back up the Doc, Shubash sent me to sleep for about 4 days. My husband was somewhere in Norway for 4 months at the time and he could not speak to me because every time I woke up they fed me from The Galley, let me go for one 'wee' and sent me back to sleep. They realised that they had no 'back up' and decided that the only option was to send me to bed. My son James is now 23. Had I been in the UK at the time they would have left me alone and let me 'get on with it'. I was so lucky that I had a dedicated medical staff. By the way I got on the Tri Star at 16 weeks and got off it at 32 weeks. My hubby met me at Brize and nearly fainted at my size! Okay those were the 'Mummy Years. Time for the fun times! What follows is something published in THE ISLANDER on Friday 9th August 1996. Note to Jane...my parents were actually looking after my children at this time....
BACK TO ASCENSION - THE ISLANDER 1996
At last! Eight years on and I made it back to Ascension. Everyone on the plane thought I'd lost my marbles when, on final approach I jumped out of my seat and yelled 'Look its ASI...look, look its Ascension Island, we made it!' This is the person that needs four valium and a large vodka to even approach a plane! Ignoring strange looks and black mutterings from Falkland bound passengers, I scrambled over the poor soul who had endured my company for the last eight hours and was first off the plane.
I strode purposefully toward the Terminal, waving madly and making a complete spectacle of myself. I did however, resist the urge to kneel down and kiss the ground. 'Come on Chaps it's through here' I said , as I led all passengers into a 'no go' area. Running 'smack bang' into a very stern RAF chap, who said I should return quietly to the arrivals lounge or he would break out the emergency sraight jacket! Little did I know that the last time I had visited the island my dad had broken all the rules and met me at the gate..... I was soon surrounded by friends and family, dragged into Mrs Miggins for a cuppa, bundled into the 'I make you car sick machine' (read that as Lada Cossack) and driven at high speed..25 miles per hour to Two Boats.
I couldn't believe how green the Island had got since my last visit, but was soon to find out that the lovely green bits were in fact a secret military weapon the Mexicans had sent in place of Chili Con Carne. Ouch! That stuff hurts when you fall into it! I had forgotten about the friendly but dangerous habit of waving to everyone that you pass. I should point out that this is only dangerous when you drive a Lada Cossack! The scenery once again took my breath away and I kept pinching myself to make sure I was not dreaming! Lunch at The Exiles, a quick power nap and a wander round to explore. So many friendly and familiar faces (the Donkeys I mean). I was amazed to see how little had changed.
The next night I was introduced to The Senior Mess, where I found a lot of people whispering about Bar Chits. Bar chits are really rather wonderful, you put your name on a piece of paper and a nice man gives you a drink. Shipwreck is the alternative term I believe. Apparently my sister had visited the island before me and my dad's bar bills had broken all previously held records. I thought he was looking a bit ashen when he met me off the plane. So I showed him my wad of cash and also promised faithfully that I would put petrol in the car. John Fail shall be named as the man who poured my first shipwreck so you can all blame him!
The day of the Dew Pond Run arrived and feeling guilty I sat on the patio in my nightie, clutching my Lucozade and crunching on my Nurofen as I watched all these completely mad people running past. In fact I felt so guilty that I was compelled to do my own Dew Pond Run and asked Dad to drive me up the mountain. I am not silly enough to run UP it! I hummed the 'Sound of Music' as I broke both knees coming down the ramps, cursing myself for forgetting my camera. Oh No! I had got the walking bug, next stop four miles to North East Bay. This walking downhill isn't so bad, I said as he picked me up at the Ariane site. It also helps if you have an obliging Dad who drives you back uphill! Another walk to North East Bay and OUCH! Medic, two medics, I'm hurt bad - the left ankle, only used to depressing left clutch pedal, has gone on strike. As I sat in my usual pew at the Senior Mess that night, a strange man approched, lifted my left foot into his lap and started to undo my shoe. "Help, should I be letting this man do this", I cried. Perhaps this was another strange custom peculiar to Ascension Island. USO (Unsweetened Orange Juice) Merrick assured me that it was in fact the PTI holding Open Surgery at the Senior Mess.
Unable to walk far due to the ankle and not the shipwrecks, I hit the beach and on getting rather hot I decided to go for a swim. I had forgotten about the blackfish and decided to paddle instead. "Relation to the Piranha you know" said my father conversationally. It was to be a day of finding out about the 'Fauna' of Ascension. After having an unwelcome guest in the car (locust) I was lucky enough to find a centipede under my suitcase. My father came running into the bedroom as I stood on a chair and screamed loudly. He apparently thought I was being murdered. "Don't be such a baby mum" sighed Sian, rolling her eyes. A mention of the 'beasties' on Ascension is incomplete without a mention of our friend the 'Mosquito'. Have you noticed that the word Mosquito is synonymous with the word Grenade? People jump around, slapping their legs and generally causing havoc with the nerve agent gas also knoiwn as MOD fly spray Mark One! It is guaranteed to kill a human at three paces but the mosquito must sit there breathing deeply, saying "hey man, give me another hit, you hear what I'm saying"!
Onto the Flora of Ascension Island. Falling into bed after discovering the delights of shipwrecks, I bent down to undo my shoelaces and howled in pain as 500 'Double G's' embedded themselves in my left hand. 'Double G's' is the polite term for them but I can think of at least 10 impolite ones. In fact I think the boys in blue call them 'ouchy twats'! Being an adult (who said that?) I know the colours red and yellow in nature spell danger. My son and his friend obviously did not as they were having a great time bursting 'yellow flower bombs' on each other foreheads. This had the same effect of 15 packets of smarties, 4 fizzy drinks and a line of cocaine. "No darling, please don't do that" I said as James' eyeballs disappeared into the back of his head!
Enough of my ramblings. This Whitey from Blighty is sadly homeward bound very soon but will be returning tanned relaxed and very, very happy - note this another term for shipwrecked! Thank You to all the new friends and old, the hospitality has been wonderful. You never know, you may see me back again. I'll pose for the WANTED posters now! Last but not least thanks to my long suffering parents Jim and Pat Anderson and thanks for paying my bar bill dad!
So there you have it Jane. The 'polite' version of my bar room brawling on ASI where I also fell in love with The Gits dad and managed to climb The Exiles balcony, wearing 4 inch heels, ignoring the fact that I was 30 feet up and could expire at any moment! We had no air conditionng, no TV, no mobile phones and no Internet. The St Helenans are wonderful and my 23 and 26 year old children can still do the accent. My 26 yr old daughter, Sian keeps in touch with her childhood friends that landed in the UK.
Have a wonderful time.
Muse x
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Cold turkey and Survival
My broadband crashed a few days ago and I am only online because of The Gits laptop Dongle, which I stole from his bedroom a few minutes ago. I had to steal it because I am suffering with a sickness. This is commonly known as going cold turkey from the internet. Sweaty palms, an unquenchable thirst for information and bad dreams all feature heavily. In fact I even found myself searching for an old Dongle of mine the other night with the desperation of a 40 a day smoker looking for that last fag in a pack down the sofa!
I digress. I have been doing a lot of reading recently, I always read a lot but having no internet has meant a book every couple of days. I was musing through the shelves in Asda and came across a book called 'Outpost' by 'Adam Baker'. It's about a skeleton crew on an oil rig called The Kasker Rampart in the Arctic Ocean. They are waiting to restart the fuel pipeline and boredom features heavily in their daily lives. A deadly virus hits the planet and they lose all communication with the outside world. They are marooned and have to somehow survive the long Arctic Winter as the deadly virus is heads their way. That is all your getting of the plot!
I could not put this book down. I was still reading at 4am when I fell asleep clutching it. 'Outpost' fired my imagination and the characters were so well written that you actually thought you were part of the crew. I felt as though I was on Kasker Rampart. I knew my way around the rig and could visualise every scene. I could smell and touch my fellow crew members. As an avid reader I often get pulled into a book but I haven't been so enthralled since Huxleys 'Brave New World' and Niven, Pournelle and Barnes' 'Legacy of Heorot'. Adam Baker is a force to be reckoned with and I know a brilliant future beckons him. I read a lot of Sci Fi and the usual horror books as a young woman but haven't in recent years, so why did this book suck me in and leave me wanting more?
I guess it is because I am a Donut Child. My father was Forces then GCHQ and he taught me an important lesson about the survival of the fittest. Throughout my childhood I was completely convinced that 'The Bomb' would drop at any moment and I spent the long evenings of The Winter of Discontent planning how we would live under the stairs with a torch, a mattress and some baked beans until help came. My father encouraged this by keeping our house warm, well lit and even powering a portable TV whilst eveyone else shivered in darkness. Personally I think he must have lifted a few batteries from the comcen where he worked but who am I to judge!
My childhood fears morphed into a full blown interest in survival guides, Ray Mears and an unhealthy interest in all things Triffid and the series Survivors. I am an adult (as I remind myself on a daily basis) but I still carry this monster obsession with me. I have a well stocked larder full of tinned and dried goods, buy bottled water and worry that I don't have my own generator, fresh water well or an emergency battery supply big enough to power a nuclear sub. On top of all this I start to fret the minute there is unrest in the world. When trouble started in Tunisia, I was unable to sleep and told my 23 year old son not to go on holiday to Morrocco as I was convinced the trouble would spread....
So here we are with trouble on our own doorstep and the unease I felt all those years ago is right back with me. I cannot help it but here I am, desperately trying not to place that ebay bid on a deserted ex cold war bunker and empty supermarket shelves of anything remotely long life! Deep breath here. I am a Donut Child, and think I can survive anything because of my background but the reality is that once the power goes off and the water trickles to nothing we are all dust. Shiver! I guess I have answered that age old question: "What would you do if you won the lottery?"
Sleep safe in your beds
Muse x
I digress. I have been doing a lot of reading recently, I always read a lot but having no internet has meant a book every couple of days. I was musing through the shelves in Asda and came across a book called 'Outpost' by 'Adam Baker'. It's about a skeleton crew on an oil rig called The Kasker Rampart in the Arctic Ocean. They are waiting to restart the fuel pipeline and boredom features heavily in their daily lives. A deadly virus hits the planet and they lose all communication with the outside world. They are marooned and have to somehow survive the long Arctic Winter as the deadly virus is heads their way. That is all your getting of the plot!
I could not put this book down. I was still reading at 4am when I fell asleep clutching it. 'Outpost' fired my imagination and the characters were so well written that you actually thought you were part of the crew. I felt as though I was on Kasker Rampart. I knew my way around the rig and could visualise every scene. I could smell and touch my fellow crew members. As an avid reader I often get pulled into a book but I haven't been so enthralled since Huxleys 'Brave New World' and Niven, Pournelle and Barnes' 'Legacy of Heorot'. Adam Baker is a force to be reckoned with and I know a brilliant future beckons him. I read a lot of Sci Fi and the usual horror books as a young woman but haven't in recent years, so why did this book suck me in and leave me wanting more?
I guess it is because I am a Donut Child. My father was Forces then GCHQ and he taught me an important lesson about the survival of the fittest. Throughout my childhood I was completely convinced that 'The Bomb' would drop at any moment and I spent the long evenings of The Winter of Discontent planning how we would live under the stairs with a torch, a mattress and some baked beans until help came. My father encouraged this by keeping our house warm, well lit and even powering a portable TV whilst eveyone else shivered in darkness. Personally I think he must have lifted a few batteries from the comcen where he worked but who am I to judge!
My childhood fears morphed into a full blown interest in survival guides, Ray Mears and an unhealthy interest in all things Triffid and the series Survivors. I am an adult (as I remind myself on a daily basis) but I still carry this monster obsession with me. I have a well stocked larder full of tinned and dried goods, buy bottled water and worry that I don't have my own generator, fresh water well or an emergency battery supply big enough to power a nuclear sub. On top of all this I start to fret the minute there is unrest in the world. When trouble started in Tunisia, I was unable to sleep and told my 23 year old son not to go on holiday to Morrocco as I was convinced the trouble would spread....
So here we are with trouble on our own doorstep and the unease I felt all those years ago is right back with me. I cannot help it but here I am, desperately trying not to place that ebay bid on a deserted ex cold war bunker and empty supermarket shelves of anything remotely long life! Deep breath here. I am a Donut Child, and think I can survive anything because of my background but the reality is that once the power goes off and the water trickles to nothing we are all dust. Shiver! I guess I have answered that age old question: "What would you do if you won the lottery?"
Sleep safe in your beds
Muse x
Friday, 12 August 2011
One of Lifes Little Lessons!
I decided to paint my lounge, the reasoning, being that if I started to decorate, I would finally manage to move house, aka Murphy's Law! I was determined not to involve the parents or anyone else and do this myself. Note, I have NEVER decorated anything in my entire life. I have always decreed this is a blokes job and it is their responsibility. This is what happened.....
STEP 1. Move furniture away from wall with one arm and marvel at the amount of crap underneath sofa, bookcase etc... Also realise where The Git has been hiding his 97,000 sweet wrappers, 11 pairs of undies, Pokemon Cards and 75,000 comics all this time!
STEP 2. Fall over for two days and rest as exhausted (not kidding).
STEP 3. Find dead Hamster, last seen in 2008. Respectfully give it a full Military Funeral but forget (on purpose) to inform the Git. Take curtains down. Eye various cobwebs with trepidation and resolve to buy a feather duster.
STEP 4. Fall over again and sleep for 36 hours. This M.E business is a twat when you are trying to accomplish something.
STEP 5. Go to Trago Mills to buy supplies. Ask nice but condescending man for advice and travel home with boot full of painting things you had no idea existed. Buy large feather duster and systematically wreck Spiders 6 year old homes...I am such a slut!
STEP 6. Start as you mean to go on. Cover eveything with dust sheets. Carefully use masking tape as wiggly lines are not allowed in this house. Lay out all tools needed and ensure not one drop of paint shall be spilled. Wash one large wall, have a glass of wine and...fall over!
STEP 7. After another little nap, use a paint brush to paint around walls and then its 'roller time'. After three hours of careful concentration one wall has one coat on it. Sit and look at it in disgust. Have a glass of wine and a Tramadol as arm is fecked and fall over.
STEP 8. Answer door (in a dishevelled state) to parents. Pa takes one look and tuts a lot, muttering about it needing another coat and on noticing the state of me tells me to go to bed.
STEP 9. Wake after a few hours sleep to find that Pa has not only finished painting my 22 foot lounge but has moved most of the furniture back.
STEP 10. Resolve NEVER to decorate again and leave it to the Blokes!
Lesson learned!
Muse x
STEP 1. Move furniture away from wall with one arm and marvel at the amount of crap underneath sofa, bookcase etc... Also realise where The Git has been hiding his 97,000 sweet wrappers, 11 pairs of undies, Pokemon Cards and 75,000 comics all this time!
STEP 2. Fall over for two days and rest as exhausted (not kidding).
STEP 3. Find dead Hamster, last seen in 2008. Respectfully give it a full Military Funeral but forget (on purpose) to inform the Git. Take curtains down. Eye various cobwebs with trepidation and resolve to buy a feather duster.
STEP 4. Fall over again and sleep for 36 hours. This M.E business is a twat when you are trying to accomplish something.
STEP 5. Go to Trago Mills to buy supplies. Ask nice but condescending man for advice and travel home with boot full of painting things you had no idea existed. Buy large feather duster and systematically wreck Spiders 6 year old homes...I am such a slut!
STEP 6. Start as you mean to go on. Cover eveything with dust sheets. Carefully use masking tape as wiggly lines are not allowed in this house. Lay out all tools needed and ensure not one drop of paint shall be spilled. Wash one large wall, have a glass of wine and...fall over!
STEP 7. After another little nap, use a paint brush to paint around walls and then its 'roller time'. After three hours of careful concentration one wall has one coat on it. Sit and look at it in disgust. Have a glass of wine and a Tramadol as arm is fecked and fall over.
STEP 8. Answer door (in a dishevelled state) to parents. Pa takes one look and tuts a lot, muttering about it needing another coat and on noticing the state of me tells me to go to bed.
STEP 9. Wake after a few hours sleep to find that Pa has not only finished painting my 22 foot lounge but has moved most of the furniture back.
STEP 10. Resolve NEVER to decorate again and leave it to the Blokes!
Lesson learned!
Muse x
Tuesday, 2 August 2011
Questions...
I DO try to take people at face value but it becomes harder and harder as I get more and more sucked into the social networking sites that have become our new Religion. Ten years ago it was the Great God Supermarket. I remember coming off a night shift and so desperately hungry that I parked up outside a Supermarket to feed myself with hot coffee and toast in order that I could drive the 75 miles home safely. It was 9.30 am on a Sunday morning and I groaned at the amount of bored people sat in their cars, queuing to get in. Our Church today is of course Facebook and the acidic Twitter. More of that later.
Going back to face value. There are two points I need to make about 'Face value'. The first is, can we take anyone who is online at face value? Am I so naive that I still try to do so? Yeah, yeah, yeah...I got my fingers burned ONCE and ONCE only on a dating site. I lent a guy £100 and he buggered off. But I feel quite smug as I dated 17 guys in a year (for this Blog) and never once got 50K in debt. I am talking about a programme I watched last week where older women ...shall we just say jaded, lonely, messy looking older women...(sorry but frankly my Great Aunts keep themselves in better shape!!!!) plundered their life savings in order to finance someone they had never met. Oh and can I just say here (cattily) that the 22 year old girl that ran off with my ex got stung for 15K. Phew! nice to get that out of my system!
Anyway, I digress. I NEED to realise that I am actually naive and should not get sucked in to everyones life stories on FB/Twitter. Erm..FB is not too bad as you can usually weed out the nutters but as for Twitter...Feck knows. It seems that everyone has an alter ego/is pissed off with the world/does not understand the rules of life or is some loved up religious freak. So perhaps it is time for me to create an alter ego, to be a Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde and to have stupid fun on Twitter. Hmmm...I'll have to think about it but honestly I am such a crap liar that my new Twitter account will have a huge red siren over it every time I tell a lie! Enough about our new Gods!
The other thing I wanted to say, quite gently, in case you think I am a man hating Amazon, is that HOW can I possibly understand men when one of my life long male friends has grabbed his testicles and dived into 'lurve' with a lady that has somehow managed to scoop his brains out? Well done babe...lets see you deal with the consequences! Why is a Higher Power up there laughing his/her bits off when they see us doing all these dances around each other?
Blimey toots...my brain has had enough for today. Answers on a Postcard Please!
Namaste
Muse x
Going back to face value. There are two points I need to make about 'Face value'. The first is, can we take anyone who is online at face value? Am I so naive that I still try to do so? Yeah, yeah, yeah...I got my fingers burned ONCE and ONCE only on a dating site. I lent a guy £100 and he buggered off. But I feel quite smug as I dated 17 guys in a year (for this Blog) and never once got 50K in debt. I am talking about a programme I watched last week where older women ...shall we just say jaded, lonely, messy looking older women...(sorry but frankly my Great Aunts keep themselves in better shape!!!!) plundered their life savings in order to finance someone they had never met. Oh and can I just say here (cattily) that the 22 year old girl that ran off with my ex got stung for 15K. Phew! nice to get that out of my system!
Anyway, I digress. I NEED to realise that I am actually naive and should not get sucked in to everyones life stories on FB/Twitter. Erm..FB is not too bad as you can usually weed out the nutters but as for Twitter...Feck knows. It seems that everyone has an alter ego/is pissed off with the world/does not understand the rules of life or is some loved up religious freak. So perhaps it is time for me to create an alter ego, to be a Dr Jekyll or Mr Hyde and to have stupid fun on Twitter. Hmmm...I'll have to think about it but honestly I am such a crap liar that my new Twitter account will have a huge red siren over it every time I tell a lie! Enough about our new Gods!
The other thing I wanted to say, quite gently, in case you think I am a man hating Amazon, is that HOW can I possibly understand men when one of my life long male friends has grabbed his testicles and dived into 'lurve' with a lady that has somehow managed to scoop his brains out? Well done babe...lets see you deal with the consequences! Why is a Higher Power up there laughing his/her bits off when they see us doing all these dances around each other?
Blimey toots...my brain has had enough for today. Answers on a Postcard Please!
Namaste
Muse x
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