Thankg Goodness For That!

And so the decision is made; the dice rolled; the coin flipped. And thankfully, the answer is a happy one.

Christmas is saved. Christmas day will be great and I can go back to my normal state of ever so slightly, over excited, child like anticipation. Hooray, hooray!!

This is going to be a very short blog as I have a lot to do now. All prep for Christmas was put on hold while the events of the last couple of days unfolded. Which now means I have a house to clean, pressies to wrap, turkey to buy, veg to buy etc etc.

So this is me - signing out and wishing you all a truly splendid Christmas xxx

Decision Time

I have a big decision to make. Probably one of the biggest I will ever make. It could mean the difference between being happy for ever more or facing a life somewhat more miserable.

This decision has been thrust upon me. I certainly didn't ask for it or seek it out. It's fair to say, it's been a bit of a roller coaster month.

I usually enjoy extremely good health. I can count on one hand the number of times I have been really ill in my life. As a result, I am the first to admit I make a terrible patient. I find it hard to do nothing and take it easy. I find it impossible to admit that my body needs a rest. So imagine my dismay when I was diagnosed with a form of Vertigo. No cure other than rest, rest and more rest. Give me the nasty tasting medicine any day!!

This vertigo has left me weepy, emotional, weak, tired, emotionally exhausted, dizzy, nauseous and low. Doesn't that sound like a barrel of laughs? Well no actually, it's been pretty damn miserable.

And if that wasn't enough to contend with, the heating has been playing up for three weeks. Countless visits later and it looks as if a solution may just be in sight. And then of course the snow arrived which means the heating engineer couldn't come out! The catalogue of disasters continued with the flat I own down south having electric problems that needed sorting. And I am supposed to avoid stress as it makes the vertigo worse.....

Avoiding stress seems to be difficult at the moment. Which leads me back to the case in point. The big decision. A decision that I'm not in an emotionally strong place to make. I'm worried I'll make the wrong decision because I am just so tired. It's a scary thing to realise that a decision made when you are at low ebb and physically and emotionally exhausted could change your life forever. Do I want to make this decision at the moment? Absolutely not! Do I have to make the decision at the moment? Unfortunately yes!

I'm throwing ideas, thoughts, scenarios and options around my head like a juggler. But my catching skills are appalling!

What I really need is a holiday away, in the sun, with no cares or worries. Instead I have Christmas to contend with and unfortunately, this decision will make or break the festive period.

A Happy Christmas.....I can only hope

So Far, So Splendid....

Having spent the best part of a week moving furniture from one end of the country to the other and packing up the contents of our creative and imaginative lives, Warlock and I have finally moved in to the new house.

In true Music lover style, the CD's are already arranged A-Z and the stereo has pride of place. Our sitting room is looking mighty fine if I do say so myself. Anyone walking in to discover 'who would live in a house like this?' would have no trouble identifying two music fanatics! As well as the CD collection and stereo, we have enough Music inspired Art work to open a gallery and charge people to look around.

So imagine my horror when I returned last night to find that someone had tampered with some of my CD's, Bob Dylan had become mixed up with Beth Rowley! How had this happened.

The cricket lads were round and previously, they have thought I'm a pretty laid back kind of girl. The Jekyll and Hyde moment was about to convince them otherwise...

"Who has been messing with my CD's?" I announced in a voice that Daddy Bear could only have dreamt of.

Three guilty faces looked back at me, three slightly worse for wear men were reduced to little boy status, three grown men were united in pointing the finger of guilt at the member of the party who had already left! We'll be having words next time he pops round.....

Sensing the level of stress, my lovely other half quickly handed me a glass of red and the evening was saved from utter ruin - but only just!!!

Times They Are a Changing

Well, even by my standards my life is galloping along and changing direction left, right and centre.

Having spent earlier blogs embracing and celebrating my singledom and freedom I am now embarking on a new adventure and moving in with my boyfriend. Seeing that written down makes it somewhat real.

What??!!! I can hear many of you cry. Boyfriend? What boyfriend? Yeah, yeah, me and my good friend Warlock finally decided back in May to stop being stooopid and just get on with being together as more than just friends. And mighty fine it is too.

And so, as of the end of this week, jealously guarded shoe, CD and book space will be shared. Luckily for me, he is just as particular about his books and CD's as I am. It's safe to say, there is going to be a LOT of A-Z ordering to sort out!

Although I'm really excited about the move and can't wait to get settled in our new pad I do have a couple of worries. For the last 5 years, I have lived completely and utterly alone. I have come and gone as I have wished. I have tidied and cleaned when it has suited me (and that didn't always co-inside with when it needed doing). I have eaten what I've liked, when I've liked. My flat has been open house to friends and family without needing to consult anyone else. Put bluntly, I have lived a very selfish, independent and single life.

And now, I will be sharing my space and lifestyle. I will need to remember that two of us live in the house and need to be consulted before inviting the world and his wife for dinner/drinks/holidays. I will need to check another person's diary and calendar before just agreeing to social events without a blink. I have to make sure that the pebble culture is equally represented (pebble culture = candles, nick nacks, Art work, posters etc).

But most of all I have to think....what happens if I am a nightmare to live with? What happens if I have turned into an OCD freak who flips if the milk is left out? Well at the very least, it will make an interesting blog!!

Chilled to the Max

I've just got back from the most relaxing week in the Dordogne. Way back in April, myself and 6 mates bid on a holiday home at the charity auction. And lucky us...won!

The holiday was all I desired. A week of chilling out, relaxing, good company, fab food and an enormous amount of incredibly good red wine.

It's been three years since my last proper holiday. I'm always off doing stuff at weekends but in terms of holiday it's been a definite dry spell. I can honestly, say, I've not been that chilled out for a long time.

Generally, I'm up with the lark. I find it impossible to lay in bed and get twitchy and fidgity once I've been awake for 20n mins. But for the first time in a LONG time (and I'm talking university here) I found myself able to sleep in beyond 8.00am. And then, having snarfed down some wonderful french bread for breakfast I would take myself off to the hammock and sleep for another hour. Wonderful stuff!

This break was just what I needed. And hopefully, it will be an annual event from now on.

Paperback Writer

I spent a very enjoyable couple of hours in Waterstones bookshop yesterday (other bookshops are available though they are few and far between these days).

I love buying books. I get the same buzz as I do when buying CD's. Walking into Waterstones and seeing shelf upon shelf of fresh spines waiting to be creased fills me with pleasure.

I love browsing. I like to just stand back and glance at the books on the table top displays, allowing my eyes to be drawn to the font of the title or the picture on the cover. They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but sometimes that's just what I do. I have many literary gems in my collection that were picked up purely because the front cover caught my eye and held it.

The title is equally important. Long winded titles or anything with pretentious tendencies is generally ignored. I like the titles to tell me something, or have a meaning (even if that meaning is somewhat different from what the author intended). Using song titles is a very good way to entice me into actually picking up a book and reading the blurb.

Ah yes, the blurb. This is essential. If a book can't even hold my attention for the duration of the blurb it's going to struggle to convince me to start on chapter 1. And yet some books have truly awful blurbs that don't in any way do justice to the contents.

But let's return to the shelves full of books. I wandered around, looking at covers, reading blurbs, opening pages, reading the first sentences, reading comments from critics and finally loaded up the desk with my purchases.

And very happy I am too. There is mix of historical, favourite authors, pot luck and whimsical choices. I go to France next week and the only problem will be selecting which ones will definitely be included in the packing. I can't wait, a week in the beautiful French countryside, with good company, fine food and wine and some cracking books. It's what summer is all about!

Go on, lose yourself in a book, you know it makes sense.

Homeward Bound

So it's been a hectic week - no change there then!

Last Thursday saw me pack up my essentials (music, clothes and some shoes) and head home to Southport.

And now I'm back in the family home...for now! My dad is the epitome of chilled out in some things but in others Victor Meldrew looks calm! Plus, I have to be honest and say I'm probably not that easy to live with either. That's what happens when you get two independent people who are used to living by themselves with no rules or compromise required thrust back together under one roof. It's a scary mix.

I'm learning to be more patient and more understanding of his need to know what I will want for dinner before I've even consumed breakfast. And he in turn is becoming more tolerant of my bathroom products. The initial request for my bathroom stuff to be kept in my bedroom was met with such revulsion he hasn't attempted it since!

Moving back is a funny thing to have to do. Once you leave home, things are never the same again. The dynamics change. I first left home at 18 to head for the bright lights and overdraft facilities of University. And it was there that I learnt to stand on my own two feet for the first time. An immensely valuable lesson in life.

Like the proverbial boomerang, I've bounced back a few times over the years. But each time has been a temporary stop gap of no more than a few months. I really hope that trend continues this time.

I think it's tougher this time because on previous occasions, I've come back from shared accommodation. This means you already have some existing understanding of co-habiting with other human beings. This time, I've come from my own flat, having lived completely by myself for 5 years.

Five years of coming and going exactly as I please. Five years of choosing when to tidy up, do the hoovering, clean the bathroom etc. Five years of eating what and when I like and without having to decide before breakfast has even been thought of. Five years of a rather selfish, happy go lucky life. No wonder it's such a shock to the system.

Reading this, I probably sound like the ultimate spoilt, selfish diva. But I'm truly not. Instead I have become a creature of habit...just like my dad. And I'm sure he rolls his eyes and tuts under his breath at some of the things I do (or don't) as well.

Living back at home is challenging. But I know I'm very lucky. I can stay as long as I need, the rent is free and I know that no matter how much we may bicker there will always be a warm welcome for me.

More Than This

For once, this gig loving, music devotee is going to write about the former in a negative way!

I know, it's a shock. But unfortunately it has to be done.

Twice, in the last 3 months, I have been let down by the one thing that is normally there through thick and thin. Unbelievably, I have been to two gigs at great venues, with world renowned artists and I have been disappointed. No worse, than disappointed. I have been left feeling apathetic, flat and totally uninterested.

The first of these events was back in May. I'm a huge Weller fan. Over the years he has written some of the the finest songs this country has produced. You Do Something To Me remains one of my all time favourite songs, so much so that if I ever venture into the world of marriage that will be my first dance song and the groom will just have to lump it. But lets return to the gig in hand. Having booked the tickets months in advance, my good mate Warlock and I had been looking forward to a great set in the stunning surroundings of the Albert Hall.

Unfortunately, for us, Mr Weller had other ideas. The musicianship was still there, the stage setting was great, the violin chorus were gorgeous and glam...it should have been brilliant. But it wasn't! Fair enough, he wanted to promote the new album but the fans expect some of the old classics too. When eventually Weller broke into You Do Something To Me, Warlock and I exchanged a look and thought all would be forgiven. But no even this was a disaster. The stunning solo that is the piece de resistance in this sublime little song was completely and utterly left out!!! Why? Why? Why?

Bewildered and a little annoyed we left the gig early! Unheard of!

And now to the second gig of doom....Yesterday found me in the beautiful Victoria Park in East London. The sun was shining, I was in the company of my gig going London mates Huw and Rich and the headliners were Roxy Music. Having enjoyed a truly amazing and energetic set from Grand Master Flash we headed to the main stage ready to be wowed by Mr Ferry and co.

Again, the setting was great (outdoor gigs really do have a great atmosphere), the crowd were ready to kick back and enjoy a set from an internationally successful group. The opening song was ok but the rest of the set consisted of an hour of lesser known, dreary, uninspiring numbers. There's no doubt, Bryan Ferry can still sing and he still has bundles of charisma. And, yes the saxophonist got to showcase his very real talent but we wanted the old favourites. Where was Love is the Drug? Avalon? Dance Away? Disgusted, I left early, again!

And this is exactly why these two amazing artists failed their audiences. Loyal and long standing fans should not be treated this way. Sure, show off your new material - afterall we are likely to be the ones buying it. But please, please give us something in return.

A great set list should contain a mix of old and new that is guraranteed to make the crowd want more. Well certainly 'more than this'!

A Bitter Pill to Swallow

I feel a bit strange at the moment. Many people would (rightly) think - what's new?

In all seriousness, I am not quite sure how I feel.

At this time of year, all teachers are counting down to the summer break - six weeks of freedom. Six weeks of lie ins. Six weeks of having a real life. Six weeks of being a lady of leisure. And normally I would be firmly counting down with glee. Everyone is exhausted, tempers are fraying, energy levels at an all time low. The first lie in of the holidays is a blissful event that is highly anticipated.

However, this year I'm a bit at sixes and sevens. You see, by this time next week I will have left my current school - a place where I have been incredibly happy. There aren't really the words to explain what it has been like to work at St. Helen's. The team is like a tightly knit family and I was lucky enough to be allowed in to the family unit.

The following week will be made up of celebration events and goodbye assemblies. All emotionally charged, all full of happy memories, all full of cute kids doing cute things which are guaranteed to reduce all the staff to tears. I will be so sad to leave. I've said on several occasions, that I would love to move the school up north with me. Unfortunately, this isn't to be. The way of the world means change happens and sometimes you have to leave something wonderful to fulfill dreams in another place.

And so I am looking forward to the holidays. I can't wait to embrace my new life up north. But on the flip side of the coin, I'm dreading saying goodbye.

With heavy heart I will say goodbye to my friends, staff, children and parents at St. Helen's but with equally light heart I will say hello again to friends, family and improved lifestyle in Southport.

And at least I can pack up the memories and take them with me......

Bye Bye Jude

So it was my leaving party on Saturday night. And true to form there was a theme. I know some people find themes tedious beyond belief but I've kind of grown up with them. My mum was whizz at making costumes and props and I guess she's passed that on to me (although my skill is more in the wearing than making!)

The chosen theme was 80's. This is a truly great theme as you can look as hideous as you like and it''s all in keeping. So having donned a particularly ghastly stripey dress, neon tights and staggeringly high heels I captured the 80's slapper look perfectly.

I can honestly say I had a ball.

When I moved down here 11 years ago I was lucky enough to move into shared accommodation which is where I met Debs. She became the lynch pin in my social circle and all of my first southern friends stem from her. She is the missing link (in the kindest possible way).

So there we were, a group of friends, shaking our ass, jumping around, and spinning sugar like we were still teenagers. When I first moved here, our house parties were legendary. We had bouncy castles, my mate Ant aka Skinny Boy Evans took to the decks, there was punch, nibbles, fancy dress costumes dripping from the ceilings.

Back then, many a party would continue to the wee small hours until the moment when Skinny Boy played the last record and then simply lay on the floor and slept where he landed to show that the party was indeed over.

Now, many of us have kids and we all have mortgages and grown up jobs. Our parties are still great fun but tend to end a little earlier and happen on a far less frequent basis - like once a year as opposed to every couple of months.

I will miss this wonderful group of people and all my other friends down here enormously. As I said in my thank you speech on Saturday (which was thrust upon me with no prep!) many of these friends have helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. And now I'm embarking on a new, exciting and much anticipated stage of my life, I hope they will continue to be part of it. After all, the road systems run both ways in the UK.

With that in mind, I'd best get planning the house warming - no doubt it will be a fun filled, costume drenched and boozy affair and we wouldn't have it any other way!

Clean Sheets

I'm sitting in my flat surrounded by chaos!

Everywhere I look there are clothes, shoes, bags, books, CD's, stuff and even more stuff! And what's worse, I know I have just 2 weeks to sort it all out, get it packed and move it.

At the moment the task seems a little too large to contemplate. I hate the mess, it's driving me crazy. I hate the fact that everywhere I look, there is something that needs putting away. I know I should do something about it but I'm just too tired.

As soon as I get through the door at the moment, I feel compelled to throw my stuff on the floor and collapse on the bed for a snooze. The only thing is, the snoozes have a tendency to turn into a full blown sleep. My eyes just won't open.

I got up from today's snooze an hour ago and it's taken considerable effort to turn on the lap top and tap some keys. To be perfectly honest, I could happily crawl back to bed and sleep through til the morning.

And do you know what, that's exactly what I'm going to do. There's nobody else here to criticise, no one here to laugh, and no one here to complain. Nick Drake is on the stereo, my sheets are clean and smelling of Comfort and at the moment, nothing could convince me that staying awake seems a good idea.

Right then, over and out!

The Conversations You Never Have...

This weekend was a real musical highlight of my life so far! That's a fairly strong statement I know but it is fully justified. On Friday I was lucky enough to see Ocean Colour Scene perform an acoustic set which was unbelievably good, sandwiched in the middle on Saturday was the legend Stevie Wonder and the on the Sunday was the living musical genius that is Sir Paul McCartney. There - statement well and truly justified!

Paul McCartney's set was over two and a half hours long and was packed full of songs that covered his career from the Beatles, Wings, collaborations and solo material. It was a really special event and it touched me and moved me to tears on more than one occasion.

Music and theatrical events have always had the power to do this. I have no trouble expressing my emotions about a piece of music, film, dance or theatre. I feel far more comfortable crying in situations like this than over situations that are far more personal. Over the years, many people have seen me sniffing my way through films, plays and gigs and it doesn't bother me. But Paul McCartney's set, took me on a whole new journey and one that was a bit of a struggle at times.

As you know, I'm moving back to Southport this summer. This Friday I found out I have a job so I am immensely relieved, excited and ready to go now. However, my emotions are all over the place and it was the gig on Sunday that made me face the real reason for this.

I really, really miss my mum. The last time I did a big move like this was 11 years ago when I came down here. And mum was still with us then. She was there to help me pack up. She was there to listen and advise with her usual good sense. She was there to phone me and check I was settling in ok. She was there to visit me and enjoy the sights of London.

And now of course she's not. And this fact landed on me like a ton of bricks during Sir Paul's song about John Lennon. He said the song was about all those conversations you mean to have with people but then never do and then somehow, someday it's too late.

The lyrics didn't just speak to me, they jumped off the stage and headbutted me. And now I was stuck in the glaring daylight surrounded by thousands of people, crying in front of them about my mum - something I've not done since the funeral. Every word seemed to mean something. Every word seemed to expose the gaping hole her death has left in my life. Every word made me realise that one of my motivations for remaining in London for as long as I have was to escape the grief.

I miss her hugs - if she was here now and saw me sat here typing in tears she'd just let me cry and stroke my hair until the tears stopped. She wouldn't even ask me to talk if I didn't want to. And I miss that so much. Sometimes you don't want to talk, you just want to cry and have your hair stroked and be told by your mum that everything will be fine.

I miss our shopping trips which generally involved more coffee and cakes that actual shopping.

I miss laughing with her about silly things.

I miss buying silly little gifts for her at Christmas and birthdays.

I miss our discussions about books and films and music.

I miss her singing around the house.

I miss being able to tell her all the stuff going on in my life. Getting a new job, moving back home, starting a new phase of my life - she'd have been so excited for me.

I miss being able to introduce her to people who are important to me.

And what I really, really miss most of all, is all the conversations we'll never have. So if you are lucky enough to still have your mum in your life do something for me...go and have a conversation with her because you are so lucky that you can.

The Top Ten...for now!

Ok this blog is a combination of sheer indulgence and work avoidance!

I am currently writing my end of year reports and with the best will in the world it is tedious beyond belief! At times like this I find myself easily distracted - the bathroom taps get scrubbed in a way that wouldn't normally happen, the cooker is cleaned with a toothbrush, my wardrobe gets sorted out. I also find myself thinking about things that are really nothing to do with little Joe Blogg's progress in numbers.

And so this blog is a pure moment of selfish enjoyment for me. I'm going to write about music. It's a tough job but someone has to do it!

When I woke up this morning I started to ponder on my all time ten favourite albums. These kind of things are always hard to find a definitive answer to. Album choices can be determined by so much - mood, events, time of day etc but I thought I'd give it my best shot.

Everyone has their own definition of a Top Ten album. We all have different elements that are essential if the album is to make it onto this hallowed list. For me I define this as the albums I play most regularly. Or if my brain can't think, they are the ones I reach for on automatic pilot, knowing full well they won't let me down.

And so here it is, in no particular order, my Top Ten Albums of all time.

1. Air - Moon Safari. Sublime, relaxing, chilled, sexy, perfect for any occasion. Enough said!

2. Zero 7 - Simple Things. Another sexy, relaxing, chilled out album with vocals an instruments that are from another world.

3. The Beatles - Abbey Road. A classic album containing one of my all time favourite tracks 'Here Comes the Sun' amongst other great gems. And just the album cover alone is worth having!

4. Gomez - Bring It On. A superb debut album from a local grown talent who are a great festival band. Smart, witty, funny lyrics full of dry Northern humour.

5. Radiohead - The Bends. Melancholy, angst ridden, with fantastic lyrics and some great opening chords.

6. JJ Cale - 5. A fairly recent acquisition of mine but one that is rarely off the stereo. This is like a time travelling machine for me as it makes me imagine myself back in the times when hippy peace and goodwill ruled.

7. Kings of Leon - Only By the Night. A modern day classic. A great driving CD. Loud, brash, naughty. Love it!

8. Carole King - Tapestry. Another classic from a prolific writer who has influenced and written for many great acts. Oh to have just a snippet of her talent!

9. Maximo Park - Our Earthly Pleasures. Another great live band with a charismatic front man. A great album with witty, clever and poignant lyrics.

10. The Doors - Greatest Hits. I know, I know, a greatest hits on a best albums!? But it has all the great Doors songs in one place and for that reason alone (and also because I have a thing for Jim) it is firmly on the list!


So there it is. Of course it's open to change. I can already think of lots more albums that could very easily be on this list - Ian Brown's Music of the Spheres, Paul Weller's Stanley Road and Eva Cassidy's Songbird to name but three.

But if I was trapped on a desert island my top ten would keep me going long enough until the rescue boat arrived with a survival blanket, food and of course more CD's!

Lumps and Bumps

I went through a couple of experiences nearly two years ago that made me re-think how I did my writing. Until then, I'd written on scrappy bits of paper or old exercise books and then having poured out all my feelings, thoughts and ideas, I shredded most of what I'd written.

Strange? Probably but in a way it was self-preservation. If I got rid of it all, I didn't really need to admit it was how I really felt.

So what brought on the changes?

The first was going through my Grandma's house. It had been over a year since I'd last been in there and nothing had been moved or changed. It was quite literally as if she had just popped upstairs to the loo. I allowed myself a couple of days of just spending time there and going through her things so I could choose anything important. Whilst doing this I came upon a poem that my Great-Grandmother had written when her youngest son died at just 28. My Granny was a fierce, proud and strict lady (although I only ever remember her as a sweet and gentle white haired lady with a tartan rug on her lap) who ruled her kids with a rod of iron, slaps and belt. I had no idea that she had a poetic turn to her mind. And that got me thinking - nobody would ever know how creative my mind was as long as I continued to destroy my words.

The second was somewhat more dramatic, scary and life changing. Just three weeks before I started going through Grandma's house I found a lump in my left breast. As mum had died of breast cancer my immediate reaction was one of pure terror!

Trying to convince myself that I was feeling things, I checked again and again. But there it was in the cold light of day - a lump, in my breast! And the more I felt it the bigger it seemed to get. It's amazing how completely aware of your body you become at times like this. It was as if there was a huge sign above my head for all the world to see - 'look here! Huge Lump!'

Luckily I'm the kind of person who needs to know what she is dealing with. Not knowing is infinitely more stressful than coping with the actual situation. With this in mind I took myself off to the Doctor.

'It's almost certainly a fatty lump. But because of your history I'm going to send you off for some tests. You should get an appointment in 2 weeks.'

Rationally that should have reassured me a little bit but of course the main phrases I tuned into were 'lump' and 'tests'.

And so began my waiting game. A time of great stress and anxiety. A time to reflect on everything I'd done or not done. A time to think of the future and feel scared that I may not have one. It was during this time that I came to have an even deeper respect for my mum. How had she remained so calm for the years (not weeks) she'd spent dealing with lumps, tests and being prodded around?

I bought the first of many nice notebooks and began writing in earnest. But these weren't going to be destroyed. Inspired by Granny, Mum and my own fear I decided that I should write what the hell I liked and if other people didn't like it tough! And I'm so glad I did. My scribblings over the next couple of weeks kept me sane. I wrote pages and pages of anger filled, bitter, terrified and lonely words. All the pent up emotions relating to mum and Grandma's deaths came flooding out. All my own personal insecurities were laid bare. It probably sounds like a total Drama Queen attitude but when you face your own mortality you cease to care about certain things. I wasn't going to apologise for how I felt anymore and boy was it liberating!

Luckily for me my fatty lump was just that - a fatty lump. And I don't know if it's psychological but once I knew that, it just kind of disappeared. But it's left it's mark. It took me months to feel like a healthy, attractive and 'normal' female again. And it's left marks in other areas too. I'm even more vigilant about checking myself now. I'm even more aware of being healthy and avoiding certain kinds of food. I'm even more aware of research or developments in the fight against cancer. And I'm still a prolific writer. I don't go anywhere without my trusty notebook. Some of the things I write are total rubbish; a string of incoherent words, bizarre cliches and random thoughts. But occasionally there things I write that I think are ok.

Having taken the step of keeping my writing, the next step was sharing the books with people - what an absolutely terrifying thought! All those angst ridden emotions laid bare for the world to see and judge. But the desire to share one of the first things I wrote that summer seemed a natural process when visiting my good friend E just after my lump was given the all clear.

Like me she had found a lump in her breast, and like me she was lucky. We spent a long time discussing how it had made us feel emotionally. After a while of going round and round in circles and muddling our words, I said 'here, read this, it sums up EXACTLY how I felt.'

And this is what she read

Lumps and Bumps

Lump, bump, fatty tissue
Blocked gland, mild duct
A bit of grizzle.
The words that your bodily parts are reduced to!

Where are the lover like names and caresses?
The strokes and the touches that make you feel special?
The things that make you feel like a woman?

They are GONE!
And instead, all you're left with are these
lumps, bumps, fatty tissue.

Is this how my breasts will be seen from now on?
Inconvenient flesh mounds we need to be rid of.
Nothing exotic, erotic, attractive -
will I ever feel sexy or gorgeous or wanted?

Lump, bump, fatty tissue.
Is this my life sentence?
My God I sure hope not!



Not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination but when she finished reading it my friend turned to me and said thank you. Bewildered I looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

'I've never been able to voice how I felt about my lump, but that is exactly it. I feel as if you are the only other person who understands'

I have to admit there were a few tears shed! I know there's a lot of rubbish spoken about female bonding but it was so important for us that night. We had both been through something that had made us question our femininity and attractiveness. We had both been through something that made us face our mortality and we had both been scared, bewildered, angry and frustrated.

I wouldn't wish that fear on anyone. It is truly awful. But if writing about it encourages just 5 men to tell their wives, girlfriends, sisters to check themselves and 5 women to check themselves and tell a friend or loved one to do the same it will be worth it.

The Beautiful Game

As I have mentioned before - I hate football!

Which is lucky seeing as it's the World Cup and the entire country if not World has gone completely stupid about what is, at the end of a day, a game! No one is inventing a cure for cancer, no one is ending world poverty or clearing the oil slick that is polluting the oceans as I type, no one is making sure that 6 year old girls don't get knifed in the chest. Instead, teams of 11 men are chasing a leather ball up and down a piece of grass trying to score goals. Put like that, it really doesn't seem that significant does it?

Now before you all lynch me for daring to hate the beautiful game let me assure you I do get the camaraderie of supporting your team and country. I do understand that the game crosses cultures and languages. When I was travelling, telling people that I was from near Liverpool instantly opened doors. "Ah Liverpool football, Stevie Gerard yes?". Yes I would agree wearily but it definitely opened lines of communication.

To try and overcome my prejudice (yes I'm honest enough to admit that maybe I am a little prejudice and negative when it comes to football and what it represents in today's culture) I actually watched the first England game last night. Admittedly we had all been to Marlow Regatta and had ended up back at a BBQ with the telly angled so it could be enjoyed from the garden otherwise I don't think I would have bothered at all.

And to be honest I don't know why I did! After the initial excitement of a goal after just 4 minutes the rest of the game descended into half-hearted action, a flurry of yellow cards and grown men rolling around the floor feigning injury. Even the hardened football fans in the group said it was very boring. I rest my case!

I just fail to see the appeal. And I certainly don't understand the prejudice that allows the football to be screened 24 hours a day, bosses to allow people time off and weddings to be cancelled, postponed or inconvenienced by a large football screen on the dance floor (if that's your attitude don't go. It's the height of bad manners to be invited to someones wedding knowing they have paid thousands and then disappear off to watch the football)- this just wouldn't happen for ice skating, rallying or even the Olympics.

And another thing - I really am on my high horse now! Thousands of years ago in Amphitheatres around the civilised world prostitutes were employed to stay inside the theatres after the game. This was so the men could take out their aggression, frustration, jubilation, victories etc on these poor women so they wouldn't then go home and do the same to their wives! I'd like to think times have moved on but unfortunately, domestic violence and assaults increases by 25-30% during World Cups. Testosterone has a lot to answer for...

I'm very lucky. The men in my life don't react in a violent way. Yes they enjoy the game. Yes they get involved. Yes some of them play sports themselves and I fully understand that adrenalin and testosterone are vital for sporting success. But if the men in my life can watch a game without resorting to violence, drunken loutish behaviour and generally making a nuisance of themselves why can't everyone else? And I'm not just tarring the men here, I have seen some truly appalling behaviour from girls during the World Cup too. We have to remember it is just a game and if our team doesn't win it really isn't a case of life and death...but I'm sure some people would disagree!

The Long and Winding Road

I have a feeling I have committed career suicide!

I love my job! I love the school I work in! They are just in the wrong part of the country.

I handed my notice in for what is arguably the best school I've worked in to date. As of July 31st (unless I find a job in the meantime) I will be unemployed!

Why? Why? Why? I hear you cry! Because it's the right thing to do.

Throughout my life I have been guilty of putting other people first. Guilty of considering everyone else's feelings to the detriment of my own. Guilty of doing the right thing even when it wasn't the right thing for me. So now it's my time. I want to move home and if that means having no job for a while so be it.

Everything else about the upcoming move is positive and exciting. It's just as well I've never been too much of a career woman. Sure, I love my independence. Sure, I love the job. Sure, I love the regular income. But at heart, I'm just too much of a hippy to let money and material goods rule my life.

I'm lucky, I won't be homeless whatever happens. And as long as you have a roof over your head and the love of family and friends you can't really ask for more. Put like that, the career suicide doesn't seem quite so drastic....but if you do hear of a teaching job in or near Southport let me know! :-)

Do You Come From a Land Down Under?

Thank God for music!

I've just come back from a great week up north. The sun shone (some of the time), I caught up with friends and family, I went skating and swimming most days. Even more importantly, I went to a great gig in Manchester.

A few years ago, my brother set off to explore the world. He spent a lot of time in Australia enjoying the culture, the back packers and the stubbies. Australia is amazing! I'm lucky enough to have spent a lot of time there myself. Despite my love and affection for this wonderful country, it has to be said that their musical offerings are pretty slim. Sure they have Kylie and Natalie Imbruglia to represent the pop world, Missy Higgins to stand up for the angst ridden Indie fraternity and the Temper Trap for the edgy dance fans but what do they have to offer the rock fan? Let me let you into a little secret...Powderfinger!

My brother brought a CD back with him from Oz and I was instantly hooked. In essence, Powderfinger are good old fashioned rock. Over here, they would probably be described as a festival band.

So when Lenny asked me if I wanted a ticket to go and see them on their final UK tour there was only one answer.

Last Thursday saw Lenny, his girlfriend and I head off to the Manchester Academy. I'd had a full on week - lots of late nights and early mornings. Lenny and C were also equally tired and if we are totally honest it was a bit of an effort to drag ourselves down there.

But I'm so glad we did. From the opening track the charismatic lead singer had us in the palm of his hand. His voice is gravelly, raw and sexy. But it's not all about him, the other members of the band hold their own too. The on stage banter between them shows how comfortable they all are being up there. This band are a great live act! Even the ultra cheesy guitar solo (complete with the guitarist jumping on top of a speaker) avoided being cringe worthy.

Rock anthems and ballads blended together perfectly covering classics such as My Happiness, Waiting for the Sun and Sunsets. The crowd (who were mostly Australians or Brits who've travelled there) were very appreciative and the band were welcomed back on stage for two encores. The latter ending with a truly great rendition of Baby I Got You On My Mind. Awesome!

I'd love to tell you all to go and see this band. You certainly wouldn't regret it. Unfortunately, they won't be touring here again. I can't even urge you to go to Australia and see them there because they have decided to call it a day after 16 years together.

I'm just really glad I overcame my lethargy and got myself to Manchester. They were definitely worth it. And if they ever re-form, I'll be at the front of the queue for tickets. I recommend you join me there....

The Edge of Reason

I've been a bit quiet on the blog front recently. I've got a lot going on and although writing is normally a great form of escapism for me, I just don't seem capable of stringing coherent thoughts and sentences together.

I've heard it said that moving house and changing jobs are two of the most stressful things you can do. Erm well throw re-locating 250 miles into the equation too and you've got yourself a toxic mix of stress, worry, anxiety and mild panic!

People who know me would agree I'm pretty organised. In fact my brother claims I have 'Monica' tendencies. I'm not sure if cataloguing CD's in alphabetic order qualifies me for this label but I don't think I'm that bad!

On the whole I think I'm a bizarre mix of organisation and random go with the flow. At work and when I need to be I can be incredibly organised. I don't tend to lose things, I remember important dates and events, I get stuff done within deadlines. But the other side of the coin is somewhat different. When I'm on down time I am content to just go with the flow, forget timetables, forget strict organisation and let impulse take over. Some of my best days and nights out have been when I've made a last minute decision to just do something. And that's how I like it.

So how does a highly organised yet go with the flow chilled out girl approach the monumental changes that are waiting for me in the next few weeks.

Honestly, I wish I knew!

I keep telling myself that everything will slot into place. The flat will get sold, I'll find a job, I'll find a new house to move into and I'll be ready for the housewarming party (with theme of course) in time for my birthday at the end of August.

Sometimes being deluded really helps!

Either way, I know this move is the right thing for me on so many levels. And when I'm up to my ears in packing boxes, job application forms, cupboard sorting, assessments, school reports and all the social functions going on at the moment I will try to remember that!

Stop the World, I Want to Get Off!

Tonight is my first quiet, and early night in for a long time. I am shattered!

My life is pretty high octane at the best of times. I certainly can't be accused of just letting life pass me by. However, sometimes it does occur to me that it would be nice to hop off the world for a day or two, recover and then hop back on. And that is how I feel at the moment. So tonight is my night for chilling, blogging, reading and generally just vegging out. I can hear the PJ's calling me already!

I'm lucky really. I'm just as happy in my own company as in a group situation. In fact if I'm totally honest, sometimes I crave being by myself surrounded by books and music. Sometimes I don't want to speak to anyone and I have been known to ignore the phone at times like this. Sometimes I just want to have nothing to do with the outside world!

Fortunately, these feelings don't last for long. A good night's sleep generally cures me.

Hopefully this time tomorrow I'll be fired up and ready to go. I'd better be - I'm off to see Powderfinger in Manchester!

Yin and Yang

What is going on with the weather??!!!

For the record, it's June 1st. Therefore, it is supposed to be summer! I think someone forget to tell the weather system.

Deciding what to wear is fraught. Especially for me. My clothes are currently split between London home and Southport home. And whichever location I happen to be in always seems to be the one with the winter clothes when it's 90 degrees or summer clothes when it's freezing!

When I drove up this weekend, I didn't even bring a coat. Mistake! Instead I am huddled up in jumpers, layers and a scratty old cardie that is fulfilling the role of jacket.

In just 7 weeks, I'll be leaving London for good. All my clothes will finally be in one place. As for the rest of my possessions - your guess is as good as mine! It all depends on how quickly I sell my flat and find a house up here. The prospect of packing up my furniture and putting it all in storage is not one I'm really looking forward to. And of course, the thought of moving all my CD's and having nowhere to keep them is stressing me out just a tad!

I have to be completely honest, my emotions are a bit of a loose cannon at the moment. I'm very excited about moving home. I can't wait to embark on the next part of my journey. I can't wait to spend more time with people who mean a lot to me up here. I can't wait to enjoy the changes that are going to happen to some of my friendships once the distance is no longer an issue. I can't wait to enjoy the sea air on a daily basis. I can't wait to enjoy a better quality of life.

But the other side of the coin also has to be considered. I'm dreading my last few weeks in school. Our school is amalgamating in September so by the end of July, St. Helen's Infants will no longer exist. Our wonderful headteacher also moves on this year after 8 years of dedicated hard work. He has done so much for the school and his presence will be sorely missed.

We are planning farewells and goodbyes and parties and celebrations. The feeling of family unity at my school is unique. We really do laugh, cry, share, celebrate and commiserate together. And my God will we all cry in those last few weeks!

It probably sounds ridiculous but I woke up in tears this morning after a vivid dream about my last day at this magical place. Unfortunately this dream is actually going to be real. I know I will find it hard to keep it together. Even now as I think about what it will be like to leave these wonderful people behind, I am welling up. Although I don't want my time at the school to end, part of me wishes that it was over with quickly. These people have touched my life and I know they will continue to do so (even from 250 miles away).

The Yin and Yang of life, the good and bad, the ups and downs. I know moving back up north is the right thing for me. I know that I'm ready to embrace my new life with enthusiasm but it won't stop me missing the old one too.

So if you see me with red eyes and runny nose, please don't ask me what the matter is unless you want to end up with a wet shoulder. Instead give me a tissue and leave me to cry for the people I will miss. Eventually the happy tears will take over and I'll be able to face my new life up here with a smile.

And Who Says Romance is Dead?

A male friend of mine asked for some dating advice the other day. Yeah, I know it's laughable isn't it? Not only am I single but I'm not even a regular girl! Now don't get me wrong, I have all the physical attributes in the right places but I'm just not very conventional in many other ways. I don't get the whole don't call for three days rule. If you like someone....call them! I don't understand why high maintenance women are seen as even remotely attractive. If I'm totally honest, I just don't understand the dating game. So good luck to my friend following my advice!

Anyway, this little foray into dating advice got me thinking about romance in general. What does romance mean these days? For centuries men and women have been conditioned to see certain actions as the only way to be romantic. Just look at all those knights in shining armour slaying dragons and rescuing damsels in distress from huge towers. Men are expected to save and protect, women to swoon into their arms and be thankful. Times have changed (thank goodness) and these days women are more likely to fend off the dragons with their steely sharp and deadly heeled Jimmy Choos before making an escape rope from their vast selection of clothing than to wait around for some bloke to turn up and save them.

So what does romance look like in these modern times? It's hard to pinpoint exactly. Everyone has their own ideas I suppose. So I'm going to start with a list of what is definitely NOT romantic.

It is NOT in the slightest bit romantic to do any of the following:-

1. Declare undying love after the first date - it's just scary!
2. Serenade your loved one at 3am with a tone deaf rendition of Lady in Red - I am still in therapy!
3. Arrive home at 3am, drunk as a lord, switch on the bedroom light and announce in what you think is a romantic tone 'I weeallly loooovvvvveeeee you!' Guys please note this point is never, ever, EVER romantic!!!!
4. Take your loved one to a vastly over priced and crowded restaurant on Valentines Day - it's just not original
5. Tattooing your loved one's name across your chest
6. Buying flowers from the garage - ever!
7. Buying cheap and nasty, tacky and tarty lingerie


Having read that list you are probably thinking this girl is having a laugh - she's more high maintenance than the lot! But I like to consider it as just fussy! So what does this non-conventional, fussy female see as romantic?

It is the epitome of romance to do any of the following:-

1. Buy gig tickets for a favourite band
2. Buy a book that you think your loved one will like
3. Buy flowers just because...not because it is their birthday/you are saying sorry/they were on special in the bargain basement (see point 6 above)
4. Make dinner
5. Make a cuppa and take it to them in bed
6. Organise a surprise weekend in Bruges,Venice, Prague or Iceland (to see the Volcanic ash for yourselves). Actually just organise a surprise weekend anywhere should do it.
7. Take them to the theatre
8. To arrive home at 3am blind drunk, quietly crawl into bed and pass out (see point 3 above)


There, simple really. But that of course is just my opinion. I'm sure there are plenty of girls who would love to be rescued by a knight so they could swoon seductively into their arms. I on the other hand am fully aware that if I attempted such a thing I would inevitably miss his arms and end up with concussion and that really wouldn't be romantic at all!

Nanny Liverpool

Today would have been my Nan's birthday. If she was still with us, she would have been 96!! As it happens she made it to the grand old age of 94!!

My Nan was a real character. She was a fiercely proud Liverpudlian - NOT Scouse (the only Scouse she ever named was her famous stew). She was full of fun and energy. She was hilariously funny with the most infectious laugh. Although to be fair her humour was often very unintentional but she joined in with us as we laughed at her as well as with her! And God help you if she got a fit of the giggles because you would succumb too - no matter where you where.

I have so many wonderful memories of my 'Nanny Liverpool'. In many ways she was a typical Gemini. Sometimes, she was as easy to read as a book yet at other times, the still waters ran deeper than the ocean. She flipped from happy to low in the blink of an eye. She flitted from conversation topic to conversation topic and believe me, keeping up could be exhausting. She was incredibly protective of her loved ones and loved her children and grandchildren dearly.

Of all the memories to choose from, the one that stands out for me is her 90th birthday party. My nan was a dancer. After my Grandad Lennon died (before I was even born) she joined a Modern Sequence club and never looked back. She went on holidays with them, she went on cruises with them, she went on days out with them. Dancing was very important to her (it's where I get it from).

And I truly believe it's one of the reasons she stayed so young at heart. If there was a party or night out, Nan would be the last to leave. And her 90th was no exception. Having rounded up her dancing pals, family and friends she hired out a local venue and proceeded to have a ball.

The events kicked off at 4pm with the Compere from her Dance club taking to the mic. Witness a room full of gleaming white heads, twirling and swirling in perfect time and rhythm. I can see why my Nan thought that youngsters can't dance. In comparison to that we look like gangly, new born calves. Anyway, back to the evening. Not content with an afternoon dance, my Nan had also booked a DJ for the evening proceedings. These continued until 11pm with Nan on the dance floor for most of that time. She put us youngies to shame!

Nan often spoke of that night as a real highlight for her. Unfortunately, not long after that, her age started to catch up with her. But I will always hold those memories dearly. As a snapshot of my Nan and her attitude to everything in life it was the perfect portrait.

When Nan finally decided she'd enjoyed the party on earth for long enough I wrote a few words for her funeral. My Nan's side of the family are not huge fans of poetry unless it rhymes, so the ditty I wrote does just that. It probably sounds a little bit twee to outsiders but to those of us in the Lennon clan it says it all.




Nanny Liverpool

Our dancing Nan
So full of fun.
Always laughing;
never glum

Cream cakes and biscuits,
an ice cream or three.
Whisky and water,
'a good cup of tea'

Laughter and giggles,
dancing all night.
She may have been tiny
but she made up for that!

These are our memories
the ones we will keep
Of a lady who loved life
and who's now at peace




Wherever my Nan has ended up now, I am certain she is sipping a scotch and water before taking to the dancefloor with her beloved Jim (my Grandad Lennon). Now that really would be her idea of heaven!

Honesty isn't always the best policy

The little people I work with are a constant joy! I can go into work feeling rubbish and one smile, one giggle and one funny statement is enough to banish the rubbish feelings and make me feel like laughing again.

I have been told I look like a princess. I've been told my hair looks pretty. And I've been told I am their 'best teacher'. It's moments like this that help to brighten my day.

However, on the flip side, these wonderful little humans can also be blunt, tactless, and too honest for their own good.

Take today as a case in point.

It's lunch time and the children are lining up. One little cherub is finding it hard to line up without bumping into his classmates. I take him aside for a quiet word and remind him that he needs to do the right thing. I ask if he understands and he nods.

Just as I'm about to get up from the back killing crouch I have adopted he well and truly takes the wind out of my sails.

"Miss Lennon, what is that on your head?"

Now I'm used to being covered in glue, paint and glitter. If I get home without some dubious substance attached to my clothes I consider it a good day at the office. So with some misgiving I turn to my colleague and ask her what's there. She reassures me that (for once), there's nothing there. Feeling relieved, I turn to the Cherub and announce with great confidence

"It's alright sweetheart, there's nothing there"

"Yes there is!" replies cherub with feeling. And to back the statement up, he jabs me in the forehead with his finger. "It's there"

Realisation dawns on me with ego-crushing effect.

There's only one way to reply to such honesty...

"Ah" I say with resignation "That is a wrinkle" And the cherub who is highly satisfied with my answer goes off to eat his lunch.

I on the other hand am a broken woman. Turning to my colleague I whimper "If you need me this afternoon, I'll be in the cupboard - crying, loudly"

I'm sure there's a saying somewhere about not working with children.....

T-REX

Today was our school trip. I was responsible for getting 100 small children to The Natural History Museum in one piece and then all the way back too.

School trips are exhausting - there really is no other way to describe them. Parents trust you with their most precious possessions and you've got to ensure they are safe, secure and happy. I spend the whole day counting like a lunatic, checking children are present, making sure children are safe and making sure they have a good time. And all without time for a cup of tea!!

This year we decided to visit the Dinosaurs to tie in with our topic on...you guessed it...dinosaurs.

Having held meetings with the volunteer helpers and made up info packs for them all; having done a risk assessment to check any possible dangers; having organised 100 goodie bags to be collected in the shop so parents don't have to go through the nightmare that is negotiating the gift shop with a measly £2 to spend; having considered every possible event that could or would or might happen it was finally time to go.

Despite the headaches, stress and worry I wouldn't miss these days for anything. For some children it is the only time they go on a day out. There are children who have never experienced a trip to the park, the zoo or a farm. There are children who spend their weekends glued to the telly or in a supermarket. There are children who have no stimulating or exciting events to look forward to. For one little boy today, the highlight was eating his lunch on a 'real picnic'. He would have been quite happy to have got back on the coach after this monumental event. It really does break your heart and make you realise how lucky you were to be brought up by parents who thought regular days out and excursions should be part of the upbringing process.

Once you have negotiated the busy roads, coach steps, lunch time, museum steps and crowds of secondary kids who seem like giants in comparison the real reason for the trip is ready to be enjoyed. And when you take your little companions to look at the life size, roaring and moving T-Rex any stress and worries are all forgotten.

"Wow!" is the silmultaneous word that emerges from their little mouths. The children were truly awe struck.

"Can we take him home?" enquired one little girl.

"I'd love to but the coach is full" I told her.

And lucky for me it was - there and back!

Edith

As you travel on life's little journey you gather more and more memories. More dates to remember, more photos, more people to add to your address book. Unfortunately, the circle of life being what it is, you also start to lose people too. This weekend marks yet another anniversary.

After my Mum died, understandably I was devastated. I felt like a leaf on top of a madly rushing river. Pulled this way and that by the tide but no control over where it took me or what I bumped into. One of the many people who tried to keep me sane during the following weeks, months, years was my Grandma (mum's mum).

My Grandma was an amazing woman. In fact the whole of my maternal side is full of strong, amazing, selfless and wonderful women - it's quite something to live upto believe me. But for now, let's return to Grandma.

Her life had been far from rosy. Her first husband was a violent alcoholic who broke most of the bones in her body in his drunken rages. Back then society was less supportive. It was just after the second world war and many women had lost their husbands. The general consensus was that my Grandma should be grateful - at least he had come back! And so she continued to take the knocks for more years than she should have done.

Because of his drunken behaviour, my Grandma had to bring up her kids with no money (it went on booze) as he would spend his wages before he came home and then take it out on her when there was no food to cook! One day she even came home to find that he had sold every stick of furniture in the house just so he could buy his latest fix. 'Even the children's beds' she told me once in disgust.

Grandma spoilt her grandchildren rotten. Birthday's, Christmases and special occasions were something to celebrate. My Grandma could put on the best spread at a party so I'm sure it must have killed her not being able to provide a decent meal for her children. It must have broken her heart not being able to buy them proper presents for their birthdays.

Eventually she got rid of him and married the man who to all intents and purposes was my Grandpa. A lovely, kind, gentle man who cherished her and would have wrapped her in cotton wool to protect her from the East wind if he could.

But Grandma's knocks in life had not ended. In January 1996, my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and then in November 1997, her eldest daughter, died from the dreaded C. My aunt was a Matron and kept her illness secret from the family. She didn't want any fuss, didn't want to be treated with all kinds of drugs and so she kept quiet. To this day, I'm not entirely certain what kind of cancer she had but I think it was lung. This was a devastating blow. I cannot imagine anything worse than having to bury your own child. It goes against the law of nature. Parents are not supposed to outlive their offspring. Grandma did not let this break her.

Nor did she let it break her when in 2001, my Mum also lost her long battle against cancer. And this was despite my Grandpa's Alzheimers taking hold with a vengeance. Talk about timing. On the morning my mum died, my Grandpa (the gentle, lovely man) descended into the worst part of Alzheimer induced confusion. He accused Grandma of lying about about mum's illness so she wouldn't have to spend time with him. And then to top it off, he threw his zimmer at her. She was 82, frail with acute Angina (and though we didn't know at the time, riddled with bladder cancer) - the eternal creaky gate. So as well as dealing with everything else that day, we also had to contend with getting my Grandpa out of the house and into a nursing home so he could no longer be a threat to my Grandma. I've got to be honest it was pretty damn horrific.

And through all of this, my Grandma remained strong, brave and dignified. This is just a snap shot of the woman she was. Of the woman I adored. The woman who became my second mum. The woman who in so many ways read from the same page as me. It was amazing how in tune we so often were. So now you have got a glimpse of her we'll return to 3 years ago and the anniversary in question in this blog.

Once again, the Hospice had become a refuge for my relatives. Grandma had been taken in for some respite. She had finally been diagnosed with Bladder cancer after years of being fobbed off with tablets for cystitus about a year earlier. By now my brother was living in Newbury and I was still in London. We had the routine down to a T. When Grandma was taken in it was my cue to pack a bag and keep it in the boot of my car.

So when the phonecall came in at school telling us that we should probably get ready to say our goodbyes, I took to the tarmac (again) collecting Lenny on the way. Once again, we arrived at the Hospice and were shown through by the amazing staff. As we rounded the corner I stopped dead. Oh my God I thought she's in the same bed as mum was. It probaby seems like such a selfish thing to think of at such a time but all I could think was 'Bloody hell, I'm gonna end up there too'. Swallowing my fear, I walked to the bed.

It really was like de ja vu. A frail lady who looked vaguely like my Grandma lay there twitching on the sheets. She seemed to realise we had arrived and once more I was able to tell a wonderful woman I loved her. She seemed to understand and at that moment that was all that mattered. The twitching continued, as did the moments of lucid speech. After several hours Len and I decided we could take no more and we left my Uncle and Aunt there.

It probably sounds awful but I just couldn't do another bed side vigil waiting for someone to die. It is draining and awful and exhausting and the harsh reality is they no longer know you. They no longer recognise you. They no longer call your name or ask how your day was. I squeezed her hand, told her I loved her again and then had to walk away.

Yet again, true to the tradition of the females in my family (we are a stubborn, strong lot), Grandma didn't die that night. She held on til May 22nd. Lenny and I weren't there. We had made a joint decision that we would return to work and just wait for the news there. And this time, I didn't feel guilty. I'd done all I could. I'd told her I loved her. My Uncle and Aunt were with her. She wasn't alone.

And now I'm carrying on her tradition. My Granmda kept a blog but back then it was called a journal or a diary. She even started to type it up on her typewriter. It makes fascinating, funny, tragic and inspiring reading. And that's something else I'd like to live up to.....I can only keep trying.

High Tea at the Lanesborough

I've just got back from a lovely afternoon in the Lanesborough Hotel. A few months ago I came up with a plan 'Ten Things to do Before Leaving London'. As usual the months have flown by and I am now left with mere weeks to cram everything in. Obviously this isn't going to happen and many things on my wish list will have to remain unfulfilled.

Luckily, I got pro-active in January and actually booked a table at the Lanesborough for afternoon tea. I've been meaning to go for Afternoon Tea in a lovely London hotel since moving down here and it's only taken 11 years to get it sorted.

But I'm mighty glad I did.

The Lanesborough is a beautiful, exquisite, tasteful and refined hotel. Their afternoon tea is meant to be amongst the best. So seven of us set off to find out if this accolade is deserved.

Aside from the gorgeous setting the tea and food were absolutely amazing. The tea is served piping hot in solid silver teapots. The teapots are kept on special stands at the side of the table and the waiters top you up on regular intervals. I'm used to people giving me scornful looks when I order my Hippy Rooibos but here it is deemed a delicate and tasteful tea. So there!

The food is presented beautifully and is delicious. There is a lovely array of sandwiches (all with crusts removed) and although it all looks very delicate it is actually really filling.

And then the cakes....Oh my word. The cakes are something to behold. Two tiers on the cake stand full of mouth watering, tasty and no doubt highly calorific goodies. And then they brought out scones, toasted teacakes, clotted cream, lemon curd and strawberry jam. Yum, yum and more yum!

It probably sounds quite extravagant to spend £35 on an Afternoon Tea which is essentially a few sandwiches, cakes and a pot of tea. But the whole experience is so much more than that. It really is luxurious and as a treat I think it's pretty good value.

So there's the first event from my Ten Things to do. Only 9 more to fit in....

F.E.A.R

I've got to admit, I'm feeling a bit stressed out! Actually, if I'm totally honest, I'm feeling more than that: anxious, nervous and worried will do for starters. But the over riding emotion is Fear.

As I've said on several occasions, I love my job. And (more importantly for the children involved) I appear to be quite good at it. Living and working in this mad, amazing and crazy city has done wonders for my career. I've worked with some brilliant people who have taught me so much. I've taught some great children who have overcome hurdles higher than any I have ever had to clear. I've worked for some excellent Headteachers (and some not so great) who have encouraged me and allowed my creative mind the freedom to teach the children in a fun and imaginative way. In many ways, I'm a lucky girl.

So why the fear?

At the end of July my time in London will be at an end. I'm moving lock, stock and barrel back up North. But isn't this what you want I hear you shout in frustration!?

Yes, absolutely I want to live somewhere less hectic; somewhere I can actually afford to buy a house, somewhere with fresh air and open spaces. Plus if I'm honest, being a single girl in this city can be a pretty lonely experience. I would like to meet a nice guy. Actually forget that last statement 'nice' is a bit too bland. I'd like to meet a funny, exciting, creative, romantic (but not sick inducing!) imaginative, fun, dependable, adventure seeking guy who wouldn't think twice about heading off around the world if we won the lottery. Oh and own hair and teeth are also essential! Not much to ask for...

At the moment, there's just one flaw in my careful plan - I HAVE NO JOB!!!! For the last few weeks I've done nothing but fill in application forms, write letters of application and sit with my fingers crossed. Without wishing to sound like a big head, my CV is pretty good. I have a wealth of experience in the classroom and on the management team. I'm dedicated and hard working. I have a great rapport with children (kind of essential really). And yet Nada, nothing as yet!

I have a couple of theories about this.

1. I'm too expensive! I may well have worked my way up the professional ladder. I may have all this experience to offer. I may have excellent references but this counts for nothing in this economic down time. At the end of the day I cost too much!

2. I'm just not right for the jobs that have been advertised.

Either way, it's a lowering thought. I've built up a reasonably comfortable life style with a busy social life and a great mix of friends and hobbies. I think nothing of going out for dinner or the cinema (or even both) once a week. I splash out on gigs and theatre tickets without a thought. I have got used to this way of life. Whatever happens, I won't be out of work. I never have been. Even if it means getting a job in Tesco, I'll find something. But it's not what I want to do. I want to teach. I was born to teach. I love teaching! Plus I've got used to a certain standard of living. If I'm blunt, I've become quite spoilt.

So there's the fear right there. Fear that I won't get a job. Fear that all my plans of moving North for a better lifestyle will come crumbling down around my ears. Fear that I'll be living back at the family home for the next 5 years (not a prospect that either Dad or I would relish). Fear that my career will take a nose dive. Fear that my terribly Middle Class existence will become a little frayed around the edges. Fear that despite moving North, Mr Right will still remain as elusive as the Scarlett Pimpernell.

And breathe Jude! Once again in times of stress I turn to music to try and retain my hold on sanity and rational thought. My signature tune at the moment is a classic by Ian Brown. F.E.A.R....For Everything A Reason.

And that is what I keep trying to tell myself.

'And the sign on the door said long haired freaky people need not apply'

I had all kinds of great plans for this evening.

I was going to have a long, relaxing bubble bath. I am the expert at these and have to get several things sorted in order to maximise the relaxation experience.

1. The music is carefully selected with chilling out firmly in mind. I generally find that Air, Carole King, Zero 7, Fleet Foxes, Joni Mitchell or Beth Rowley do the trick.

2. The bubbles are added to the hot water which is left to run whilst I put the kettle on.

3. Make a cup of tea

4. Find book of the moment (I've normally put it down in some random place as I tend to read on the move as well as sitting or lying down)

5. Take tea and book to bathroom and sink into bubbles.

6. Remain here til wrinkly!

It's quite simple really. And that was my plan for the evening. Followed by a mammoth blogging session, a bit of poetry writing, and catching up on phone calls.

HA! HA! HA!

As you may have worked out, things didn't go to plan!

Last March our school underwent the horrors of OFSTED. Basically put, inspectors come around and do their best to demoralise you and make you feel useless. Luckily, our school did incredibly well - outstanding in fact. Since then we have been waiting for the RE inspectors to pay their little visit too (I work in a Catholic school despite being non-Catholic).

So guess when the call came in to announce their little visit? Yes, that's right, today! They are coming Wednesday. Brilliant! So instead of my lovely, soothing bath, I've spent the evening reading books, sorting assessments, choosing children's work to put before them and trying to get my head around the feast of Pentecost which I will have to teach in front of the Inspectors. If I was religious, I'd be down on my knees begging for deliverance. But instead this Hippy, Pagan will have to rely on good luck.

I think I'd better just go and say a prayer to the God of Lost Causes!

Precious Bundles

It's official - I'm cross!!!

I work with young children. Precious little bundles who are like little sponges taking in every word, action and event with wide eyed wonder. Don't get me wrong, they can be exhausting. Nothing will tire you out more quickly than a day with a class of 4 and 5 year olds - mentally and physically.

But the benefits outweigh this in my humble opinion. Not a day goes by when they don't make me smile or laugh or enjoy my job. They are funny, smart, engaging, creative and inspiring little beings.

So when I hear about anyone hurting a child (emotionally or physically), it makes my blood run cold. There are so many ways to inspire children to do the right thing without resorting to more draconian methods. For the majority the old school Victorian attitude of children should be seen and not heard or else is thankfully a thing of the past. Unfortunately, for some, this is still the daily reality of their lives.

And my heart bleeds for these children. I have quite literally shed tears over the conditions some of these fragile little things live in.

So far, I have made the choice not to have children. I'm far too selfish at the moment. I enjoy my freedom, my independence, my carefree existence. I love the fact that if friends call me away for a last minute break, the only thing I need to consider is what to pack. But I also know that if I ever do have children I will have to change my way of life. I will have to make sacrifices. I will have to forget my own leisure pursuits in order to nurture theirs. I will have to devote time, energy, love, encouragement and probably a copious amount of money to them. And if that day comes, I'll do the best job I can. What I won't do is take out my resentment on the child. I won't lash out at them because I am sick of having no life. I won't attack them verbally for ruining my life.

Children don't choose to be born, we choose to have them. And having chosen them, the least we can do is bring them up without hurting them. Even if that does mean giving up certain things. Afterall, that's what being a parent is all about.

Yellow, Green, Red, Blue?

I don't often get political, but if I can't do it now while election fever is firmly amongst us I never will. So here goes...

Please whoever gets in take a minute to consider the words of a hardworking, overstretched teacher. My demands for education aren't many but they are important and would make a world of difference.

1. Cut class sizes to 24. 30 small children in a small box is bordering on cruelty. Children need space. Especially those who live in cramped, crowded living conditions. And far more of them live this way than you could possibly imagine. Part of my role is to visit children in their homes before they start school. Some of these children live in conditions I would deem unsuitable for a dog. So the least we can do when they come to school is give them a bit of space to play in!

2. Pay our hardworking and terribly underpaid support staff more. Without them our jobs would be impossible. Plus the government has implemented many changes in the last few years which has meant more hours, more responsibility and more work for people who earn just above minimum wage. It's criminal!

3. Allow teachers to teach! Forget the stupid exams for 7 year olds. Forget teaching children how to work out equations by the age of 8 (I've never ever needed to use this skill in my real life). Forget trying to force our children to grow up too soon!

4. Look to Scandinavia and follow their example. There, children are allowed to learn through God forbid PLAY. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you are a child? There results are some of the the best in the world and yet they don't start formal education until 7. Until then, the child is allowed to learn by touching, exploring, investigating. It's what most of us do in our adult lives too.

5. Give power back to teachers, heads and schools. The mob mentality of some parents has been allowed to take over for so long and with frightening consequences. We now live in a society where a 15 year old pupil (who can to all intents and purposes be as big as a full grown man) can attack teachers verbally and physically and the teacher has to stand there and take it. There are thousands of violent attacks towards teachers every year. The job should not need to carry a health warning!

So there you go. Hardly rocket science. Hardly revolutionary stuff. But important just the same. Now if only I could convince the big wigs of Downing Street (whoever the heck they are going to be)....

Walking With Dinosaurs

In two weeks I will be in charge of a party of school children on a day out to the Natural History Museum. Being in charge of a class of 30 on a daily basis carries stresses and strains. However, these pale into insignificance when compared to the overwhelming responsibilities that come with co-ordinating 100 small children (3-5 year olds) and 39 adults. Parents entrust us with their precious bundles of joy and it's my job to make sure that the same number come back as go! No pressure then!

To control damage limitation we do a risk assessment to check out things like toilets, uneven flooring, steps etc etc. This probably sounds over the top to people who don't work with children but believe me when it comes to being in charge of other people's children in a huge and busy London Museum, no risk assessment can be too thorough.

And so my two colleagues and I made our way to the museum to assess the suitability of the venue.

I should point out that our topic is Dinosaurs hence the visit to the museum. If you haven't been can I take a minute to recommend that you do. We only looked around the Dinosaur section and I can honestly say it was amazing.

The last time I was in this museum, I was 15. The only dinosaur I remembered being there was the huge skeleton in the main entrance hall. Don't be alarmed, he's still there looking huge and majestic. But now there is also a whole exhibition devoted to the walking giants of the past. This room is dripping with skeletons that have been found all around the world. The most bizarre being in a Belgian Coal Mine where they found 34 dinosaur skeletons just lying around waiting to be found. There are small models of moving dinosaurs perched at regular intervals. And, even more exciting in one room there is a HUGE, life size replica of T-Rex complete with sound effects and fake blood dripping from his sabre like teeth. If the kids aren't terrified I expect a refund!

Whilst wandering around this wonderful exhibition, it dawned on me that really, history is pretty amazing. Millions of years ago, these huge creatures ruled the blue and green sphere that we know as earth. Millions of years ago these huge creatures were in charge. And although they died out (for reasons still not fully explained or understood), they have left their legacy. All modern day reptiles are descended from them. A dinosaur nest complete with eggs was discovered in South America (I think) and unbelievably, the nesting set up is identical to the one used by reptiles today. Pretty cool huh? Well I think so.

I know the children will have a ball. For some of them, it will be the first time they've been on a day out; the first time they've been on a coach; the first time they've had a picnic lunch. Yes these days are exhausting! It's draining beyond belief to be constantly counting, constantly checking, constantly looking. I generally get back to school with a banging headache, aching feet and an exhausted body. But I wouldn't give days like this up for anything. Every child should have the opportunity to see these wonderful things. And if I am the only way that will be possible so be it!

Flick your goddam hair!

I've just driven back from town. My route home takes me through the picturesque and quaint village of Churchtown. It's a pretty little place with white thatched cottages, the local gentry manor, pretty village church (where my parents were married and my brother and I were Christened), cute shops and the all important village pubs.

There are two of these said village pubs on offer here, one either side of the church. They are always fairly busy but come this time of year they become a mecca for those people searching for an outdoor bench in the summer sun.

Although the weather today is less than warm, it is bank holiday and it isn't raining - yet - so the pubs were fairly bustling with people enjoying an al fresco pint.

Now some men will tell you that summer begins when the ladies start to wear less when they go out during the day. Forget the clocks going forward and the BBQ being fired up, ladies in short skirts, cute dresses and skimpy tops are a more meaningful benchmark for some.

And today was no exception. As I drove up to the junction with the church and the aforementioned pubs I became aware of a sort of stir. On both sides of the road from a distance of 100 metres and in both of the pub gardens there were men of all ages and backgrounds standing still with tongues hanging out. Tumbleweed drifted past as time stood still for the dumbfounded male species. One man even forget to get his pint glass as far as his mouth -surely an unheard of event!

I followed the gaze of the bedazzled menfolk of Churchtown and there they were...3 undoubtedly gorgeous young things. All tall and leggy, all blonde and gorgeous, all looking like something from a Timotei advert. And all dressed for an evening clubbing rather than a quiet pint down the local. The poor men didn't' stand a chance!

Some girls have this ability - you know the one that causes grown men to forget the power of speech. The one that makes all men turn gooey. The one that gives even the hottest men an inferiority complex. I have never had it - being short, brunette, a bit of a tomboy/hippy and nowhere near glamorous enough. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't suffer the odd pang of envy when these gorgeous creatures walk down the road and quite literally stop traffic. But on reflection I really wouldn't want to be like them anyway. Just think how exhausting it would be to have to spend all those hours looking fabulous before you could even go out for a lunch time drink.

I'll leave the traffic stopping to them and get myself to the bar instead. After all that's what you should be doing on a lunch time drink in the pub!

The Big Sell

I am in the process of filling in job application form after job application form. And yet again, my blog is proving to be a work avoidance strategy!

I hate the whole process. Filling in form after tedious form (although at least applying on line has made it slightly easier) is just no fun. Like everyone in teaching I have my own Professional Development Folder. This is the place where I am supposed to file all the useful information that will help to make job applications easier. I should put all my course confirmations in here, paperwork from courses, certificates etc. Unfortunately, like most busy people, I have not always remembered to do so. Which is a bit of a bummer when I am trying to recall useful and relevant courses to put in my applications. If I had to write my own report it would definitely say 'must try harder!'

And then you have to do the 'big sell' in the supporting letter. You know the type of thing: say how brilliant you are and how they'd be mad not to employ you and all without sounding smug, arrogant or desperate!

That's exactly what I should be doing at the moment. So I'm going to practice here. Please give me a job, I'm great! How can they possibly refuse?!

Circles and Bags

My long standing companion Insomnia has well and truly taken hold this week! The circles under my eyes are black and the bags are something that Louis Vuitton would be proud of! I'm grumpy, tired, moany, headachy and generally feeling out of sorts. But don't let that put you off reading!

What's really annoying is, I really thought I was starting to crack it. I've enjoyed nearly 3 months of glorious, regular, and undisturbed sleep patterns. I suppose it was too much to ask for this to continue!

In a way, I was prepared for this to happen and in this week of all weeks. Although I don't spend the day of the anniversary of mum's death slumped in a corner and sobbing, I would be less than human if I didn't give some thought to the events of 9 years ago on that day. The nights of the 26th/27th April have never been up there on my list of best nights sleep!

But this isn't the only reason for my insomnia at the moment. If I'm honest, I think the whole moving and re-locating process is starting to worry me too.

I'm lucky, very lucky. In these depressing economic times when the government seems determined to remove the Great from Great Britain I am in a lucky position. I have a good, stable, well paid job - and it's a job that I love. I never have to worry where the next pay cheque will come from, I never have to worry if my hours will suddenly be slashed, I never have to worry that my job could end tomorrow. But on July 21st that is exactly what will happen.

I will walk away from a school I love all in the name of Better Living. If everything works out well, I'll find a new school up here and be able to continue my selfish and on occasion adventure filled life style. But as the day draws ever closer I have to admit to some qualms and if I'm honest downright attacks of the wobbles. I'm a fiercely independent girl and the thought of losing that scares me, terrifies me and worries me.

Which is why having woken up at 1.42am, 3.15am and 5.31am. I decided to give up on the whole idea of sleep and just get up and write. It won't help me to sleep but it helps to keep me sane and in the absence of sleep that will just have to do...

Unfogettable, that's what you are

This time 9 years ago I was sitting by my Mum's bed in Queenscourt Hospice. At 11am I had taken a call from my brother. It was the last of many emergency calls I'd taken over the previous few weeks/months. I don't remember what was said and it may well be that there was no need for words. By then a phone call during work hours could only mean one thing.

And so once more I drove like a bat out of hell to reach Mum's side. The first time this happened (6 weeks earlier) Mum had rallied and emerged from her coma like sleep. We'd been able to chat and gossip - we even discussed what she wanted to wear when she was finally laid out, not really a conversation you want to have with your mum. But more importantly the chatting allowed me to tell her I loved her.
People who know us may be surprised that I'd never said this to her before. We were and still are a huggy, tactile family. Nobody looking in from the outside would doubt the depth of feeling we all have for one another. And yet we'd just never done the whole 'love you' every night before bedtime. Typical British upper lip I guess. But I'm so relieved I finally got the chance.

So this time when I arrived at the Hospice I knew there was little hope of another such rally. Mum had declined into a coma like sleep once more. We sat around her bed for the rest of the day watching and waiting. Mum had always said 'don't treat me like a watched pot' and here we were doing exactly that.

Watching anyone go through the final stages of cancer is awful and to watch a loved one suffer in this way is magnified by a million. Ironically enough it isn't the cancer that kills, it is the drugs that are given as a cure. In effect, my mum died as a drug addict with her system pumped so full of pain numbing drugs that the body and vital organs started to shut down. As the body does this, the limbs start to twitch and react to the morphine. The twitches become full on jerks and spasms. The Hospice staff had done there best to prepare us for this. But to be honest, you get to the point where you can't take anymore information. Instead you sit there watching every move, flicker and reaction. I lost track of the times I drifted off and then jerked back awake to check she was still breathing.

Having sat there for hour after hour, it got to the point where Dad and my brother urged me to get some sleep in the other room. The Hospice think of everything and have a bedroom set up for family members who need to snatch a few minutes rest.

Unfortunately, my few minutes turned into a couple of hours and the next thing I knew was a nurse waking me to tell me she'd gone. I ran through but of course I was too late. At 5.30am on April 27th my Mum's long and dignified battle with cancer had finally come to an end and I hadn't been there for it.

For years this has bothered me. For years I've suffered dreadfully with insomnia because of it. For years I have never mentioned this to my dad or brother. For years I have been angry with myself for letting her down. I've been to counselling sessions and written page after page in journals to try and face this recurring nightmare. And now, finally, writing this blog seems to have set me free. I no longer feel I should hide away the hurt, it's nothing to be ashamed of. This blog has set me free in a way I didn't think possible. And for so many reasons...

Mum was such an incredibly strong woman and facially I'm very, very like her. Before she died everybody always told me how alike we were but after she died nobody ever mentioned the resemblance. This probably sounds odd but part of me felt as if I had died too. It was as if people didn't really see me Jude, they had only ever seen me as Carol and now she was gone. Plus so many people had told me how proud she would have been because I was coping and being so strong. I'm sure they felt they were doing the right thing and helping but the reality is somewhat different. What choice did that leave me? I HAD to be strong, couldn't break down, couldn't cry in front of people because if I did I'd let her down. Thankfully, I've come to realise how unhealthy this was. I had every right to cry and scream, to shout and weep. I'd lost my mum, to cancer and I was only 26, if that isn't a reason to cry I don't know what is.

Nothing will ever erase the pain of mum's death. Nothing will make me forget those last few hours. Nothing will take away the nightmares that still haunt me from time to time. Nothing will ever bring her back. But equally nothing will ever take away the many happy and wonderful memories I have of her.

In the words of Nat King Cole she really was Unforgettable and it was a fitting tribute that this was the final song played at her funeral. An unforgettable song for a truly unforgettable lady and a lady that I was lucky enough to call mum.

Busy Bee

I'm used to a life that's bursting with activities, events, plans and arrangements. It can be a little tiring at times but I just can't bring myself to waste my life by sitting in front of my telly. Don't get me wrong, occasionally I have a real craving for exactly that. When I feel that way, I refuse to answer the phone, I hunker down on the sofa and watch DVD's or Friends re-runs until I can take no more.

But lets return to my normal state of affairs - busy, busy, busy!

As mentioned in previous blogs, I'm leaving London at the end of July. This has prompted even more frenetic plans than usual. A few months ago, I vowed to pack in 'Ten Things to do Before Leaving London'. Of course, as always happens, life has gone into fast forward leaving me with just 3 short months to try to pack this all into.

It's not looking good I've got to be honest. This morning alone is a prime example of the difficulties ahead. By 11am I had managed to book myself out for the whole of June! Not one weekend available which now leaves me with 2 months to fit everything in! At this rate, my ten things to do will have to be reduced...to one!

So, if I had to choose just one thing to do before leaving London, what would it be? That's a tough one...suggestions on a postcard please! And hopefully, if I get time, I may even fit it in!

Kate's Wish

I follow a few blogs and one of them is written by someone called Kate. If you get a chance check out her blog diamonds and coal, it's really very good.

Anyway she has asked all her readers to re-post the sixth photo they uploaded onto their profile site so here is mine.

It was taken on Ainsdale Beach near Southport and features my good friend Mushy's dog Sadie. She's daft as a brush but utterly gorgeous and loveable. Mushy also has a blog -Classic Album Review by Paul Robert Mullen which is also very good.

So if you haven't yet discovered Kate or Paul's blog do it now. And while you're at it, why not upload your sixth picture too!