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!

Little Brother Knows Best...sometimes!

Just six months ago, I was sitting in my brother's flat in Manchester. Like me, he always has music on and like me his taste is eclectic. Over the years we have recommended various bands and albums to each other. Mostly, our taste runs along a similar road excluding 80's pop and Rap - what he has against Duran Duran and Spandau and what he sees in rap I'll never know! We have attended numerous gigs and festivals together and it's fair to say he is as obsessed by music as I am. Mind you, even he draws the line at storing his CD's alphabetically, a system that I feel would revolutionise his life (or certainly his girlfriends)!

Whilst having a catch up with a cheeky beer Lenny selected a new CD to put on the stereo - "I think you'll like this" he said with confidence.

He was right! The dulcet and haunting tones of The XX filled the flat and I was instantly hooked. The vocals and bass are vaguely reminiscent of Air. It's not that this band sound like them, they just evoke a similar feeling in me - chilled, relaxed, slightly mournful. It's one of the albums of 2009 in my humble opinion.

So when I found myself in the same flat with a similar bottle of beer the other week I had a feeling De ja vu may well occur, and it did! "Give this a listen, I think you will like it". And once again, he was right! Don't you just hate it when your little brother does that?!

This CD is very different from The XX. There are no haunting and mournful lyrics on offer here. Instead you get a folksy, rocky, Beatles influenced, upbeat, vaguely hippy mix courtesy of The Monsters of Folk. What a great little album this is. I was so impressed with my brother's taste that I headed straight to the record shop the next day. And since then, the CD has been a frequent guest for my stereo.

So there you have it, Jude's Album tips for the week. If you don't already have a copy of The XX (self titled) and Monsters of Folk (also self-titled) then shame on you. But there is a solution - nip out and buy them you won't be disappointed.

Seven Have Fun in France!

Last Thursday the UK ground to a halt. Was this due to Terrorist attacks or BA staff striking? No! For once the human race was not to blame. Up in Iceland, a volcano had erupted - not an uncommon occurance in this part of the world admittedly but due to wind/air conditions and other things that I can't even begin to understand or explain the ash has proved somewhat problematic.

I feel incredibly sorry for the people who have had their holiday plans ruined. The papers are full of stories that could genuinely make you cry. Brides and grooms unable to fly to their weddings, fathers unable to get back for the birth of their children, people stranded with small children in airports around the world. It must be awful!

However, it has to be said that since Thursday, the weather has been glorious. The skies are clear, the pollution in London seems to be reduced and the constant sound of aeroplanes has totally disappeared.

Sometimes it takes something like this to make you realise the true impact that air travel has on our daily lives. Yes it is a convenient way to get about. Yes it gets us across the globe in record time. But the impact on the environment and our quality of life needs to be considered.

At the weekend I was lucky enough to make a successful auction bid on a holiday home in the Dordoign. August 7th sees seven of us heading to a beautiful house in a gorgeous medieval town. We intend to chill out, eat bread and cheese and sample the local wines and beers. Perfect!

Before the Volcano incident we would have automatically booked flights to get out there. But the ash has made us re-consider. Our carbon footprint will be considerably reduced by our chosen method of transport - Eurostar and Hire Car.

So how smug are we feeling? Very! Not only have we secured a great holiday but all the proceeds have gone to the Hospice and we are doing our bit for the environment.

Zut Alors! That calls for a cheeky glass of Vino to celebrate..salut!

When you walk through a storm...

21 years ago tragedy struck. At Hillsborough, 96 Liverpool fans were crushed to death in one of football's biggest disasters.

I remember it clearly. I was in the drive down the side of our house when mum came out to tell us that about 20 people had been killed. At the time, I didn't really comprehend but as the day wore on and the number rose the realisation started to sink in. The footage on the telly was the stuff of nightmares: bodies being laid out across the pitch, people gasping for breath with their faces squashed against the mesh. I'm sure we weren't the only household to watch the news in silent tears that night.

I have to admit here that I HATE football. I don't understand why grown men get paid an obscene amount of money to kick a ball around a field. I don't understand why people get into fights over a game. I don't understand why so called fans are prepared to travel the world just to cause trouble and vandalise. I don't understand why society still won't allow homosexual players to come out for fear of their lives (and seriously, don't try to tell me there are no gay footballers because statistically that is just impossible!). I don't understand the hero worship that is reserved for these players who behave like wild animals instead of gentlemen but that's just my opinion.

Despite my dislike of the sport and how it affects some people I will never forget the horror of Hillsborough. My home town is a mere 25 miles from Liverpool, I'm half Scouse and if push comes to shove, Liverpool is my team. Football is an intrinsic part of this thriving city. You are either Everton (like my Dad and brother) or Liverpool. The rivalry between the two teams is intense. Families and loved ones can bicker for hours about the merits of their chosen team. And yet one day a year this is set aside. April 15th is truce day. A day to reflect upon those 96 people who lost their lives on what should have been a great day out.

Last year I happened to be in Liverpool picking up a friend from the station. We found ourselves in the Catholic Cathedral (known locally and with affection as Paddy's Wigwam) as the time approached 3pm. I'm not religious in a conventional sense. I believe we should treat others as we wish to be treated. I don't like to be pigeon holed but I see myself as a spiritual, hippy, pagan with Buddhist tendencies (make of that what you will as I'm still confused!) And yet there was something deeply moving about being in the Cathedral that day. The Priest stepped forward and said a few words before the bells started their toll for the dead - 96, one for each soul lost.

The Cathedral held a mixed congregation. There were suited and booted types who had come from the office, there were tourists draped in Liverpool flags, there were Evertonian's in their strips but holding Liverpool scarves, there were people who were clearly remembering loved ones who didn't come back that day. It was a poignant and touching ceremony.

Across the city everything had stopped and I mean everything. Liverpool is a city that unites in times of trouble. Like a typical big family they can be tearing each others eyes out one minute but when push comes to shove they are all there when it matters. Nothing moved or spoke. The bells chimed simultaneously in the Catholic and Anglican Cathedrals (each church taking turns to ring) until all 96 tolls had completed.

We left the Catholic Cathedral and wandered down to the Anglican Cathedral. Although the bells and time for silence had finished the city was still unusually quiet. All around the Cathedrals were little bunches of flowers and groups of people there to grieve. There were as many Everton flags and scarves being laid down in remembrance and honour as Liverpool. Being a red or a blue had become insignificant.

Liverpool has a long memory and although the 96 men, women and children who lost their lives that day were taken tragically they will never be forgotten. Liverpool will never let them walk alone - and that is exactly as it should be.

Self-inflicted pressure

In just four days, I will be playing hostess at a charity do to raise money for the wonderful Queenscourt Hospice in Southport. As I've touched on before, this amazing place made my Mum and Grandma's last days as dignified and comfortable as possible. And when you are contending with an illness like cancer that can be incredibly difficult.

Cancer. One of the most dreaded and feared words in the world. Cancer has no regard for age, size, race, colour, belief or wealth. It has no sense of discrimination. Every one of us will be affected by this dreadful illness in our lives, whether it be directly or indirectly. Sad but unfortunately true.

Three years after Mum died I decided I needed to do something positive. As a family, the Hospice had given us so much in terms of medical, emotional and pastoral care. And I had an overwhelming desire to do give something back.

And so, the first Charity Event for the Hospice was born. Over the years, the themes have included School Disco, Gangsters and Molls, Think Pink, A Blue Ball and Woodstock. This year, I've gone with Ascot. We ladies love an excuse to get out our posh frocks and this seemed the perfect theme to encourage this.

As ever, I'm looking forward to the night. But I have to admit, I'm a little nervous too. You see, this year the event is very close to the anniversary (April 27th). Each year I get braver and braver. The first year my thank you speech was a pityful and nerve filled one minute of mumbled thanks. But as the years have gone on, I've grown in confidence (and of course, time has done a lot to heal). Last year I even managed to raise a glass in Mum's honour and mention her by name. Something I would never have been able to do a few years ago. So that brings us to this year's event. An event that will take place a mere 10 days before the anniversary of Mum's death 9 years ago. Yes it's an added pressure on a night that is emotionally charged but the Hospice is worth it, and so was Mum.

Friends for Life

There are many aspects about living in London that I cannot wait to leave behind - crime, dirt, pollution, crowds, traffic. Life can be really quite hard down here. There's no such thing as popping to the shops, it's a military operation that has to be timed precisely to avoid the traffic headaches of the day.

But the one thing I will most definitely miss are my fabulous friends. Some of them have shared my London adventure from the beginning. Many of them were there to support me through the trauma of losing my mum at the age of 26. That's still something I don't think I've fully come to terms with and probably never will, but these warm and kind people helped me as much as humanly possilbe. Some of them started as colleagues and turned into friends. Some of them have become part of my life since returning from travelling.

Like most people, my friends are an eclectic mix. Some are musical, some are artistic, some are creative, some are high flyers, some are following dreams and living a more nomadic life and some are now parents. The dynamics of my friendship groups have changed over the years. Life and responsiblities means that our all night parties may not be so regular anymore but when they do happen we make it good!

However, the one thing they all have in common is their wonderful love of life, and their amazing friendship which I have been lucky enough to be part of. If any of you are reading - thanks, you are fab and I'll see you all up here for the house warming! Theme to follow!!! :-) xx

Chippy Towers!

I've had a busy few days - even by my standards. In the last 6 days, I've been in Manchester, London, Portstmouth, back to London and now back in Southport! I'm tired just reading that list! But for the purposes of this blog, we are going to Portsmouth.

Well actually, if we're going to be accurate, Hayling Island. The purpose of the visit was the wedding of two lovely people who I've known since I moved to London 11 years ago. The day was perfect, the weather beautiful, the bride gorgeous and the ceremony very personal and intimate.

Having seen the happy couple exchange vows my friend Ben and I had a couple of hours to kill before the evening festivities so we headed to the seafront. Afterall, which wedding day is complete without fish and chips?!

If you are from Hayling Island, I apologise now. It is a very strange and weird little place. Most of the inhabitants appear to have escaped from those reality Fat Club shows and this combined with their Little Britain velour tracksuits helps to set the picture. In my posh frock and Ben in his suit we looked just ever so slightly out of place...

However we found a little fish and chip cafe and made our way inside. The staff were less than thrilled to be there and customer service was not exactly high on their list of priorities - Basil Fawlty looks positively 5 star in comparison! One man manned the fryer and never so much as looked up or exchanged a glance or word with his colleagues or customers; one lady manned the till, stabbing the buttons with an enthusiasm she certainly didn't reserve for the customers; and one poor lady who we'll call Doris seemed to be there to provide the till lady with someone to shout out.

We tentatively ordered our food and paid a whole £1 more for the treat of eating at a table. While waiting to pay Doris was asked for a tray and was told in more than strident tones "Doris! This one is wet!". Having paid for our order Ben and I hoped to slink off to a table to avoid further contact with the sweet and lovely till girl. However as we turned Doris was to be found grumbling loudly and with some reason to her daughter "Who does she think she is?" We declined to get involved and found a plastic table to hide at.

Doris continued to bustle - no I lie here, she stumbled and edged her unsteady way around the cafe distributing cups of tea and dinners with a toothy smile. And Ben unwisely decided to go and order a pot of curry to go with his dinner. As the Battleaxe at the till was frightening beyond belief he waited in a queue rather than face her wroth and ask if he could add something to the order. Finally arriving at the front of the queue he asked for the desired curry sauce. Doris bless her pointed out that there was only the dregs left. "Well?" replied Battleaxe "It's the best bit isn't it?" And what makes it worse the dregs only filled the pot half way and he still got charged full price!

Doris loaded up her tray and wobbled her way down the cafe to deliver our dinner. I asked for some red sauce "certainly lovey" Doris beamed "It's a £1 a bottle or 20p a sachet"! Seriously, they fill your curry pot half full and still want to charge you for a sachet of sauce. I was in desparate need of a napkin too but thought I may need to take out a loan to secure such a luxury item!

We ate quickly and made our way back to the evening do. Fawlty Towers had nothing on this place. But hey, it set us up for an evening of dancing. So if for some random reason you find yourself in Hayling Island, please pay poor Doris a visit - she needs someone to brighten her day!

Reasons to be cheerful...

I was lucky enough to grow up here....and this is why I'm coming back!

Making Your Mind Up!

I'm going to take you back - to a time when life was simpler, to a time when clothes were a glorious technicolour of neon, to a time when Britain conquered Europe with its music. In May 1981, a colourfully clad foursome called Bucks Fizz took to the stage at Eurovision...and won!

Eurovision was a big deal in our house and I have to admit that one of my guilty pleasures to this day is watching (often with open jaw) the 'musical' offerings from Europe. As a child, Eurovision was one of those wonderful things that I was allowed to stay up for. Mum, Lenny and I would sit and watch (and laugh at) the contestents along with Terry Wogan. He was as entertaining as the actual contest. We would give our own versions of the points and wait with baited breath for the winner to be announced. Believe it or not, the contest actually held a little bit of crediblility back then. And of course, it has launched the careers of more than one competitor. It is only more recently that it has become a political point scoring fiasco. I mean seriously, Britain may be pretty poor at many things (football, sporting events in general) but we are steeped in a rich and wonderful musical culture. This is the land of The Beatles, The Who, The Stones, The Roses, and a million other great artists. We don't really need to worry about the results of Eurovision and that coupled with the dubious choices of some of our political leaders is the reason we'll probably never win again. But just for now let's return to that night 29 years ago and enjoy it!

I sat on the sofa in my pyjamas as the points were awarded and the result announced. After a closely fought battle with Germany, Bucks Fizz had won! As a child of 7 I was beside myself that these four gorgeously dressed people from my country had won. The song was undeniably catchy and I know I'm not the only girl of my era who wanted one of their skirts. For those of you not in the know, the girls (Cheryl in red and the other girl in yellow) wore lovely full satin skirts that fell to their mid calves. And then, just before the last chorus the top skirts were ripped off by the boys revealing cute little mini-skirts in the same colours. How I wanted a skirt like that! How my friends and I practiced the dance moves to perfect the 'ripping' action! How we wanted to be them! And although, Bucks Fizz may not have won mercury prizes for their lyrical content, they did change my life.

My life of gig-going was about to commence and all due to them.

In 1982, my mum took me to my first ever gig. Yes, you've guessed it, I went to see Bucks Fizz at the Floral Hall in Southport. I was in a frenzy of excitment and although I didn't have the much sought 'velcro' Bucks Fizz skirt, I do recall exactly what I wore that night - a navy polka dot dress. Ok, so there was no velcro and no skirt hidden underneath but it did billow out beautifully whenever I twirled. And I spent a lot of time twirling!

The show was everything that an exciteable 8 year old could have wished for. I had their album on cassette and it was highly prized and frequently played. I was word perfect on all of the tracks, not just the hits (yes they had quite a few!) and sang my heart out for the duration of the gig. Although the titles of the songs are no longer familiar I do remember them singing the Land of Make Believe and of course the ever popular Making Your Mind Up which, as ever, drew gasps of delight from the audience when the velcro was released.

And so my love affair with live music began. I'm sure people have got far cooler first gigs. And maybe some people wouldn't actually admit to Bucks Fizz being their first but I am proud to say it was mine. It may have been a lifetime ago but I can still remember it vividly - even down to the bag of sweets I had clutched in my hand when we first entered the auditorium. I remember we sat fairly near the front and to the left which funnily enough is still the side of the stage that I tend to head for when I go gigging now. And I remember having the time of my life! It's fair to say, Mum and I had a thoroughly enjoyable night out and although I never got my Bucks Fizz skirt, I can still do the moves...all I need is some velcro!

I am the Music Man

I wish I could play an instrument!

Back at secondary school, I played the cornet in the school band. I was never what you'd call brilliant but I did enjoy it. These days, I think I'd struggle to get a single note out of an instrument that I used to play every week (and even on occasion in tune and on time!)

However, the yearning to go back to my cornet playing days isn't strong. What I'd really like to do, have always wanted to do, is play the piano. It's ridiculous really, we had a piano in our house as I grew up. It's a huge, ancient black thing from the days of Queen Victoria's mourning when the whole country had to adopt black as the national colour. It is not what you'd call a pretty instrument, it's too fancy and the candelabra are just a touch too far. Really, it would be ideal for a funeral parlour. But at least it is a piano.

Piano lessons were one of those things that our parents would have got for us but spare cash would only allow for two hobbies/after school activities each. That meant swimming for both of us and ballet for me while my brother went to Judo. And neither of us regret those choices. My ballet classes gave me a love of dance that has remained with me to this day. I have dabbled in various dance forms over the years including flamenco, salsa, ballroom and belly dancing. All of them different, all of them enjoyable.

Now as a fully fledged grown up, I hope to embark upon some piano lessons once I have re-located back up north. I long to be able to sit down and lose myself in playing. I would love to be able to play some of the songs that have shaped me over the years. In fact, let's be honest, at the moment, I would love to be able to play anything rather than chopsticks!

So if you are a piano teacher in the Southport area, get in touch, I could well be your next pupil.

Is this living? I think so!

Despite it being a Bank Holiday weekend, the weather has been very kind.

I have been to the beach today! I have played with a gorgeous, stoooopid, lovely dog and it was sunny! Enough said!

Desert Island Discs, Books and Shoes

There are three things guaranteed to part me from my money quicker than a new tax initiative from the government: music, books and shoes!

Let's deal with the shoes first. I love them! At the last count, I had 100 pairs in different styles, colours, heights of heel etc. If that wasn't bad enough, they are all stored in special see through boxes on their own little shelves in colour groups. Yeah, I take sad to a whole new level. Why are women so obsessed with shoes? That's a discussion that could have a whole week of blogs devoted to it but in essence, shoes fit you no matter how many chocolate bars you consume. You may be having a 'fat' day, but those gorgeous 5 inch heels are still going to fit like a glove. And that is essentially, why so many women love them.

However, if I was stranded on a desert island and only allowed two luxuries the books and CD's would win! So let's move onto them...

Books are an integral part of my day and life. Currently, I have three books in various stages of being read. When I go out anywhere, there is always a good book and my writing journal tucked inside my bag. Many long and tedious hours in airports, ferry terminals and waiting rooms have been spent with a book. In fact I become so absorbed that I have to be careful not to miss my flight, boat or appointment.

I have a storage system for them too - they are grouped by genre, author and if possible in height order. I'm seriously wondering if I have a touch of OCD! There are books I read only once and then car boot, there are books I read a couple of times before exchanging with like minded friends and there are books that I will re-read and re-read until they need replacing.

The Twilight Saga falls firmly in the last category. If someone had told me two years ago that I would be enthralled by a tale of teenage romance involving Vampires and Werewolves I would have laughed - loudly and with scorn! Oh how the mighty fall. If for some bizarre reason, you have missed out on the world of Forks I urge you to delve in. They are written beautifully and are the most sensual and emotive books I've ever read. Stephanie Meyer has created a world we all want to live in and one that is described so well, that when you put the book down and return to this world, it seems somehow wrong. So that's my choice of books for the Desert Island sorted. If only I could arrange to be marooned on Ilse Esme my life would be complete!

And so to the music. I've written about music on numerous occasions on here so there's no need to tell you how important it is to me. My CD collection, you know, the one that is ordered alphabetically, grows on a weekly basis. Just yesterday found me in Quicksilver Music in Southport adding to the collection. Quicksilver Music is a little gem. It is a tiny shop around the back of the market that many people probably don't know is there. But let me urge you to seek it out. The man who owns it knows his stuff! He is devoted to finding great music and bringing it to the masses (well the discerning few who know where to find him). For a mere £14 I came away with David Bowie's Space Oddity (an album I have been meaning to acquire for so long it's embarrassing), Feist's The Reminder and Gomez's Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline.

Gomez are home grown talent. They went to the same Sixth Form College as me. I have been into their music from the beginning and have seen them live on several occasions. And yet it has taken me until yesterday to notice that one of the singers/guitarists Ben Ottewelle reminds me of John Martyn (vocally rather than lyrically). And that's the beauty of music, you discover something new every day!

As for my choice of Disc for Ilse Esme. That's a tough call, but if I'm allowed two and because I'm writing I say I am, it would have to be Air by Moon Safari and The White Album by the Beatles. I think!

So if you find a message in a bottle asking for help just send me some more books and another couple of CD's and I'll be good to go for another few months! And while you're at it, if there's space, some flip flops would be much appreciated too....

All Aboard Cap'n

I knew it was coming. The tell tale sniffles started yesterday morning, followed by the slightly space cadet feeling in my head. The end of term and beginning of the holidays cold was rearing it's ugly head!

Last night was supposed to be an evening of sedate chilling on board J and J's canal boat. My car was packed ready for the journey north this morning and my overnight bag and bottle of Vino were in grabbing distance on the passenger seat.

Having done my best to ignore the not so subtle hints from my visiting cold I battled through the traffic, narrowly avoiding not one but two white vans who decided they'd like to get up close and personal with my car. Traffic negotiated, car parked on the pavement (and I mean on the pavement - only in London could you get a ticket for NOT parking all four wheels on the pavement, but that is the rule in this particular corner of Bow!) and I'm ready to rock and roll.

I grabbed the overnight bag and Pinot and headed for the canal path. The rain, which had started as few gentle drops had now developed into a full blown downpour. With the added Brucie Bonus of thunder and lightening. The first crash of thunder was spectacular in its length and noise level. But it was the second crash that disturbed me more despite being quieter and shorter. This is because when the second crash arrived I was balancing precariously across the top of the lock gate on a metal trimmed footway (approximately 12 inches wide) with a solid metal handrail keeping me from the stagnant canal water. What to do? Run like the clappers and risk falling in the gloop? Or take it slow and steady and risk being fried by a freak bolt of lightening? Ah the choices we have to face...

Having negotiated the lock, I squelched up the canal bank to my refuge for the night. As ever, the narrow boat is cosy and warm with a lovely wood stove casting a warm and welcoming glow across the boat.

There's no getting away from it, I'm feeling as rough as a bear but I'm determined to enjoy the first night of my holidays. Dinner is sumptuous, the company is great and the animals (2 cats, 1 dog) add the cute factor.

The narrow boat has all the luxuries you could wish for - comfy sofa, flat screen telly, shower, cooker, fridge, washing machine. It really is like a mobile flat. And yet just a few months ago, it was nothing but an empty shell. I stayed on board then as well. And although it was fun, I have to say the renovations are a definite improvement!

The Pinot has been finished, the spag bol and treacle tart devoured and the gentle rocking of the boat is like lying in a hammock. Before long, my cold filled eyes are drooping and the animals have joined me on the sofa bed. They beat any hot water bottle believe me. Yes, I'm feeling rough, yes, I am aching all over but let me tell you, if you have to suffer a horrid cold, there are far worse places to do it than this!

End of an Era

My brother phoned with sad news the other day - he has sold Fran the Van!

I have mentioned Fran in previous blogs but I feel it is fitting that she has a blog devoted just to her now she is gone. Back in 2006, my brother bought her in preparation for his European Tour. Fran was a white Ford Transit, with more rust than paint, she was shabby in the extreme and there wasn't a panel without some kind of damage. But like the famous quote 'you should never judge a book by its cover', Fran was so much more. Once the side door was pulled back with a shriek and a rattle Fran revealed her hidden beauty. Inside she was fully kitted out as a camper van, complete with porcelain sink, cooker and a proper double mattress on top of some amazing space saving storage.

I have been lucky enough to join Fran and my brother on many adventures and road trips. In the summer of 2007 I flew to Copenhagen to join Lenny for part of his tour of Europe. Fran got us from Denmark to Sweden, and across to Poland on the ferry before taking on the might of the Polish drivers and winning! Our journey continued down through Poland and Slovakia before Fran brought us to Hungary for the Zeiget Music Festival. I find that festivals are much more civilised when you have a van to cook your dinner in and make a cuppa whenever you choose - rock and roll! Fran may not have been as pretty as the Italian Camper next to us but she did us proud! Once I returned to Britain, Lenny and Fran continued their own little adventure before her repatriation due to her breaking down in glorious style in France or Germany.

Once the patch up job was complete, she continued to tour around the UK. She has been to Wales as a Surf Bus, she's been to London and she has even transported Little Wing and all their gear to a gig in Boroughbridge. And last summer she became host once more to four weary festival goers in Benicassim. I've already touched upon this disastrous event in an earlier blog. The Mistral wind blew in and a bizarre and random bush fire meant Paul Weller was whipped from the stage mid-set (and he was on cracking form) and the Kings of Leon cancelled! Without Fran the whole nightmare would have been even worse. Tents and belongings were being scattered by the wind but Fran stood the test of time. Not for us sleeping out in the wind and wondering if we would be blown away. Plus we could make tea on demand and sit at our camping table on our comfy chairs. The envious looks from less fortunate festival goers as they passed us by was priceless. If we'd been more savvy we could have set up a road side cafe - cup of tea and a baby wipe for just 2Euro!

It's fair to say, the Sunshine Siblings have had their fair share of fun in Fran the Van. But the time had to come, even our rose coloured specs could see that she was running out of lives. And so, the end of an era is here. I'm sure one of us will get a replacement camper at some point and the adventures and laughter will continue but do us a favour - if you see Fran, don't tell her!