Final Chapter...

Sometimes a story simply doesn't need a middle. Sometimes it hardly needs an end. Sometimes it just ceases to be..somewhere along the way it just disappears and its passing is not even noticed. It usually has an opening chapter, of course, one that occasionally can be so full of promise and anticipation for the story that lies ahead that the very idea of the narrative coming to a sudden, unexplained end seems such a waste of potential. I tried really hard to find an ending to my story...I was willing to leave out the middle bit, but I felt that it was a tale that deserved to end with a nice, definitive full stop. No unanswered questions. No cliffhangers. No loose ends. The problem was though that by the time I had the heart to write my definitive ending, the time for writing it had come and gone. It quite simply didn't matter anymore. Maybe, on reflection, that is my perfect ending right there. It just doesn't matter anymore. Full stop.

Introducing......

Well, thank you everybody for your wonderful suggestions for a name for the pesky little squirrel who thrust himself into my life just a couple of days ago. Now, even though he is a naughty little thing who gave me no choice about bringing him home and no choice about agreeing to take him to America with me, I decided that he should still be allowed the dignity of being allowed to choose his own name. So..I put all of your suggestions to him and, although he doesn't speak much (he is a squirrel don't ya know?) he was able to express his preferences very clearly...

First I put "Tootles" to him and, although he showed initial interest, he then scurried into the kitchen and hid face down in a vase...I'm thinking he didn't like it . Sorry Tracey :(

Then I decided to try Jude's suggestion and cautiously suggested "Frizzo"...sorry Jude....as you can see, he simply refused to come out of the vase so I'm thinking "Frizzo" is a non- starter :(

I had one last chance to get him to stop acting like a bunch of tulips and get the hell out of the vase, so in I went with "Cheeky".Not a peep I'm afraid. Mel, I'm sorry, but he was singularly unimpressed :(

So, what was a girl to do? A squirrel HAS to have a name, just HAS to, so I figured it was time to call in the cavalry...oh yes, it was very much time for the big guns to be deployed. Enter Bert and Mary, stage left. It took a few attempts at finding the name that was just right and then in a flash there it was...the perfect name for Mr Not A Tootles Frizzo Cheeky Pants (I added the pants but myself..it sounded better!) so I put it to him, in a whisper, almost afraid to hear his reply:

"Squirrel...I have one last suggestion to make. Please give this one serious consideration before continuing to petulantly flaunt your tail at me. Squirrel...how about being called...(I whispered this bit in case the Penguins were listening. He heard me but it was too quiet by far for you to hear)........?"

And then suddenly....out he came with a cute squirrely smile on his face:

So here he is ladies and gentleman...may I introduce you to

Kendal :)

                                

See...they are everywhere..

Just by way of a little P.S. following on from my last post, Jude pointed out a very interesting but rather alarming little anomaly on one of Bert's UK photos . It's from the Derbyshire album and is this picture of him and Scott. Look just above Scott's head...

Oh and regarding my squirrel travelling companion...I shall need a fitting name for him. Any suggestions?

Update
My son read this post and he reminded me of another thing that I had completely forgotten and which has made all of this even weirder:

When Scott and Lara were about 2 years old and 4 years old, we bought them a goldfish each and gave them free choice in naming them. They completely steered clear of all normal 'fishy' names and came up with two entirely original ones (for goldfish!):

Scott - Squirrel
Lara - Pingu       

                       

WTF?

Yet another squirrel story...

...and this time he came home with me!

Now, I have never been one to see conspiracies everywhere I look. I'm quite happy to believe that Princess Diana died in an accident and yeap, I'm even willing to admit that some bunch of American men may just have landed on the moon. However, when it comes to penguins and squirrels I am beginning to get just a little bit unnerved.

First it was the penguins. Meeting a Bert was pretty coincidental in itself, considering that I am Mary Poppins but of course, in meeting him I also became acquainted with his dancing penguins. That is where it began to get a little weird. Penguins started showing up everywhere. I was watching the Muppet Christmas Carol this year, which I have watched every year since the kids were little, but THIS year a scene containing dancing, ice skating penguins had been mysteriously added to the movie. It definitely was never there before. Then my son came home from a trip to the zoo and was full of stories about copulating penguins everywhere he looked (Apparently Mr Penguin slaps Mrs Penguin on the ass as they have their jollies, but that is a story for another time!). In addition to this, penguins seem to be popping up everywhere..on TV, in magazines, on friends' blogs...I tell you, there is mischief afoot here.

Hot on the tails of the penguins, came the squirrels. I have already written about how they followed Bert and I around in London and how they are now watching everything we do. Be in no doubt, they are everywhere.

Today I decided to meet my friend Manuela for lunch in a lovely garden centre close to where she lives. It sells all kinds of plants and other things for the garden but also has a restaurant and an indoor shopping area stocked with lots of really lovely things. We had our lunch and decided to browse a little. And then I saw *him*. He was just sitting there. Staring at me. No seriously..he really was. A squirrel. Yes, so ok, he may not be a REAL squirrel but he was still watching me, and even Manuela couldn't quite believe where we found him. He wasn't sitting with the other soft toys...oh no, that would not have been unusual at all. Nope, he was sitting completely on his own in front of the jigsaw puzzles. Again, not that strange in itself, but the jigsaw puzzle looked rather familiar to me and I laughed out loud when I realised what it was a picture of...I could hardly believe it so I took a photo of the box with my cell:

Yeap - it's Heceta Head lighthouse - one of the ones that Bert visited just yesterday, and which he published a pic of this morning. And there it was in a garden centre in Huntingdon, England (the town where, incidentally, Oliver Cromwell was born), with a freakin stuffed squirrel sitting right in front of it, staring at me (Oh and the jigsaw puzzle behind ot contained lots of pictures of dogs. Including poodles. Go figure).

Anyway, I bought the squirrel of course and have decided that I shall take the evil little creature on my trip to America with me. I think that maybe that is what the squirrels have been trying to tell me recently..they wish me to smuggle one of their number into the USA with me so that he can carry out top secret surveillance for the Secret Squirrel Society. I know this will be a risk, but I feel I have no choice. I may even be made to take pics of him everywhere I go on my travels...I shall not want to, but I doubt I shall have any choice in the matter. It is the squirrel way...

Oh and here he is...he LOOKS totally evil, right? Would YOU mess with him?

Nope, thought not..me neither!

More than one way to teach a class...

Yuck - today was one hell of a depressing day...it was raining, the sky was covered in dark clouds that made it so dark that the street lights never did switch off, it had been a long, long week at work, we had government inspectors in my department so everybody, including students, was stressed and HELL guys..on top of that it's January.

Great way to start off a 9am class, huh?

Anyway, about half an hour in the students were working on a task that I'd given them that required them to work in pairs in order to prepare some mini-presentations that they would deliver towards the end of class. They sat there and it was all I could do to make them engage with each other at all. I knew how they felt. I myself would rather have been in bed to be honest, which is very unusual for me as I usually teach with so much energy that I bounce off the walls. It was as though somebody were pumping anaesthetic into the room and we were all suffering from its effects.

I needed to find a way to inject some energy into all of us and the best way that I know of doing that is by listening to a bit of music. So..music it was. I went to the PC that is hooked upto the interactive whiteboard, went onto Youtube and soon I had a lovely bit of Queen pumping into the room. The students seemed a little bemused by the whole thing to start with but once I'd found the right volume level they settled down to their work and not only did they start to engage in their task but I could almost feel the energy flooding into the room. The realy nice thing was that a couple of the students asked me to play their favourite songs, so before long we had the likes Rhianna and Beyonce playing, and then a lovely thing happened. There were only two students in the class who I thought may not appreciate my attempts to liven up the room - one is a very mature student (she is in her 70s) and the other is a rather quiet lady from Iraq, who is usually pretty quiet and reserved. I needn't have worried though, as first my elderly student requested "She loves you" by the Beatles and then my Iraqui student asked me if I'd mind putting on a bit of J-Lo. Priceless.

Anyway, in all we listened to music for almost an hour and each and every student produced some outstanding work. Then some smart ass asked if we could dance a while too. I said that sure we could..as soon as they had all done their presentations. They said that they felt it would be MUCH better to have a little boogie before their presentations though so I went with the flow and told them that we could all have a little dance around as long as each person in the class agreed to join in and dance to my choice of music...oh and I said that they would have to try and copy some ot the moves on the video too...I'm sure that they thought I was joking, so they all agreed. Oh dear oh dear...they really should know me better.

That was it then..I played the song and projected the video onto the whiteboard (I hadn't done that while they were working..way too distracting), they all stood up and slowly but surely they all joined in. By the end, they were all relaxed, energised, laughing and COMPLETELY ready to do their presentations, which went exceptionally well and which all of the students said they had very much enjoyed presenting.

All lesson objectives were completely met (in fact they were exceeded) and I had seen some rather interesting and someshat bemusing 'moves' from my students..oh and they from me. My choice of song? That will be THIS!! :)

Russian history...round one...

Exactly how 'great' was Peter?

Sometime last year, I stumbled across a myspace profile that rather fascinated me...an American who was proclaiming that he was rather enjoying being a 'Hooker'. I sent him an initial email saying that I hoped that he meant that he was a hooker of the rugby variety rather than the 'working guy' type as I would very much like to chat with him and bearing in mind that I have been to many rugby matches in my time but only visited a small number of male prostitutes, I felt that this would give us rather more to talk about. He replied with a *laugh* saying that although he did love rugby (what a coincidence...I adore rugby!) he was a 'Hooker' of the Chinook helicopter variety..he never did reply to my question about whether or not he is also a 'man of the night' but I'm assuming not :)  We exchanged a series of long, rambling emails that touched upon many weird and wonderful subjects. As we chatted, we stumbled upon many common interests and passions, one of which was a shared love of Russian history. We had planned to discuss this and many subjects during his trip over here in November but somehow we never did manage to get round to all things Russian (FAR too busy yelling at each other about politics as we wandered through the streets of London and far too busy chatting about an assortment of other random drivel the rest of the time). Anyway, we have recently decided to pick up this thread and have chosen the subject of Peter The Great as out first port of call. Over the past few days, we've discussed how to conduct this debate over a rather large ocean and a whole continent and we have decided to do it through a series of posts on here. I'm yet to be convinced about how this will work but am always game to try new things so here goes..

Peter The Great ruled Russia from 1682 to 1725, although he did not gain sole control of the country until 1694 (such was Peter's long and often tortuous route to power that we could discuss the events of the period from 1682 to 1694 as a subject in their own right..and maybe we shall!). During his time in power, Russia went through what I would suggest was one of the most dramatic and far-reaching periods of change in its history, second only to the events of the years following the revolutions of 1917 in terms of impact and far-reaching consequences.

Much of the historical debate that surrounds Peter and his time in control of Russia is based around an analysis of just how 'great' he was. This subject, along with more general analysis of his reign, has always totally polarised opinion and Peter has been proclaimed, both by his contemporaries and by historians throughout the centuries since his death, as either a virtually super-human hero or as the Antichrist. He is seen by many as the great moderniser of Russia, the architect of a Russia based on a western model of government, an outstanding war time leader and military commander, a reformer of state, military, education and religion and  the designer of a society built around the concept of a meritocracy, in an age where traditionally birth right and breeding were considered to be the main determinents of success. Of course, any period of such dramatic change will always come at a cost and can only be achieved to the detriment of those with either a vested interest in the 'old order' or those who will bear the financial burden that inevitably accompanies such all-encompassing reform.

Many liberals of the time revered Peter and saw him as a champion of light against darkness, as the leader who had single-mindedly dragged Russia away from its isolationist Muscovite past and into an era where she was aligning herself much more with was was viewed as a more enlightened and progressive west. Those who vilified Peter were  those whom he had either fiscally over-burdened or who were brutally subjugated to pave the way for his reforms. Under his rule the Strestsy, the elite Russian military corps founded by Ivan the Terrible to defend and protect the tsar, were eventually disbanded after taking part in a plot to over-throw Peter, but not until after over a thousand of its ranks were tortured and then executed, their mangled bodies put on public display as a warning to any others who were thinking of standing in Peter's way. Later in his reign, he sanctioned the torture and execution of his own son and it is recorded that on other occasions Peter was more than willing to carry out the role of executioner himself. In order to pay for his reforms of the military, the building of St Petersburg, his military campaigns and other measures, he raised taxation dramatically, with the lowest members of society, the serfs or slaves, often bearing the brunt of the burden.

I shall leave my final conclusions about how I would view Peter's reign in terms of 'greatness' until I've had a chance to chew the fat with Jeff and look in more detail at a lot of the issues discussed above. I'm thinking though that my verdict will fall somewhere in the middle and will to a large extent echo those of the writer Pushkin, who recognised the brilliance and necessity of Peter's reforms but who lamented the human price that was paid in order to instigate them.

Welcome back, Shirley Valentine...

Recently, I have had some very enjoyable conversations with a dear new friend about our favourite movies, particularly those that remind us in some way of experiences and feelings that we have had throughout our lives. In spite of the fact that we come from quite different worlds and from different generations, we have found that we have many things in common. Some of these are similarities in our life stories, and some of them are in our outlooks and in hopes and dreams that we have found that we have shared during various times in our lives. Possibly because of this, we have found that we have quite similar tastes in movies and have recommended a few of our favourites to each other.

A few days ago, I mentioned a film that is, or rather used to be, very personal to me and almost painful for me to watch. I first watched it at a time when my children were pretty young and when I very occasionally felt as though I was practically suffocating in my life. I loved being a mum and being there for my children but there was this little voice inside me, which sometimes managed to shout loud enough for me not to be able to pretend I couldn't hear it. It always said the same thing too. Three short words..."What about me?" I remember watching the movie at various times over the years and the sadness that enveloped me seemed to get worse everytime. I had to watch it whenever it was on TV though because when I watched it I didn't feel quite so alone. Quite so silly. Quite so much as if I were the only person who had ever felt like this. It described me and the way that I felt as though the vibrant, happy, sassy and confident young girl I had once been had somehow, over the years, been replaced by somebody else. Somebody else that neither I or my husband seemed to like very much. It hurt and I couldn't see any way out.

As this is the next movie that my friend is going to watch on my recommendation, I watched it again mysef this evening. This time though, I felt like I were watching it as a more distant observer...watching it show the way that I used to feel in some distant, darker time.

The movie is about Shirley Valentine, a woman who feels just the same that I used to and who took the brave step to try and escape from the life that was slowly drowning her. I used to watch it from the perspective of being stuck right in the middle of the movie..watching Shirley begin to find her wings again and start to fly and knowing that I could never be that brave. Then this evening, I watched the movie for the first time from a new perspective, which caught me completely unaware. This time, the sadness had gone. I didn't feel like I was stuck in Shirley's old life wishing I too could 'find myself' again but I was suddenly on the other side of the tunnel. I don't know when the change took place. I don't know when I stopped feeling like I was wasting the hope and potential that I remembered feeling back in my early twenties. I don't know when I became 'me' again. I don't know how I became 'me' again. But I'm so pleased to be back.

"What happened to Shirley Valentine? She got married to a boy called Joe and even though her name was turned to Bradshaw, she was still Shirley Valentine for a while. She knew who she was...but somewhere along the way, the boy called Joe turned into *Him*...and Shirley Valentine...turned into...this. And what I can't remember is the day, the week or the month when it happened. When it stopped being good...when Shirley Valentine disappeared and became just another name on the missing persons list."

"I've led such a little life..and even that will be over pretty soon. I have allowed myself to live this little life when inside me there is so much more. And it's all gone unused and now it never will be. Why do we get all this life if we don't ever use it? Why do we get all these feelings and dreams and hopes if we don't ever use them. That's where Shlrley Valentine disappeared to ...she got lost in all this unused life"

"I used to be the mother. I used to be the wife. Now I'm Shirley Valentine again,"

"...Hey! Look! A squirrel!"

Ok - by way of proving that just because you're paranoid it doesn't mean the squirrels aren't out to get you...here is a little something from when Bert and I were in St James Park in London..(oh and this REALLY happened and was NOT an isolated incident..they were EVERYWHERE):

Ok - 2pm and all is quiet. No need for panic. No imminent threats are perceived....aka all is good in Secret Squirrel Headquarters.

Ooh but wait a minute..one of the sentries has spotted something...

"Hrms...incoming American at 6 O'clock...repeat...incoming American and he looks like military...Secret Secret Squirrel Unit get ready for imminent infiltration...

"WILCO Sarge...currently entering underground control room. But SHIT, the nuts that I buried to stop the privates munching them are hindering access..abort mission..repeat abort mission..nuts have rendered control

room useless...

"Ok troops..this is what we have trained for...keep calm and initiate plan B. American is still incoming and closing in fast. It is worse than we initially thought men...he has been seen shouting outside Buckingham Palace already..at a gentle looking English woman with an umbrella and a nice hat...STAT men, this is NOT, repeat NOT a drill....

Thirty seconds later and all squirels are at their action stations ready to initiate Plan B...you can't see them? Well DER people..camouflage!

We knew that none of you would believe us so we stole this on a midnight raid. It was very dangerous. These guys have ACORNS don't ya know?

My bra, my business!

Now what is it with all of the weird, annoying little people who seem to be under the ridiculous delusion that bras were only ever designed for keeping one's breasticles nice and tidily stashed away and out of mischief? Silly, silly people who really do get on my tits (pun every bit intended). If *I* wish to wander around the supermarket, sashaying along in perfect synchronisation to the melodic sounds of the delicious Buble' singing in my ear via my I-Pod then I shall bloody well place afore-mentioned I-Pod wherever I damn well please.

I mean for goodness sake..where BETTER to place it safely than in my almost tailor-made little boob pocket, which has easy slide-in access and has just enough room to enable a snug fit withouth squashing Mr Buble to the point where he may no longer be able to sing to me? Jeez, it's even close to my ears (well compared to my ass it is...drink water...move on...) so there is less propensity for wires to become entangled with the resulting yanking from my ear of the yummy Canadian while he is mid-serenade. What DOESN'T make sense about that?

Now, it is NOT my fault if each song that I listen to requires a different level of volume in order to be able to fully appreciate its beauty and so bloody what if that means foraging into my bra and fiddling with the volume button? Yeah, I could take the I-Pod out and do this in clear view of the nosey little gits who think it is somehow THEIR business what it is I am tweaking in there but where would be the fun in that? What would all of the little pervy people have to keep them from terminal boredom while they decide whether they would like to purchase large sausages or small sausages to accompany their meals this evening (I suspect small sausages for most of them) if they couldn't watch me in fascinated curiosity as I fiddle a bit, then smile and carrying on walking in my wonderfully rhythmic fashion (left together, right together...left together right together.."Here comes the bride...")? 

FYI people of the world who think that the shenanigans that go on inside the privacy of my bra are somehow of any concern of yours...I shall use my boob bag to store whatever I find it convenient to store at that moment in time. So sod off you plonkers and do NOT be surprised if I am there next Sunday fishing squirrels out of my bra and feeding them nuts. Hopefully they will not be your nuts. Although I suspect that they may be :)

Shannon...

This last few days, I have sat and watched Lara for many hours - I've watched her struggling for breath and I've watched her sleeping peacefully in a way that almost managed to hide how very sick she was. I've seen her afraid and I've witnessed her humour and grit shine through inspite of how fragile she was feeling. One if the most touching things that I have seen though is the interaction between her and her boyfriend, Shannon.

He first entered her life about a year ago and for many months they were just very special friends. I first caught a glimpse of that an extraordinary young man he is when Lara was home alone with swine flu in the summer when I was in America. He moved into our house to take care of her and sat up with her every night, watching her and making sure that she was alright. She still insisted that they were just friends but I couldn't help hoping that one day they may be more to each other. A few weeks later, they were.

He has impressed me beyond words from the first time I met him. He is patient, he is honest and he quite simply adores my little girl in a way that all parents must hope for for their child. He cherishes every single thing about her and totally appreciates every thing that is so special about her. Above all, I know that he wouldn't change a single thing about her.

I don't know what I would have done without him the last few days. He took time off work and came rushing up to the hospital and from the moment he walked in, Lara just completley relaxed. I watched him hold her hand and move the hair from her face as she slept. I saw him hold her and stroke her hair. I saw him just sit and look at her with fear in his eyes as she lay in that bed and struggled to breathe. He loves her, really loves her, so very much.

Last night, when she was discharged, she wanted to go back to her university room for the night with Shannon rather than come to my hotel with me. She just wanted to be with him and I felt totally comfortable with that. The thing is that I have no fear or worry that anything would happen to her when she is with him and I know that he will have sat awake all night and just watched over her. I also am completely certain that she will have relaxed with him in just the way that she needed to in order to be able to breathe more easily and get some rest. So, as I watched them walk into her flat last night, holding hands, I just knew that she was in hands that are every bit as safe as mine and it was the most wonderful feeling.

Right now, they are fast asleep upstairs and once again, I know that if anything goes wrong with her health in the night, he will be right there with her and will do just what is right to take care of her. I feel so very fortunate that this man loves my daughter and to see her so cherished and loved is one of the best feelings I have ever had.

I'm going to hand over to Jeff now...I trust his judgement in all things but on the subject of Shannon I trust it more than ever. He has the words that I don't to be able to describe the exceptional young man who I totally trust to take care of and protect my precious daughter.

What a difference a few days makes...

On Sunday I wrote about my magical drive to take my daughter Lara back up to university following her christmas break. I wrote about how beautiful England looked covered in its perfect blanket of snow and how I felt a connection to the winter wonderland all around me through precious memories of the last time that I made the trip just a few months ago.

Last night I made exactly the same trip in the middle of the night after a call to say that Lara had been rushed to hospital and was a very sick girl..the doctors advised that I didn't wait until the morning to go up and I drew my own terrifying conclusions from that. As I drove, the snow was still all around me but this time it looked threatening and had left the road covered in a layer of ice that meant my journey took longer than it should have. The mountains looked a little different this time too, mere silhouettes against a cold, dark sky and inspite of their beauty, they too held no magic for me. As I started to climb in altitude to cross them, the temperature continued to drop and the roads became more hazardous, meaning an even slower journey to get to Lara. Damn the snow and damn the mountains. I wanted to get to my little girl.

I thought of Sunday's journey during the long drive last night and one thought just kept coming into my mind the whole time. During that trip, I had been totally mesmerised by the beauty and wonder all around me and in the whole of my piece of writing, my only reference to Lara was to say that she had been fast asleep next to me in the car and because of that, I had had the peace and solitude to have my very own magical and mystical few hours. How very different it was this time. The environment was frustrating me and conspiring against me and I could think of nothing but getting to her.

Right now, I am in a hotel room stealing a few moments before I go back to the hospital to sit with Lara again. She has pneumonia and really does look so very sick. Her spirit and sassiness is still there in buckets though and she has already ordered her boyfriend to take a few days off work and come up on the train to see her (he had no choice, believe me, so of course he is now here!), told me that I am really a rather annoying person at times, given Jeff total grief as always and handed out orders in a way that any sergeant major would be proud of. She is so very unwell but the spirit and grit of my beautiful girl still shine through constantly. She amazes me. Of course, she annoys the hell out of me too (and has done a number of times today as it happens) but I am, as ever, staggered by the feisty but extraordinarily intelligent and compassionate young woman that I raised.

For the third time in her life, I faced the fear of losing her last night and it is such a dark place that I can't dwell on it. I remember when she was just 3 days old, looking at her sleeping in her crib and watching what seemed like very laboured breathing and a feeling of dread came over me. It's a feeling I've had with both of my children and is simply the fear of wondering how I would force myself to keep breathing in and out everyday were I to lose either of them.

When Lara left for a backpacking trip to Australia last year, aged just 18 and flying out all of that way totally alone (she was to meet a friend when she got there) I was so intensely proud of her but I also felt like a part of our life together were over as she spread her wings and flew, in the way that I had always hoped that she would have the confidence to. I posted this song on my myspace page the day after she left and I wanted to share it with you all now. It sums up I think how we often feel as we see our children grow up, begin to need us less and take more and more control of their own lives exactly, of course, as they should do...

Chapter one (there never was a chapter two)..

(April 2006)

She had always found it hard to believe all of the far-fetched stories that people told about how, against all odds, they had found the person who they were certain was their one true soul mate. There were so many reasons in her mind as to why the whole notion of ‘soul mates’ was completely ridiculous that she laughed at all of the hopelessly romantic fools who genuinely seemed to think such nonsense were possible. She pitied those who seemed to have signed-up to the idiotic theory that true love comes along just once in a lifetime and that, when we find it, it is at our own peril that we ever let it go. To believe in the theory that there is just one person in this whole world who was somehow ‘made for us’ would also mean believing in destiny – and she was far too logical and obsessively in control of every element of her life to ever allow herself to think that any of it was outside her free will.

How strange, therefore, that at the age of 41, she should find herself sitting alone in a dark hotel room in the early hours of a chilly, April morning, her heart breaking and her whole body aching from the pain that had hit her like a brick wall as the reality of what had happened slowly dawned on her. The reality was that not only had she without question found her soul mate but that she had also lost him. The reality was that she had spent all of her life believing that he didn’t exist only to discover that he had existed deep inside her own memory for almost 30 years. The reality wasn’t that she had never been lucky enough to find him, but simply that she had not been wise enough to be able to realise that she should never have let him go all of those years before. And here she was, 28 years older but no wiser…he was gone again and this time there would be no fairytale reunion almost 3 decades later. This time there would be no second chances. They had had their second chance but had thrown it away just as recklessly and carelessly as they had their first chance.

She was somebody who had never believed in destiny, fate or the concept that true love is unstoppable, unavoidable and will always find you, in spite of how much you may try to fight it, deny it or run away from it. How could it be true then that at that moment she felt as though every bone and muscle in her body was aching for the man who was, without a shadow of a doubt, the man who she had been born to love? Suddenly that realisation hit her and she started to visibly shake from top to toe. The numbness that had crept slowly into her body and had taken over her mind, soul and spirit over the previous two traumatic months vanished straight away and was instantly replaced by what can only be described as total pain and utter despair.

They had, between them, made many choices over the previous year but in her confusion and grief she couldn’t for the life of her think which one of those choices it had been that had backed them into this inescapable, dark and suffocating hole. This time there was no escape tunnel. There was no third chance and there was no prospect of ever seeing him again. She tried so hard to force these cruel truths out of her mind as she desperately attempted to focus instead on the plane that she was to catch in just a few hours time. This short flight would be her temporary escape from a world that he was a part of and from the damage that she had both caused and suffered. But it had not been planned as a solitary escape from him – it had been meant to be an escape for the two of them from the increasing pressures that their ever-growing need to be together was placing on them. It was meant to be their time. A time during which they could stop looking over their shoulders, relax and simply enjoy each other without the shadow of the ‘goodbye’ which hung over them every time that they managed to steal an always too brief hour or two together. These thoughts only distressed her more and just added to the helpless and hopeless screaming she could hear echoing around in her head.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and, although sleep was still a long way off, a strange, comforting calmness finally began to descend on her as her mind began to desperately and randomly search for happier moments that it could focus on instead. Her whole body ached for peace, for some respite from the desolation and devastation, be it only for a few short hours. Gradually, through the darkness and turmoil that she saw behind her exhausted eyes as she lay there, she began to be able to picture an image of a bright, sunny day that she recognised from 9 months before – it was a glorious, July afternoon. There was not a single cloud in the clear, blue sky and chillingly, as she viewed that scene as a distant onlooker, she realised that she was about to witness the point of no return moment that had so completely change her life forever. The moment when she had been struck by the kind of bolt of lightning that the hopelessly romantic fools who she had previously laughed at believe herald the moment when you first set eyes on your soul mate. The moment when you instinctively sense that from then onwards a life without that person will be incomplete, empty and, ultimately, just too heartbreaking to even contemplate.

Copyright 2006
Diane Malinowski

Communism and fetishes...

Yesterday, I drove my 19 year old daughter back to university in Lancaster, quite a long way from our home. Leaving her there was incredibly difficult - she misses home and her boyfriend, Shannon, so much, and her tears started flowing as soon as we started to unload the car. I knew she'd be ok once I'd left, just as I knew that being home for a month, being with Shannon 24/7 for almost the whole time and then having to go back would be so difficult for her. When I left to start the snowy drive home she was once again in tears but trying so hard to be positive, which fair broke my heart. She does love college, she has wonderful friends and a very nice flat to live in so I knew she would be ok...but I still worried.

Then this lunchtime I saw two missed calls from her and it was with a real sense of dread that I returned her calls..i was so hoping that she would not be in tears and telling me she was unhappy. The first thing I 'heard' down the phone was a sense of 'excitement' when she said 'MUM..guess what!!!' and I fair let out an audible gasp of relief. She then went on to tell me that she had got 64% for the first paper that she had to turn in last term..one that she was so scared she would not hit the required 40% mark for. She fretted, she worried, she went on and on about how she didn't 'get it', she said she couldn't do it, she got fed up..everything you could imagine...it was about Marx's theory of commodity fetishism for goodness sake and she assured me that she had never even heard of the geezer but that she already hated him!

So what changed? What changed was the intervention of a visiting American soldier...one who had the infinite patience to sit with her, talk her through the subject and coax her into writing her own paper, in her own words. Watching them work together was fascinating...I am a teacher and my first degree is in European history, specialising in part in Russian history, so I kind of knew the subject but I just sat back in wonderment as he guided her through it. They started face to face when we were all in Lancaster but most of the work was done via MSN and all I could do was observe in awe as little by little her confidence grew. Oh and I provided Ben and Jerry's for the teacher. And chocolate. And crisps.

So, I owe a HUGE thank you to a very special somebody - my little girl was typically lacking in self confidence yesterday and nervous of the term ahead. What she needed was a boost in confidence and a little reminder of his words in her ear... "Never, EVER say 'I can't do it.' " was just the ticket.

Lara is a feisty, sassy and hysterically funny young lady but when her nerves and lack of self-belief hit, they are crippling. But today her head is held high, she feels for the first time that she 'belongs' in such a top ranking college. Tonight on the phone she was laughing and heading off for a bit of a wild night in the student bar with her friends and she was happy.

I am so very, very proud of both her and her partner in crime.

Thank you Bert.

Gavin and Stacey link..

Thanks to Mel, here's the video that I tried to post on the link below..apparently this one works across the pond. Fingers crossed!

Bryn's workout routine

Enjoy..!

My Hugh Grant kinda day in a winter wonderland..

I'm going to start by asking you to humour me a while here...before you read on any further I'd like to ask you to just take a couple of moments to close your eyes and imagine England in the winter time...don't think about it too much, just let your mind wander and see what images you come up with..

Ok..so what did you see? Were there little villages covered in a sprinkling of snow, each with a picture postcard church in the middle of them? Were there rolling fields (with or without sheep..apparently we are infested with them..I blame the Welsh..they shag them while they munch on leeks apparently), also covered in snow? Could you see Bridget Jones driving through the village in her little car, on her way to the traditional Boxing Day turkey curry, where Mark Darcy would be wearing 'that' sweater? Was Cameron Diaz running down a snow-covered lane in her high heels, desperate to tell her "Holiday" love interest, Jude Law, that YEY! she loved him too?

(Oh and no..not time for Hugh Grant yet..he comes in a little later..)

The thing is you see, that I have spent all of my life living in England and I can not remember one single white Christmas. Most years of my life I can't remember any snow at all. Some years I remember the odd day of snow, in which I woke up to find a few inches of the white stuff outside the window only to find it completely gone by the evening. A couple of years I remember as having really rather decent snowfalls, that hung around a few days and even enabled me to build freakily distorted snowmen of questionably gender and sexuality. Never though have I recognised the white wonderland that I have seen portrayed in almost every winter-based movie that I have ever watched.

Then I drove my daughter back to university today and an extraordinary thing happened...yep, right there outside every window of my car was a  totally snow covered Narnia. I drove from my house in Peterborough to Lancaster in the north west of England, driving up the east side of the country before crossing the Pennines between Leeds and Manchester, before heading north on the western side of the country. Every single field that I passed was covered in snow and suddenly my country was completely unrecognisable to me. We have always had the churches, the fields, the sheep, the quaint villages and so on but THIS time the snow had given it an almost magical quality...the very magical quality that I have always seen in the movies but missed in real life. To see the whole of England, from north, to south and from east to west, covered in a blanket of snow like that is a once in a lifetime kind of experience (hush now Bert..this is not a global warming post!..come on, resist the temptation...you know you can do it)  and I wallowed in every minute of it.

(What..still no Hugh Grant?)

Because of the dreadful weather, the roads were almost totally empty and the strange sense of isolation that this gave only added further to the magic. Lara was asleep next to me in the car so it was just me, soaking in every minute of the atmosphere, the silence and the beautiful mountains and moorland that I drove right over the top of. I opened the window just a little and breathed in the fresh air a while and just enjoyed a drive that I know I would never be able to repeat.

As I came down from the Pennines and saw Manchester opening up to the left of the car and beautiful hills ahead and to the right of the car, my photographic memory recognised a snapshot taken once before, just a few months ago. This final stage of the journey, from Manchester to Lancaster, was one that I drove with Bert on the second day of our Jolly holiday...the buildings were all the same, the shape of the hills were instantly recognisable and the view opening up ahead was imprinted on my mind..I remember Bert taking photos of so many of the vistas and me commenting on various landmarks, so the picture in my head was very clear. This time though, the whole scene was covered in white and so at the same time as being totally recognisable, it was also completley different...it therefore wasn't at all like doing a carbon copy journey. Far from it, even though everything was inherently the same. It felt like something I remembered seeing once..in a movie...but what? And then in an instant it, or rather *he* came to me..yup, enter Hugh Grant, stage left..

Lights! Camera! Action...Notting Hill..'passing of the seasons market scene', take one...

Anybody who has seen Notting Hill, will remember the scene in which Mr Grant was walking through Notting Hill market in one seamless shot..but behind him, as he continued on his walk, the seasons were changing, as spring turned into summer turned into autumn turned into a snow covered winter of the type that, remember, never happens in real life England. So that was it...that is what that particular part of my drive today was like. It was as though I'd never left the road, the journey felt like it was happening in the same kind of seamless shot as in the movie and all around me the season had completely changed. I very much suspect that that was a one off kind of experience, made possible by the fact that the first journey was so recent, that Bert was taking photos the whole time that I was picturing in my head as I drove on that initial journey and that I was viewing my own country through Bert's eyes and therefore concentrating far more than usual on everything that I saw as I drove.

I felt like I was really a part of the landscape that I passed through today; as though I were somehow a part of the story that it was telling rather than just a distant observer. Added to the magical elements that I have described above, I think one could safely say that today's journey was very much one to remember.

At the risk of having another moment where you will all be told that you aren't allowed to watch a video clearly only fit for the purpose of our very special UK eyes, please find below the Notting Hill clip that popped into my mind a few miles outside Manchester sometime early this morning as the snow fell all around me.

A little gentle encouragement..Bryn style...

Bearing in mind the fact that a few of us are embarking on challenging new fitness regimes under the watchful eye of our very own "Bryn" (he is Welsh you know!)  I thought that you may like to see a little glimpse of how things could go if you ever think you can't do it anymore...if you ever feel like just giving up...if the lure of the cookies ever becomes greater than the fear of being told to drop and give a quick 25 :)

Ladies...you have been warned!!!

(Only one of you will recognise the characters in this...so far that is...I am on a mission to educate you ALL in the genius that IS Gavin and Stacey over the next few weeks!!)

"It is the AMERICAN way..oh..it is the BRITISH way" (Sam the Eagle, 1992)

"In America sex is an obsession, in the rest of the world it is a fact."
Marlene Dietrich

I'm not sure of the total accuracy of the little quote above but initial indications are that there may be more than a sprinkling of truth to it. Conversations with friends on the left hand side of the pond over recent months lead me to believe that we may be a little more open and frank about all matters sexual over here in the UK but, being a historian at heart, I needed a little more than hear-say on which to base my assumptions. So, I set out on my quest for knowledge, searching through archives and literature in search of that one special piece of documentary evidence. Things weren't looking good for a while and I was feeling rather frustrated at my lack of progress until..suddenly..a flicker of a memory ignited somewhere in my brain and in one of those Eureka! moments I knew just where to look. So..here it is..proof of the fact that in the UK we see sex as a purely natural act, something to be proud of and discuss as a family..something that you could say is just a part of normal, everyday life.....

My garden last winter..we felt that in this age of equality and tolerance we would make him a hermaphrodite. Oh and yes, that is me hiding behind him...wearing what I do believe is a rather marvellous England Rugby top which somehow isn't hanging on the hook in the hall anymore :)

British nanny in search of pastures new...

What does a practically perfect British nanny do when she has finally had all that she can take of the incestuous roof top shenanigans of a gaggle of tap dancing chimney sweeps? Why, it would appear that she points her trusty umbrella in the opposite direction of afore-mentioned unmentionables, takes the advice of head honcho chimney sweep Bert and allows the wind to blow her steadfastly towards the far away, magical land of blogging (nowhere near as exciting as her chalk drawing land of preference, but far less prone to run-ins with demented carousel horses and upper class fox hunting twits)...and so, at least until the wind changes direction, that is where she can be found....

                             Scary shit, huh?