Dance to the beat of life!

Sometimes we need grey skies to make it rain

Sorry if those days cause you pain

Let’s hope the sun peaks from the clouds

So we can have a rainbow party so loud!

So we can dance away the insanity of life

Dance away the strife

Because it hurts like a knife when life is grey!

Because life is more than this they say!

So dance to the beat of life and be merry

Dance with your friends, Leah, John and Jerry

So come on now, let’s plough a field of dreams

You need the rain it seems

To make it grow

And it will grow

Just wait and see

You’ll be free some day!

Yippee!

Because everything is temporary

Love and hate

Peace and war

 Rain and sun and so much more

It won’t last, so have a blast when the sun shines down on you!

That’s all you can do

Right now!

Dance to the beat of life…

Memories of granddad

On Twitter today someone randomly asked that if I were fortunate to have known any of my grandfather’s what is the first thing that I would think of when I think about them!

I wanted to say a lot more than I did, because I doted on my granddad!

So I thought it would be a lovely post to share here and I can get to talk about him in more depths, these memories are happy memories, probably some of the few I had growing up – but there are only two things that I remember which were not so happy and none of them were my grandad’s fault at all!

Up until I was six years old I lived next door to my maternal grandparents, Granddad Leslie and nanny or nonna Dolly! 

Between the age of six and nine I never saw them, not once – because my mum moved us away due to a vicious argument which broke into a physical fight she had about my brother and aunt.  The physical fight was in their living room between my auntie Julie and her, it was quite a scary physical fight I never saw because I was at school at the time and honorary auntie Sheila (which is rumoured to really be a third or fourth cousin to us) had to pick me up from school because mum was in hospital over it. 

Both my mum and my aunt had scarring to their faces over that fight.

Before this fight my grandparents were part of my everyday life, I lived in an area in North London where I had a relative almost on every street and there were at least thirty households related to me within that small square mile, everyone else it seemed was some kind of family friend who looked out for everyone!

My granddad was an avid gardener and was always out in his garden talking to me about the flowers and nature and giving me updates on his breeding hobbies of tropical fishes, budgerigars and love birds!  He loved gardening so much he rented four plots at the local allotments (a gardening community) where he’d grow lots of food to share with the whole family. 

My granddad was a greengrocer once, before he lost his business to thugs and he met my grandmother when he was a farm worker on a farm her parents worked on in Enfield.

Sometimes granddad would pass over step ladders for me to climb up high enough for him to reach me to carry me over into his garden to help him with the fish and the birds – mum knew if she couldn’t find me in the garden that I’d be with him or passed onto Sheila who lived on the other side of my grandparents to play with her daughter who was only a year younger than me!

In my street there were four other households of family and only thirty yards away from the house was a shopping complex of ten stores, which whenever we’d pop round the corner for milk you’d have to anticipate forty five minutes before you got home again because of the amount of people you’d meet and talk to on the way!

I remember sitting in the window waiting for people I knew to walk pass the house and telling mum who was there, especially if mum wanted to talk to someone, she’d rush out immediately and they’d talk.  Most of the time she had hoped my older teenage cousins would be passing so she could bribe them to take me to a park or go swimming with them at the community pool nearby!

All of this ended when I was six, from the time mum moved away from all of that I was in pure isolation and I didn’t cope well at all with that arrangement!

My mum was ostracized by most of our family when the fight happened, but there were still people who spoke to us and visited, but only a small margin from that point onwards!

It’s funny to think that because three households crammed together in a line became the forerunner of huge family Christmases – where everyone visited those three houses and kept swapping and changing dining rooms to socialise with as many people as possible on Christmas day, literally eighteen people per house and then going from that to just me, my parents and brothers and a cousin until I was twenty years old.

You can imagine the culture shock and to be honest… no, I have never recovered from the loss.

When I was nine years old I was thrilled to be back in my grandparents lives again, but I didn’t realise at the time it was only meant to have been temporary because my granddad was diagnosed with lung cancer. 

So I have got the horrible bits out of the way now, now it’s time for me to show you what my granddad was like as a person!

My granddad came from Greenwich and he had a very strong husky East End accent, he was a short stocky and muscular man who was half Jewish and half catholic and had tattoos all the way up both arms!  He had a widow’s peak hairline and silver white hair, when I was little I used to think my granddad looked like a mesh between grandpa Munster and Pop-eye! 

Because my granddad smoked a pipe, had muscles, ate spinach had a rough husky voice, and loads of tatts!

He was the most muscular man in the whole family and quite a formidable character too!

He was a true man’s man but he was a man who was out of his time really, because my nanny Dolly didn’t have a domestic bone in her body – he did all the laundry, all the cleaning and all the cooking!  My granddad always said it isn’t my Nan’s fault, she isn’t lazy cocker, he told me – she has had a hard life with her heart troubles so she got spoilt and I am mostly to fault for that he said.

I remember my granddad having two large 6ft fish tanks in the living room and he put them like an L shape to each other and he placed his armchair in the corner facing the TV directly in the opposite corner of the living room he had so he could watching every wrestling show on Sky TV he could!

I would always sit on his knee watching the TV with him, even when I was as old as ten, even when he was dying, I remember that.  Clung to him for dear life, I loved my granddad!  I couldn’t do that with anyone else, he was the only one who’d let me snuggle with him like that and so it was a novelty I relished every time I visited him!

I remember when we had to go home I was often kicking and screaming as I didn’t want to leave him.

My mum was a J-witness off and on growing up, so I didn’t learn much about the families catholic ways, so granddad always tried to put in lessons every now and again for me and got his rosary out and showed me that we moved the beads in prayer, look see…

I wondered how my granddad kept his faith with the Catholic Church when he experienced so much racism growing up – the nuns at the school he went to often gave him a hard time and caned him regularly because they said he was born in sin because his mother was Jewish! 

Growing up with him telling me things like that and he was making excuses for their behaviour and being generally nice about it all – surprised me.  He told me that it never bothered him you see, because Jesus was a Jew and he thought that those nuns were ridiculous for what they were saying about him.  I told mum what he said and she didn’t receive that very well!

But it always stuck in my mind; Jesus was a Jew… wasn’t he catholic then granddad?  That made him laugh so hard it bought on one of those deep dense and awful coughs of his!

My nan would look over and laugh too and then say “Out of the mouths of babes hey Les”?

My nan was in every way similar to Catherine Tate’s nan depiction, honestly, anyone who knew her said that they were sure that the character was based on her!

It still sticks in my mind today… Jesus was a Jew and it was only recently that I learned not only was he a Jew but he was also a fierce rabbi who tried hard to steer people back into the old faith of Judaism as he felt people were losing their way – food for thought I can tell you!

My granddad was a backstreet wrestler and boxer in his youth to earn extra rations and money for the family, he told me. 

My granddad and I had a very similar life to each other in some ways – both of us were into combat sports, both of us were stocky in comparison to the others in the family though only 5ft 4, both of us were deaf due to the same condition (mastoiditis) and both of us were discriminated against for our mixed religious heritage and deafness and both of us loved our gardens!

Granddad was the only person I strongly connected to in most things in the family.

He would often sing to me all kinds of traditional London songs, some for kids and others not!  Bouncing me on his knee and he always greeted me as “Cocker” whenever I visited him – “alright cocker”?  He’d ask as I walked into the room!

Cocker means many number of things to an East Ender – mostly “Mate” or “little cocky one” or “fellow cockney” or something you called your descendants, usually aimed at personal favourites rather than generic – well in my family it was!

He would regularly give me cash in hand money to go the local shops with so he could have private chats with my parents, knowing I’d be gone for up to an hour because the family and extended family would watch out if a kid was going to the shops alone!  There were lots of eyes in those streets and you always felt safe as you knew almost everybody down there!

There was one particular shop I used to love going to a lot and it was a health and safety nightmare for how the candies were stacked in piles around the whole store, but it was a great store with every kind of candy you can think of, chocolates, crisps, sodas and ice-creams – it was called Lucky Sweets and was run by a really lovely and elderly Hindu lady.

My granddad would often talk about the wrestlers on TV and we are related to a wrestler who now has a wrestling family and that was my granddad’s pride and joy in pointing that out to me!

My granddad often bought dinner from the fish and chips shop as well when I visited him; it was always cheaper than it should be because there were rumours that the owner was a distant cousin from our Greek roots as we also have Greek in us.  In fact our Italian relatives from Naples are mostly Greco-Italians they say, but we have had family in Naples since 305BC on both sides of my family actually.

But I do know when I was growing up and visiting my nan a lot when granddad died, that the local teenagers who were not associated with my family in anyway were really nasty to me in the school I went to purely because of the knocked off price of our fish and chips dinner because of family discounts.

My granddad gifted me his budgerigars every couple of years and one of them I loved so much lasted for nearly three years called Bobby.  The other, funnily enough was called Henry.

But when I talk about Henry on my blog, be sure to know it is my son I am on about and not some record breaking old budgerigar – lol!

He is also the reason why I love tropical fish keeping, because to me a house isn’t a home without a tropical fish tank and a dog.  I don’t have a fish tank here… tell a lie… I do… but there is nothing in it because Paul won’t help me set it up.

I always felt safe with my granddad because nobody messed with my granddad and I could tell him anything my mum did to me and knew he would be the retribution she’d get!

When he died she got more cocky about things and wielded it like a power.

I moved in with my grandparents when I was ten years old, for a few months whilst granddad was dying of cancer, until his death.  Then my nan was required to come and stay with us whenever she felt lonely, which was about four times a week until she was hospitalised and died fourteen years later.

When I got the flu when we lived with him, granddad wanted to know how mum took care of me when I was at home and had the flu in the past and I was brutally honest with him about it.  He was not happy and he rang his bell which always sent mum into a panic running into the room to him.  He said, cocker over there isn’t well; she needs a drink of water, not Lucozade!  She went and made a drink, he then rang the bell again and told her that I was hungry and not to just pass me candies but to get some chicken soup into me!  She got angry at this point, but he kept ringing the bell for me and made sure I was cared for properly and not dumped with bags of candies and bottles of Lucozade and left for hours on end like normal!

He defended me even though he hardly had the breath to do it; he had a mischievous nature which I adored!

He got told off really bad by my nan when he used blackmail on my mum by switching his own oxygen off to cause a panic and stir when mum tried to tell him off!  As he did it he winked at me but it really scared me to see that!

I had a nightmare the day before granddad died, I woke up knowing that that day would be his last – even though the doctor said he would have four months at least before that stage came, I was right.

He died three days shy of his birthday and it was supposed to have been a huge family reunion party too – the party still happened but it was more morose than it should have been!

My granddad would be 100yrs old on August 15^th of this year.

Thanks for reading!

Writing quirks

Everyone has little quirks or things that are unique or unusual to them, some of mine are considered outdated or just plainly weird because of the rigmarole I go through to do things – my way!

One of the best little quirks I have is that I deliberately seek out people to write to as snail mail buddies, I have relatives which still write letters rather than talk to each other on the phone and I have an old school friend which still, to this day, sends me approximately three letters a year just to help keep tabs on each other and make each other feel less lonely.

Unfortunately because we were not sure about the “Heat or eat” crisis this year, Paul and I were both very reluctant to send Christmas cards out to people as that would normally cost us £15 to £20 in postage stamps, for our lot together.  So we agreed on giving out five cards to the people who contact us the most, each.  Unfortunately it meant that I wasn’t a good friend and didn’t keep my friend in mind – which worried her of course, as this would have been unusual behaviour for me.

She sent me a letter which arrived on the 28^th December, asking if I was OK and she was scared that I had moved away without telling her my new address, as in my last letter, I had told her Paul and I are separating. 

I got so wrapped up in my worries about Christmas and not sleeping and eating very well, I forgot to give cards to my chosen five people – we did agree that we could only do five people this year each, but I totally forgot mine.

You have no idea how badly I felt about that.

My friend and I share the same name, Tina.  She is a friend I made in my last ever school, I was only in that school for eight months and she is much younger than I.  I was fifteen and she was eleven at the time, we became friends because I helped her against a much older bully, a bully who was a year older than me.  We also became friends because her brother was in the same class as me and she found that my brother’s mother in law lived in the same apartment block as she did – so we kind of never lost touch outside of the four years we did.

But we haven’t physically seen each other in nearly twenty years; we found each other online again at friends reunited around fifteen years ago and she was particularly delighted that I was into scrapbooking and crafts and snail mail – because she is too and we made an online pact to only contact each other this way to keep snail mail tradition alive!

During Covid our letters increased to once a month approximately and when her mother died of Covid it was nearly weekly, it was a comfort for her.

I used to be big on having pen pals on a specialist website until some people started to use it like an alternate way of dating or getting free stickers and craft supplies all the time, so I stopped.

There is nothing like getting a special letter from someone you like in the post, every now and again.  It feels so much more personal and fun.

It makes me feel like a Victorian lady whenever I get a letter in the post and I start writing by hand my reply as soon as I can!

There are three relatives of mine who send me letters to update me on births, marriages and deaths within the family because I am well-known in the family for being the family genealogist and they are eager for me to update the tree – which is great, I love that!  But they don’t always remember to pass on birthdays or give me the surnames of new spouses that are entering the family, which can be annoying!

Last two Christmases we haven’t been able to send cards to people, because of money issues, last year was difficult because Paul was sick with the shingles and couldn’t’ get out much and the year before that money was so tight our Christmas dinner was literally spaghetti on toast compliments from the local food bank, plus we all had the flu.

So there isn’t any wonder then that I only got two Christmas cards this year, the family knows my situation but they don’t seem forgiving of it.

Next year I don’t suppose I will get any except from Tina.

When I move out from Paul’s I will get a P.O box address, to prevent weak-minded relatives updating my parents where I have gone, as they are unreliable like that. 

I have updated relatives about things in my life and it always gets back to my parents because they let me know it has!

I don’t mind if my dad knows, it’s my mother I worry about!  The last thing I want is for her to come knocking on my door of my new home, when she thinks I am there alone – I am not going back to her, no matter what she tries to do!

The other quirk I have is when I want to start writing towards any of my stories. 

I tend to warm my brain up with one to five poems, or play for thirty minutes strategy games online to warm my brain up, then I put the music on and look at picture stimulus of various scenes or fantasy creatures to get me in the mind-set and around an hour after all of this I am in the frame of mine to gently go into the trance like state I need for writing!

Seriously, I have to do it this way – it’s the only way, I need to induce a semi-trance or my work is at best amateur!

An hour’s warm up means that you can tell when I’ve tried to write in five to fifteen minute bursts, because the writing is awful in comparison to the hour long process!

The only alternate ways to get me in the mind-set for writing are, when I immediately wake up as I am still dozy – when I am tired and dozing off – when I’ve just had a great workout routine and the music is on – or right after sex!

To be blunt!

As soon as I have been broken out of this trance like state, if it is longer than thirty seconds, it can take twenty minutes to get back into it again – which is why I become like an angry Italian housewife defending her kitchen, when I write – which can confuse some people when I deliberately pull myself out of the trance to excitedly tell them my idea because it’s so cool – for me to then get back into the flow of writing!

Which is one of the reasons why my insomnia is so bad these days – I am writing when everyone is in bed because nobody respects my writing time anymore.

I am averaging my personal bedtime at 6:30am these days, which means I am hardly getting any sunlight!  Although I’ve always been semi-nocturnal, this is not an ideal lifestyle to have as I am severely missing out on social opportunities and healthful habits such as exercise outdoors and getting fresh air!

I am literally living like a creative vampire right now!

I can survive on five hours sleep, but Paul is worried I am not sleeping enough so don’t bother waking me up at 12 noon anymore, I am literally left until Henry comes home from school till 3:30pm most days – hence why I am becoming less and less active online at my usual times.

Paul gets on Henry’s case about waking me up, it really is like Paul hates having me around the house – which is another reason why I am eager to try and learn things to get me self-employed enough that I can move out.  But as I said before, I can only move out and live alone if I have a dog with me, because my nerves won’t hack it otherwise!

It’s really annoying because before I became sick I was a morning person, up and lively and ready for action at 6am out of the house for a long walk by 8am, exercising and doing chores and doing anything all of the time, until I literally dropped at an average of 11:30pm.

When I got sick Paul literally suffocated me in overprotection and was constantly arguing with me to sit down, take it easy, go back to bed, he gave me and still gives me no motivation to even try to better myself or fight whatever is ailing me!

His attitude is, you are sick, stay in bed and rest until you are better, don’t read, just sleep.  I am sorry but I can’t sleep my life away and all of this is driving me crazy!

This life is driving me crazy!

I am so fucking bored right now!

Sorry, but I have to stop this post as its starting to get me upset again!

Thanks for reading and I apologise for the swearing! 

Got to be grateful

I have a bunch of friends, mostly online but there some friends that I once knew offline when I lived in London, but maintain contact with them online only these days.

Quite a few of these friends are new age, hippies, gothic, artistic or writers of some description or another and at least two thirds are part of the LGBTQ community – nearly half of which believe in doing one thing regularly;

Being grateful or finding gratitude in things, no matter how hard they might be.

This is something I have never really thought about for myself.

Ungrateful cow, eh?

But some of my friends are encouraging me to become grateful even for the hard times, because it will result in healing old wounds.

They have claimed it has helped them somewhat.

Becoming more self-reflective is key to understanding the pains and turmoil’s of the past, so you can then sweep the negative space clear and put in a positive vibe via gratitude.

Nobody has ever really taught me to be grateful, not in the way I have always tried to encourage Henry to be.

It’s funny that – how I’ve always made a point in ensuring Henry is always grateful for what he has, yet I never practised what I preached there for myself.  Well, to tell the truth, I am grateful for what I have now, even though it is much less than what is comfortable and much less than what I used to have – but I am grateful I am not in a worse situation than this, I’ve always have been.

I am very grateful for living in a country that cares for its poor and sick like they do, I am very grateful not to be a situation of many other people in the world.

I am also grateful for no longer being in situations I used to be or having certain people in my life anymore.

But that’s just generalising and in order to do this properly I shouldn’t generalise, I should be more in depth about what I am grateful for.

Things from my past;

I am grateful that although my mother wasn’t the best, she at least had one personality trait which stopped her being much worse than she was – that is the fear of what others thought of her.  This always held her back from doing the things she really wanted to do to me, because she would often tell me exactly how she felt, but how she wouldn’t do it, because of so and so.

But she was still who she was, despite this.  Imagine if she was more self-assured, what my life could have been like if she had been more confident to be herself.

I am grateful for the situations my family put me into, living amongst addicts and drunks and domestic abuse temporarily and then moving me onto more stable homes, so I learned to appreciate what my true home life was like in comparison!

I think that’s why my mother did that – move me around a lot to different people for weeks on end, to show me, that in the scheme of things – or in the scheme of what is available in the family, our house was a haven in comparison.

Even if it was a prison, it was quieter, more predictable and physically safe if you did what you were told.  In some of the other homes I spent time in, it didn’t matter if you were good as gold, if they were inclined to hurt you, they’d hurt you!

I was always grateful for how clean, organised and fresh the main house was in comparison to some places I was sent to live, where their houses were infested with rats and beds weren’t made, they had no bottom sheets and in the winter in order to keep warm you had to snuggle up with the kids you shared the bed with and the dogs just to keep warm!

It’s funny looking back at how those places were actually considered my happy places, my favourite places to go to, to get away from mum.  The people were nice, but poor, much poorer than Paul and I – this is something to be grateful for.  I don’t have to scrounge around at neighbour houses begging for 50p for the electric metre like the mother of the house did and then go to her dad’s house to get them fed, because her husband drank away the food money for her and her 5 children and an extra to boot!

It’s one of the reasons why I am tired of sausage and beans, it was a staple there.  My mum tried to teach me to be grateful by showing me we are much better off, because we would also have sausages and beans, but with chips and fried eggs and buttered bread and double portions to them around twice a week on average.  Good living, she thought, though she could afford more, it was laziness more than anything when she was home cooking. 

This is why from the age of 7yrs, she insisted I would be the main cook of the house as she had night shifts to do and couldn’t spend the time to cook for everyone, so left it to me – because it’s normal I her family that the eldest or only daughters are fully domestic by 7yrs old and can take a mothers place at the drop of a hat.

I learned by 9yrs old, there is one thing you should never do as cook of the house and that is ask dad what he fancies for dinner as it will almost always be steak and chips, pie and chips, fish and chips or a full English breakfast!

By the time I was 11yrs old I learned lots of recipes from other relatives and I diversified our diet a lot, mum pushed against it for a while, until she learned that some of the food I was making was actually nice.  She never had a Bolognese before I was 11 and it became one of her most favourite meals of all time ever since!

As time went on the diet got healthier, for them.

I am very grateful for the freedom I had in choosing what I cooked in my main home.

Always had compliments throughout all the family over the years about being “the proper little housewife”, someone who didn’t laze around, always willing to help, someone reliable and dependable.

It’s why it’s hard being here now, where I feel like I am not needed by anyone and if anything in the way!  Its poles apart from the life I used to have, where I’d skip from relative to relative, living with them temporarily and cleaning and cooking for them.

Everyone was happy to have Tina over for any length of time, I was a treat for them, I even remember my mum setting up rota system, and it was almost like a bidding war to get me to stay with them at times!

My maternal grandmother, Uncle John, honorary aunties Gina and Anna (which turned out to be distant cousins), Cousin Jenny and neighbour Debs, honorary granny Esme, got me the most though!  Seems a lot of people but actually weren’t a lot to me.  Mum wouldn’t let me stay anywhere more than six weeks in case I bonded too much!

I am grateful that I had that kind of life, shifting from person to person, it made me broadminded and adaptable, it also taught me how to change like a chameleon – I suppose it taught me acting skills.  Because each household was different, some were really poor and I mean this in the best possible way – but common, others were posh, others middle row and you had to adapt your behaviour and speech to where in the country you were going and the class of people you are going to socialise with the most at the time.

It really was adapt or die, or at least have a hard life there!

This even meant my religion had to change to whom I stayed with as many of these people went to church, the cathedral, the JW meetings and so forth.

I remember going to stay with some relatives where egg and chips is a luxury, you wear jog suits and hoodies, you have to be into RNB and rap and you have to play console games and learn how to talk about football.  If you didn’t you didn’t get to have friends, you were ignored in the corner as the weird posh girl.

I also remember going to other places where I have to groom horses and talk about horse racing, horse breeding, dog shows, dog breeding, gardening and sitting in watching cousins learn gymnastics and ballet – I wanted to join in but my mum wouldn’t give my relatives the money for me to participate.  Do you have any idea how humiliating it is seeing your thin beautiful cousins doing all that, whilst you are the fat girl sitting on a bench watching grumpily whilst the tutor tries to talk you into making your mother part with cash so I can join in for the benefit of my health and being told umpteen times at the age of 9yrs old that I am responsible for my weight, not my mother?

It’s really humiliating actually! 

Just as embarrassing is being the only fat person in a household of half-starved poor kids, especially as I was the most vocal about being so hungry all the time!  I feel bad for them now, back then I was very selfish upon reflection and didn’t have much empathy for them, I was entitled I guess.

I sometimes wonder if the universe is cruel enough to punish people for their lack of insight as children when they are much older… like living here in poverty like this with Paul is some kind of karmic debt?

But I was never mean or rude about it; I was just self-absorbed that’s all – I mean, isn’t every child?

I know I was ungrateful back then for a lot of the kindness I got.  I remember thinking sometimes that their dog ate more than we did in some of those homes.

I even remember saying this once half-jokingly and the mother said, we have to feed the dog he works!  The dog belonged to her husband who was a security guard and the dog went to work with him every night!

It’s a funny contrast too, when you are with the richer families who are super posh and they seem more self-absorbed than you – but on Sundays they go to do charity work as a family at soup kitchens etc. and you tag along to help them.

You try to tell these people, you know the soup they need should contain noodles, meat chunks or vegetable chunks, not be pureed within an inch of its life, it’s not filling.  They look at you and rightfully challenge “what would you know”?  Because they didn’t think I had other lives with other people who were like the people they were helping, they thought I was like them and they didn’t know any better!

I remember telling them once about what I have experienced, they laughed raucously and told my mother about the funny little stories I make up and how I definitely will be a writer some day!

Mum never told them the truth, just laughed along with them agreeing!

I will always be grateful for whatever food or shelter I get, whatever warmth I get, whatever attention I get and whatever help I get.  My life has taught me never to take anything for granted, because you never know how long it will all last.

You can be the richest person ever and lose it all over night due to a storm or a thief or anything, but you can also be a pauper and strike it lucky and find your feet and soar.  I’ve seen it happen to the best and worst of people – I am grateful for having such an enriched life full of varied experiences, no matter how painful they were.

I learned a lot.

I have learned what I am comfortable with and what I am not comfortable with and the types of people that make it better for me in the long run.

I’ll admit I prefer the comfort and mindlessness of buying a whole bowl of fruit without pinching the pennies, I would love to go back to the place where the idea of choosing blueberries or pomegranates this week is laughable, just stick them both in the trolley, don’t be silly, we’re not that bad off!

Of course, anyone would! 

I remember spending £25 a week on just a handful of different magazines, £50 a week on take outs, £20 a week in lunch money, £20 a week in bingo with gran and anything up to £75 a week on books and clothes – this is a dream these days!  Those days died out for me fourteen years ago! 

I can’t buy any magazines anymore, not even once a month.  Take outs never more than £14 once a month if we can afford it or cut back on other things for the treat, we can’t spend money on the lottery anymore let alone bingo – £40 is our average food bill for the whole household and there is nothing spare for books and clothes, clothing money goes to creditors through catalogues if we’re desperate. 

I suppose I should be grateful buying things on credit is an option, especially as there are rumours the government wants to ban those sorts of enterprises. 

Thanks for reading…

Big dreams given up

This post is all about the big dreams and goals I had in life that are too far reaching I have given up wanting them because of one thing or another. 

As a young child I had a huge love for fashion, particularly fashion design; I remember watching the Fashion Roadshows on TV and The House of Elliot and I remember begging my parents for the Barbie design packs and the make your own design toys.  I got a small pack once, but mum didn’t like my enthusiasm for it. 

When I was going through the pack like nobody’s business, she grew angry about it and tersely stopped my enthusiastic interest in fashion by stating that a fat girl like me would be torn apart in the fashion industry.  She really did a number on my confidence when she knew I actually wanted this as a career.

I was eight or nine years old when I gave up wanting that sort of thing and I grew to detest other girls who were really into that sort of thing because of jealousy issues… if I can’t have that life because of how I look, then why should I support them?  I grew bitter, I admit that.

Because even when I had lost the weight to my mother’s satisfaction there was always the issue of my squinty eyes and my smile is never right either, in fact, my smile looked like a snarl or a grimace.

So the big dream I had as a kid to be a fashion designer went out of the window as did my dream of ever going on the cover of Vogue magazine – which is still something I kind of dream of from time to time.

Another dream I am trying to come to terms with is the fact that since I was a child, I had always wanted a large family – I wanted a minimum of five children all told and as many as nature or God would give me. 

I am coming to terms with the fact I am now 40yrs old and have only one son because of the lack of enthusiasm from his father to have any more with me.

It’s hard to digest because I have the belief that as a woman, I should be mother to a large brood as its natures intention – but there you go, circumstances out of my control dictates to me I can’t have anymore; unless I am lucky enough to have a new relationship soon and I have taken a large chunk out of my paternal families genepool, so that I am fertile into my mid 50s like they are!

OK I suppose for many being a mother to a large family isn’t such a big dream, but it’s one of mine.

Another one of my dreams is to have my stories made into movies, comics or TV shows.  I prefer them to be on screen, I have never written for the motivation to create books – just stories for a screen.

I write the things I want to see on TV.

I have always had the dream of brainstorming with the stars my new story ideas, sitting there discussing what we should do and testing the water a bit with some playful dialogue with each other or play acting things as we’re thinking about them.  I loved drama class at school, though I’d never be confident enough to be a professional actress, it’s not stage fright I have, it’s the idea of becoming too well known where I lose control over my right to peace and tranquillity of not being bothered everywhere I go.

I had my fifteen minutes of fame as a teenager and it drove me bonkers.  I won a fight with the biggest group of school bullies single handed and I became the popular kid for about a month, until my grumpiness about being followed around made people avoid me – Well, I was a moody Goth at the time.

It also became bothersome for a few years that every so often I’d be pulled up in the street being mistaken for two celebrities, this was worse when I was thin!  People didn’t believe I weren’t one of them, because my voice is so much like hers.  Martine McCutcheon, the singer that was also on EastEnders for a time.

I have to admit; I worked on my voice a lot to try and not to sound like her so people would believe me!

I had also wanted some of my stories to be theatre plays, musicals in particular for some of them as I have a huge love for music as much as I do writing and fashion.  I haven’t learned to read music, but when I lived in London and was still in contact with my family my brother let me use his Cubase and was astounded at the compositions I made for my rap/rock band I had in college.

A few people in my family and friendship circle keep telling me I should be a professional singer but I don’t want to do that, I only really want to write the lyrics and compose the music whilst someone else sings them.

I know it sounds like I don’t care about my craft very much but the average song or poem I write can be done in less than half an hour on average and it’s never revised.  Composing music can take one to three days with Cubase, that’s my average anyway – unfortunately I don’t have access to Cubase anymore.

I have also wanted to have a breedable pair of dogs and train them like I always do, but specifically for agility contests and go to dog sports events with them as a competitor.  It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but when I had dogs when I lived with my parents my mother wouldn’t let me go to the events unless they were within three miles of the house.  So the only event I went to was for three years and that was the Silverstream summer fete contests in Burnt Oak, North London.

My dream has been to have a breedable pair of dogs because I want to keep the bloodline of my original dog in the family for generations, so I am never without at least one dog and the dogs could be inherited down to the family.  Henry loves the idea of this, but Paul says we can’t afford a dog anymore – not with this heat or eat crisis that is going on in the UK right now.

I have also been interested in fly ball and other dog sport activities.

In the past I have been known to train dogs to understand at least thirty commands, but it depends on the dog and my time with them.  To get to the thirty command stage I worked on a new dog three hours a day for four months solid.  I didn’t have that much time with some of the others when I lived with my mum.  But mum hated the bond I had with that dog in particular so much, she got rid of it and gave it to an aunt, broke my heart.  That puppy would have been amazing when she was older.

Another dream of mine is to rebuild The Garden Of Eden, but there you go, probably a little too big for me?

I have simple dreams really – like winning a bakery contest in a country fair, or a contest in applique design.

I know given the right circumstances and resources, I’d be as glamorous as Lady Gaga and other similar stars – I know I would have wacky ideas for fashion, I love to play – I am a very playful person and I like shinies – not necessarily jewellery, I don’t really like to wear that much of it – but I do like shiny things and bold fashion.

I am a big fan of Moschino since Jeremy Scott took over a lot of the designs, that’s the kinda wacky I am on about!

I’m unashamedly a big kid at heart, really I am – there are times I wished that the public weren’t so snippy as I’d love to wear plaited pig tails again in public, not just around the house!

I say I don’t like wearing jewellery much, but I do love bangles – I am the annoying office worker that has ten up each arm and types at 90wpm and jingles all the way!  Or at least I used to be, before the bracelets got presumably lost.

I try to keep a turquoise at my throat area as much as possible too.

But other than that most of my ideas for my dreams are pretty small. 

If money was no object I’d probably have a huge house simply so I can adopt more people and let people stay over and use me as a stop gap – as I am very friendly and I like guests if they are friendly.  I’d have acres of land just so I can have many different types of garden and entertainment areas and play areas for children and pets. 

I’d probably be a party animal, any excuse for a party if I knew I had friends or a lot of people to invite to them, that is.  As I do love parties, but I don’t like drinking much – I just enjoy the positive energy of parties.  Easter, Christmas, Halloween, birthdays, BBQ, New Year, etc.  I love dinner parties too especially if there are guests who are not opposed to games after dinner.

I love planning for events, decorating, preparing, I love it sometimes more than the actual thing itself.  I put my heart and soul into things like that – but it’s an almost non-existent life here with Paul, he doesn’t socialise and so… life in a word is DULL.

I am always thinking about how amazing things are going to be for the people who are going to attend, it’s selfless, I think about individuals who will be there.  It’s just me – I don’t know if I have ever mentioned this before but I was in the hospitality trade for a while as a PA for VIPS.  I was doing so well at Nordic Cruises base as a meet and greeter and was quite popular with the clients for it, that I was offered to go on the cruises for some of the people, but I had to give up the job when they offered me that – because mum didn’t approve me leaving the house for weeks on end.

Because part of my job as a meet and greeter was to also provide lunches and I was so friendly and got to know people so well that I started to customise lunches for people I knew were going to attend meetings that day.

I loved that job, I am a people pleaser if I am honest – it brings me joy to make people feel at home!  I think it was Nordic Cruises anyway; my memory might be a big off.  But whatever, I loved it there even if I wasn’t there for more than a couple of months, of all jobs I had up to that point I thrived there.

So I think the biggest most extravagant thing outside of being on Vogue’s cover magazine and having my stories made into movies would be this… A three day party cruise with a pool with all my favourite people on board almost like an annual thing.

Another extravagant thing is an ice-cream sundae I always wanted to try in New York at Serendipities, it’s the opulent sundae.  Just because it looks freaking cool… no pun intended, its ice-cream – eye roll time!  But it’s like 1k for it!  1k!

But there you go.

Other than that, I just like simple things.  Like the idea of going on the world’s longest zip wire… going zorbing… learning to roller skate and ride a bike… silly things like that. 

Thanks for reading!

My dream home poem

My dream home

Would have a kitchen with a soft place for my friends to sit and drink green teas

Whilst I make biscuits, talking about the garden and recipes

My dream home

Would have a nook for me, where I can write in tranquillity

With books all around and a little door that opens into the garden for the little paws

I will have a cushion fort that’s canopied with lace

So I can laze some afternoons, my perfect reading place

Rainbows decorate the wall for me as the crystals shine them through

With all the colours that can be in every single hue

My dream home

Is a happy place

Where animals and children be

So we can live together in perfect harmony

My dream home

Will be lots of fun, it will never be dull

A playroom for the children and me

And a place to sit and mull

My dream home

Will be alive, with people coming to and fro

Because they are welcome here, they’ll know

My dream home

Will have a garden, as big as you can get

With lots of different gardens, an adventure is always set

The children will have their playground

The animals will too

I just hope there is enough room, for my little zoo

My dream home

I will love the garden

I’d go there nearly every day

Growing vegetables and herbs like ears of corn, carrots, rosemary and bay

Growing fruits by the dozens, blueberries, apples and peach

A sensory garden for the children, where they can play and screech

I’ll have a little pool for me, where I will daily swim

Because I love the water so and it will keep me trim

My dream home

Is where the love is and daily we’ll embrace

My dream home is perfect, it’s my happy place

Lonely and tardy confession

I dither a lot.

I mean a lot!

Perhaps that’s why I am called TardyCreative.com?

But I am not like this in most things – in most things I am very decisive in life generally, but when it comes to creative pursuits, it’s more challenging to make a firm hard decision!

I fear choosing one idea for a particular story, because then I can’t play with that idea anymore – because nobody wants multiple stories of the same thing happening with several endings, or do they?

Let’s give an example of what I might think about, by using an already known piece of work by someone else – let’s say, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley!

If I was writing this and it was my masterpiece (which it isn’t – we’re just hypothesizing here) these things would flow to my mind;

The monster decides to stand and fight the mob and so piece by piece the mob pulls him apart!

The monster runs away to the North Pole and survives!

The monster falls in love with the doctor who made him and they have an awkward existence together!

The monster runs off with a local and attempts to have children with her and the result of that!

Or the monster decides he is too lonely in this world that he will build himself a wife and he will become a doctor himself and try to keep his creator alive forever, whether he liked it or not.

Loads of ideas could come into play and this is me all over!

Which one do I do?  Ok, I won’t be rewriting Frankenstein anytime soon, but you get my point don’t you?

This is where my confession is about to reveal itself…

I hate writing.

There!  I have said it!

I loathe writing, especially when I have to make that final decision!

I love brainstorming that is fun, the research is fun too and sharing my ideas is fun – but sitting down in the solitude of writing is boring!  The writing process and the editing is boring!  All I want to do is play with ideas and make visuals.

This is why I will say I have no confidence in becoming a published author.  I will try, but I know me… I know it won’t happen because I have trouble finalising!

It’s especially problematic when I am doing this alone.

I have no one who truly loves brainstorming with me, to share my ideas with, to hear their ideas and to feed off of each other’s energies and enthusiasm!

I am in it by myself and it is boring!

Not only this, but I am surrounded by people who think so highly of my work that they believe I will become a multi-millionaire sensation within a year of approaching an agent… I’m a realist; I know it’s not going to happen!

Too many things will get in the way of that – one major thing is my accessibility to be contacted outside of email.  I am deaf, profoundly deaf and I have no technology available to me to get around that.  I rely on Paul to take all my phone-calls for me – we have never sought help because we don’t know how to do that in Warwickshire, also I rely on Paul to have the energy to phone these places on my behalf.

Yeah, so, I am stuck.

So, I have decided to do things the hard way… the way I usually do things anyway, I am weird like that, one of these people who finds simplicity in difficulty; like I burn eggs on toast, but I can make a soufflé, however I digress!

I am going to get around this, though I am certain I will fail the October 21st deadline, no matter how much I am writing towards that!  Based on the idea that I don’t think I’d find representation! So, what am I going to do?

I have never done this before, surprise, shock, horror!  I have never had beta readers outside of friends of family, I have never joined a writers group – but I am going to do that.  Not yet though, because I really can’t afford the £10 a week bus fare at the moment, but our finances is improving in November because Paul officially retires!  So until then I am pretty much stuck in the house.

This particular group I have occasionally spoken to online are really super, because at least half of the members of the group are also into amateur dramatics, something I am keen to get back into!  I want to write a play as well as books, I want to screen write, so they will help me gain the experience I need for that as well as making much needed friends!

Gosh, I sound so sad!

Also I have found a friend that has given me access to a free course in learning how to make my own short films and get into film making; hopefully my new friends in this writing group will take a part in that, I hate doing things alone!

I am also keen to get back into music, because musical theatre is particularly interesting to me and I miss singing and playing my instruments tremendously!  Most of my poems were meant to be songs as I think about composing music for the lyrics as much as I think about writing stories! 

I don’t think you realise that I am a lyricist, composer and performer as much as I am a writer?

My dad and my aunts got me into almost all of this, because they played the piano, bugle, trumpet and the harmonica, they were always singing and they were into amateur theatre as well, mostly as comedians and worked with cockney performers for monthly specials for local nursing homes!

Also they were members of the Salvation Army and played musical instruments in bands around malls and markets at Christmas and my own grandmother was also a majorette and taught me some of the moves, though I am not very good at it like she was!  She also told me that her own mother was a cancan dancer in America before marrying her dad – imagine that, because I can’t! 

So, I think I found the group I want to be part of.

I have to admit, I don’t have much support about it from my immediate family.

They only want the writing done, because I think they believe there is money in it!  Insert eye roll here!

Nobody is happy that I am planning some kind of social life and independence that doesn’t include them in every tiny detail, because they are so used to be being home all day and doing nothing!  As I said before, it’s like they resent I am getting better in most things!

So this time next year, I hope to be a part of this local writing group and maybe starting amateur dramatics again?

I need something to be excited about, since my main thing has fallen flat on its face lately.  I won’t go into that here; it’s a bit too personal.  But let’s just say, I really need to find something to look forward to that won’t disappoint again, because the dark thoughts are creeping back again.

I’d rather brainstorm with people than anything else, do art or motivate others or make others happy or entertained. 

I will write books, though I find the process boring, because I have too many good ideas to waste them.  I’ve always been motivated to write because of movies, not because I love writing.  Let’s be very clear and honest about that.  It’s not the writing I love, but the process of thinking about ideas and sharing them with others.

Maybe I am a shallow needy person?  But that’s what makes me happy and I can’t help that!

So, yeah, that’s what I wanted to say.

Sorry to disappoint anyone.

But the work will get done, despite what I said.

Happy reading!

AD project update

I am conflicted with my main project AD (anthropomorphic dystopian idea); I had wanted this to be the one that goes out to agents in October and that might still happen, but I feel I am not ready for that on a personal level.  What I do feel ready to release in October potentially could be another project I am halfway through, which is my Christmas story.

Why am I so conflicted? 

Because I want my AD project to be a graphic novel and I also want to do the art for it too, but my art is not good enough for what I want it to be yet.  So, I am making it something I don’t want it to be – a series of novellas.

I want to stay true to my heart, but some friends who have had big hints about the work want this project out there now!  I feel I owe it to them; so many people are excited for this project.

But do I want to renege on my plans for it to be a graphic novel and make a series of novellas out them at the risk that someday I might re-write it in graphic novel form and get it published again in that format, or should I wait?

My heart tells me two things – hurry up and practise your art work and how to write graphic novels professionally and get the work out there ASAP, but it also says, it’s not realistic just yet, give yourself another year, you can always send out your other works which don’t need so much from you!

The problem comes with the fact that one of my friends is so excited about the idea, that it has stirred a desire in them to make something similar, based on hints I’ve given them about the plot.  They can’t plagiarise it, as it is very vague, but the vague outline I have given is enough that it could be a direct competition.  They have promised not to create their urges just yet, but they have said to me that they may not hold back after spring 2023 if I haven’t sent it anywhere – because they have to presume that I am not really interested in a career by then, if I hold back for a few more months… yet again.

I am serious about starting a writing career at the end of this year.  In October I am going to turn forty and I am determined to get something out there at least.

If an agent doesn’t want to represent whatever work I put out by January 1^st, then I will personally publish an anthology of my poems through Amazon and start looking towards writing magazine articles and short stories whilst still on the lookout.

I am very interested in approaching a British gardening magazines because of my in depth knowledge about gardening organically and so on; this is something I have wanted to do for a few years now.

Paul wants to collaborate with me as well for wildlife photography magazines etc.

So all of this starts by the end of this year, I wasn’t ready for it before now, but now I am – particularly as my health is stabilising and I am getting more good days.

Another friend knows my dream is mostly to write for movies, that although I love books and being creative, my dream is for my ideas to be televised in some way.  They’ve put me into contact with someone who has put me on a free screenwriting course and so that’s on the go as well at the moment!  Henry is honing his skills with the computer to create special effects etc., so we can make snazzy YouTube art movies together, based on my ideas and a friend has suggested I start attending short film festivals.

All of the above will be documented here in this blog as it happens, so expect better content in a few months’ time!

So for now, project AD is still being written, but it is in a state of limbo – should I or shan’t I send it to an agent in October?

Who knows what I will do!

Happy reading!

Songs that seem written for me

Ten songs that match my personality or feel like they were written by someone who knows me and below them explanations of why I think this, also a huge insight to me as a person! 

1. The lady is a tramp especially the Lady Gaga and Tony Bennet version!
2. Pain by Three days grace
3. It can’t rain all the time by Jane Siberry
4. Crush Em by Megadeath
5. Champion by Three days grace
6. Smile by Nat King Cole
7. Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez
8. Rose Garden by Lynn Anderson
9. Touch-a-touch-a-touch me from Rocky Horror Picture Show
10. Cry little sister by Gerard McMahon

The Lady is a tramp;

This song connects well to me because I will eat a couple of hours before a meal out, as I can never guarantee whether or not the meal will be enough… you know nouveau cuisine and all that – if I am hungry, I hate waiting around for food!  So to be polite, I tend to eat a little before I go anywhere! 

I won’t ever wear real fur, I hate the cruelty of it, though it’s pretty I tend to wear faux versions a lot and have a lot of faux blankets around the house.  Though I happen to like pearls, so that part doesn’t connect! 

One thing I can’t stand is gossiping with other women, it’s not my thing, hence why most of my friends tend to be men.

I don’t really like to make myself up too much to impress others if that means I have to be uncomfortable, but I do like to look impressive generally.  Clothing must always be comfortable or else I would rather go naked and being someone who isn’t an exhibitionist, that’s something I won’t do!

I like being fashionable though and I do like showing off a bit, I am a bit of a peacock – I think this is why I love Lady Gaga, I see a lot of me in her!

Pain by three days grace;

There was a time that I became afraid that I would never feel again.  My post-traumatic stress syndrome got so bad I became what they call Non-comprimentos, I don’t know if I spelled that right I tried to google it, but found nothing.  I wouldn’t speak and hardly ate for nearly a year, I became numb to everything.  Conscious, unlike people think I was, but numb.  I didn’t want to react, I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t feel a thing.  It’s a scary place, it’s like I gave up and didn’t die, but I was supposed to, if that makes sense?

It took a long while for me to get out of being such a poker face, so pan faced and unemotional, a very long while.  I wouldn’t smile for nearly four years and when I did smile it was at the irony that people were trying to save my life (due to mastoid infection) and all I really wanted to do was die; but I smiled because of the darkness of it all.

What happened?

I was a huge wrestling fan; in particular I loved The Undertaker.  I was afraid of becoming brain damaged due to the surgery and my mother came into the operating theatre to help settle me down for the injection which would put me to sleep – her comforting words came out without realising what she had said until she saw the horror on the anaesthetists face.  “Don’t worry, just think about The Undertaker” she said, smiling down at me.

I didn’t just smile for the first time in years; I full out laughed and then had to explain to the nurses around me that my mother isn’t mental, it’s my favorite wrestler!

But after that time, I did decide that if things hurt me, I’d rather feel it than be numb.  Strange I know, but if you have been there yourselves, you’d understand the loss and the loneliness of it all.

I soon developed into transferring that to physical pain rather than emotional after a while and entered the dark phases of self-harming, it helped me to cope and though the scars I have are bad, they make me feel like a warrior.

It can’t rain all the time;

That’s kind of my motto nowadays; there is always sunshine through the rain or after it, though the bursts of sunshine in my life are usually short, it’s best not to take them for granted and to recognise them when they are around.  It’s easy to forget the light side of life to the extent it becomes alien at times and you can often miss them!

Crush Em;

At times I feel like life is a war, you have to fight for who you are and what you stand for, because so many people want to change you or destroy you.

I used to submit a lot, but as I grew and suffered so much, I decided that if I am going to suffer, I am going to suffer in order to stay true to myself because living a lie hurts me more than I can bear!

I was suffering either way, really.  So it’s best to suffer to your own painful tune than somebody else’s.

I’ve had so much of other people thinking that other people’s lives are their business, their personality, likes and dislikes have to be critique within an inch of their lives to the extent I’ve had enough! 

I say and do what I want, but I am always ready to roll my sleeves up and start to fight and often times that leads me to gas lighting the other person, because I am not determined to just say my piece, I am determined that they can absolutely be themselves and they can absolutely hate me for being myself – but they absolutely cannot try to change me and I absolutely cannot try to change them, only enlighten them to the fact that all forms of hate is evil! 

My intention when I am in an argument is to shed light on the fact that it is ok to love and hate, as long as you accept each other’s differences and learn to live in peace.  If the other person isn’t being peaceful and won’t leave me alone after I suggest we agree to disagree, then they have to be prepared that I will defend myself anyway possible and that it could lead to problems.

Champion;

I have fought so hard to be where I am and who I am I have been dragged up and beaten up and bruised and battered in so many ways, not just physically – it is hard not to become something formidable after it all.

I have learned that the harshest of words and the hardest of beatings can make you stronger and in doing so, it can make a person become so strong that they develop into something that their haters and abusers can no longer fight – a true champion!

When a person tries to destroy another, it makes them feel strong when in fact they are weak.  Some people allow themselves to be destroyed, others learn to get back up and fight and I am one of the fighters.  Very little can intimidate me these days and I do not shy from throwing myself in front of others weaker than me, to take the hits!

Because I know I can cope and I can see that the world is full of weakness and it needs a champion sometimes!

I have a deep fire in me to teach the world, but also shield the weak from it.

I have even learned not to hide my tears anymore, I am no longer ashamed of them – though people may read that as a sign of a broken weak person, for me, it’s a sign that they’ve hit a nerve and with love I will show them what they’re doing, but carry on, I may feel pressured to fuel my fire.  I never say things lightly and I am a compassionate teacher, who gives other people time to think before I react!

But as they say, you can’t always help the stubborn.

Smile;

It took me a long while to get my emotions back; it took even longer for me to learn to put a mask on my face for the sake of the others who are much weaker or disadvantaged than me. 

I learned that the world definitely needs a champion, it needs compassion and love and tenderness and I leaned that it starts with me, my actions, my love, my care; yes don’t take on other people’s problems for your own, because it won’t help them in the long run, but you can hold their hand and give kind words to make them feel a little stronger in their battles.

It starts with a smile, then listening, then trying to understand and then holding their hands whilst championing them along the way, but never, ever let their battles become your own.  Stand back and let them do it for themselves, whilst quietly nodding and smile, you’ve done it little champ!

When I laugh at some people who try to do me down, it’s not mockery, its irony.  They are trying to be strong by showing the biggest weakness they have.  But I am delicate, I don’t laugh in their face, that’s not compassionate, my laugh is a smile and a small ha, I try to be amicable amongst the discord.

Dollhouse;

I really resonate with this lyrical line “I see things that nobody else sees”, for two reasons, one is that I am clairvoyant and clairsentient, the other is that I have seen the true faces of various people behind closed doors and I know the truth about a lot of things – many things, big, but they will never be exposed.

My life is like the twilight zone at times, but enough of that.

I often felt played like a doll in the past by other people who were always changing my shape and my form and personality to suit them and they isolated me in a little house most of the time.

A particular person in my life played me like a doll so much that it was almost like I was her ventriloquist dummy and her hand was up my arse even controlling what I said.  I didn’t realise until I went to a psychologist in 2012 that she used a lot of NLP against me, with little subtleties that made me behave a certain way – they made references to the Pavlov experiments in how she raised me.   If you are not familiar with these experiments here is a link. https://www.simplypsychology.org/pavlov.html

Like most paradoxes in my life, it is the very thing that hurt me to begin with that is helping me to heal.

Rose Garden;

I could never get over the fact that people want to be in relationships with people who accept their baggage and everything is going to be perfect, when the going gets tough, they leave each other!  I never understood this.

Love needs work and compassion, it’s not a given, you can’t just waltz into someone’s life and expect a picture perfect romance, because things like that may happen to some, but it never really lasts.  Love needs time and work. 

Most of my best relationships happened through friendship first and I know it sounds weird, but a long conversation over two or three picnics about what each other wants from life and each other and then almost like a handshake and business proposal we get together.

You have to lay your entire self on the table in front of them, reveal all; dark and light – then you make a decision on whether you are suited together or not.  Do you have the same life goals?  You see how many compromises you are willing to make with each other and if the BIG things don’t match, don’t go there, don’t choose them and start the process over again with someone else – life is too short to be unhappy with someone you live with!

When someone develops an issue with me it is usually because they were not honest in the conversations leading up to the relationship, because they wanted to tell me what I wanted to hear, rather than stay true to themselves!

You must never do this, because you can’t mould everyone!

So I always remind people, I am sorry but did I promise this to you initially?  It’s hard and I know I sound like a bitch, but I am only trying to save hearts from being broken in the long run, because I have a terrible guilt conscious.

You’d be surprised actually how many people hate people being so open like this.  But I feel it’s essential; you could be spending your life together some day – what have you got to hide?

I sound dominant but I really am not.  This is something that shocks people when they get to know what I want from life, because I seem so assertive off the bat – but that’s the point.  It’s to show each other your boundaries so you can live happily together.  I am not a huge feminist, I do believe women can save themselves and they can do many things, but I am super traditional and submissive in my best relationships that most feminists don’t find someone like me acceptable!

It’s a contrast I know, but as I said – it’s vital to be open with people.

Be strong enough to say “I need this, and I need that” and “don’t engage me with this, or that”, it’s important.

I welcome you to my garden, but I didn’t offer you constant sunshine, a perfect lawn and neat borders, I have brambles in there, some nettles for the playful butterflies and some beautiful thorny roses!

Touch-a-touch-a-touch me;

Self-explanatory really; I have been isolated most of my life that I get thrilled when people want to get close to me, even more so when touched.  I have been touch starved most of my life.  Though I can’t be called a slut as my life experience hasn’t reflected my inner most thoughts and feelings, I have the mind of one though.

I am not ashamed to admit it either.  I love being touched, I crave it, but I only desire it from certain people I feel are worthy!

This is not an invitation for anyone to come and touch me without asking first, but it is an invitation to ask if you could get close to me – I don’t mean to sound threatening but I will deck those who take advantage!

I am also very much proud to be considered a creature of the night, because my life has been filled with darkness and in darkness I found my strength, the light weakened me.  I am dark and to many people I resent to say, I am dirty – though I see it as cheekily playful and clean fun!  Dirty is a bad word when it is pertaining to fun pursuits and I don’t like hearing it!

To me the most sacred thing in life is sex, the meaning of life is sex and we should have more of it in our lives and we should spread the love ashamedly!

Cry little sister;

I have always wanted to spread love around the world and make it more acceptable and available to people I come across; I wish that the world was a more open place, a place where people are not afraid to be who they are and do what makes them happy without judgement.

I’ve always hated the lack of love in this world, particularly the kind where you can be free to touch the hand or a knee of a person in order to comfort them, without all this fear that surround’s physical contact with people.

I’ve never found it a healthy aspect of society, though I do appreciate the fact that it protects people from being touched by people they don’t invite into their lives.  I remember a time where I had to get the police involved because of a stalker who readily kept touching me up and I didn’t invite that.  But generally, when you know someone that is beyond a mere acquaintance, why is it still shunned?

I have seen pained expressions in male friends eyes when they see me crying and you know they want to put their arm around you and comfort you, but they are afraid of so many things if they do that.  Will I misinterpret this as a romantic interest?  Will his girlfriend misinterpret it as having an affair?  Will I take him to court for it?  So many things, so I sit there crying more or less alone, when all I want is the extra courage by having someone hold me tight; I wouldn’t care who it is, if they are nice and won’t take advantage of it further.  But most won’t even try.

A gentle touch can spark a healing energy and break the cycle of loneliness, breaking chains that bound us.

Happy reading all!

Watery writer

I’m going to throw caution to the wind and publicly admit via this blog, that I am not a confident person and I feign intelligence. 

I am a writer but I am uneducated, everything about me is self-taught and I am not a good teacher. 

I blunder my way through life, please take that seriously, because I really do!  Blunder Woman was a character that was in Russ Abbot’s show, but I am pretty sure someone saw into a crystal ball and knew that Blunder Woman might someday be a real person… me!  I think I might look like her when I am eighty; actually, we’re kind of alike!

But anyway, I digress!  So easily distracted like a dog with a… SQUIRREL! 

Right so, now that’s out of the way, I think it has something to do with my Chinese astrological sign – I am a water dog, a poodle or a Labrador I am not sure which, but a water dog nonetheless! 

Water goes with the flow, I always go with the flow, I am always flowing somewhere and even I never know where I end up or what I am about to do; I am true to my element, I am spontaneous, usually best at peace and generally calm but occasionally turbulent and rarely tempestuous!

But generally I am like any water, that if I am not in the right environment I go stagnant – and who wants stagnant water around them?  It’s quite easy for me to flow into stagnation, I am very much affected by those around me and if I choose the wrong sort of people to flow with, I do generally stagnate a lot or become tempestuous.

I am very self-aware, I know it’s my nature to be like this because my astrological element is water and this has helped me a lot to understand myself.  I love Chinese astrology and since I found it, I have found my life has been working more towards what I want from it, rather than just having life happen to me outside of my control.  But as a water element, I don’t like to control too much as I love going with the flow and I am easily dejected when the people I choose to flow to, aren’t good for a water spirit like me!

It’s easy to get me flowing into the right things, with gentle persuasion, love, conversation, I am easily motivated to flow anywhere and that does mean I am occasionally prone to finding manipulators that like to take advantage of my nature.

My main life partner Paul is a fire elemental (fire monkey), you are right to think that this sounds like chaos waiting to happen, because there are many times where I feel that I flow around him and dry up a bit.  Contrariwise he suffers as I can over suffocate him when I try to calm him down and he is easily exhausted by my high energy and my spontaneity.

My Henry, my son, is a metal tiger.  I consider him a huge support but I can’t help but think I am not good for him, as I sometimes feel I corrode him, like water does to metal over time.  Perhaps I am overthinking things, but this is how I feel!

Perhaps I should try and help balance him more by making lemon drizzle cakes and homemade lemonade to help maintain his metal spirit?  Lemons are good with corroding metal restoration!  Thing is, the boy hates lemons, so what is a water mother to do?

You may think I wrote this entry in jest, but it is my life, it is quite serious for me.  An insight to my brain like this can often terrify the sensitive, but at least I am honest!

I am drying up, or becoming stagnant, I am not quite sure which it is yet;

I say this because I am wanting to write more than ever these days and I am – but I am not focusing too much on novels anymore, because I can’t flow how I want to or how I used to, when being creative.

I used to brainstorm with a close circle of family or family friends, before I moved in with Paul and it would be good energy for me to make me want to write so I can tell them what I have done and what I might plan and to see what they have to say about it all!  But Paul just isn’t into my genres or my sense of corny humour.  I have no one where I can do this to, without the worry that they are going to steal my ideas and use them because I am too slow as I am a meticulous planner.

Because I have no one to share my thoughts with, I am being boiled within the inch of my life and becoming despondent with my storytelling, because, well, what’s the point?  If I don’t have someone who wants to share my creative journey with me on a personal level and talk about things as I do them, how else can I get the fuel to want to finish what I started?

I am easily downcast; I am easily demotivated by other people’s disinterest and I am a worry wart, who is fearful of anyone new who wants me to talk about my work – I have trust issues because I have been bitten a lot in the past.

I need a mentor or a friend I can trust, preferably a small group of them – but how can I find them?  I am at a loss… I had thought about joining a critique group, but there is a problem with that… I am a slow reader, I can’t read three or four extra novels in a week as well as my usual two books I need for research and my own pleasure reading, I just can’t read that fast!

So what is a water dog girl like me to do?

Flow into stagnant waters again I guess… I don’t like it there, it’s too murky and stinks and it’s a bit boring to be frank.

My confidence has taken a huge bashing recently; I feel lame in my sense of humour and I feel alone in my creativity because I am overly cautious and don’t trust the internet very much – sorry people!

But recently I am starting to feel a little bit ashamed of the comedy aspects of my work, because it’s too corny, stupid, over the top and it hurts!  It hurts a lot.

The only genre I can openly talk about without boring the only person who will listen to it, is dark humour in my horror or some dystopian works, outside of that, I don’t have any support.  I wrote a list last week of all of my current WIPs, there are nearly two hundred novels and eighty nine are fantasy mostly, half of which are comedy.  There are only thirty seven horrors that are not vampires or dystopian based.  I have to admit, this person is trying to make me refocus mostly on horror and I am more fantasy and family really.

My main project – the anthropomorphic dystopian is really loved by my listener and only one fantasy novel about dragons and magic is loved by them too – the rest gets a meh or a snore, if it’s not traditional horror.

I prefer fantasy because it heals me from remembering the crap in the world; horror was originally written because my life was horrible, I experience intense violence and been in survival situations that were horrid and I was excellent at writing nasty things like that because of experience.  But I don’t like reliving that kind of thing all the time, fantasy is more healing for me.

I need the pretence that life can be utopian and magical and miraculous and lovely, but I also know that leads to a boring story and I know there are always people out there who wants to destroy a perfect thing for someone else because they are jealous of it, so that is seen in my fantasy a lot, but it is more tame than my horror because my fantasy is written for a family audience.

I’ve personally had enough of pandering to ogres and monsters and being submissive to them and their demands – my horror stories have been developing more and more into revenge style plots, where nature gets its own back on humanity for tearing apart paradise bit by bit.

My reader has noticed and he misses the horror I used to do, the gore for the sake of gore, the horror where anything is possible just because it is meant to be horrible!  Although he likes my new take on horror, he doesn’t like it nearly as much as when I used to write descriptive body horror and taboo scenes.

At the moment I feel like my watery self is forming a whirlpool and it is getting scary, because I have never been a whirlpool before and I am not quite sure what’s going to happen if my instinct is right!

Thank you for reading and hopefully understanding *love you all*