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.