So How is the Strike Going? You Might Well Ask!

Problem is I keep forgetting I’m on strike, well as I’ve said before I’m the facilitator! (say ‘the facilitator’ in your best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice it works better) It’s a innate thing, part of me and when it’s not taken advantage of, very enjoyable. But and it’s a big but, people never know what they have until it’s taken from them and they miss it - well that’s the theory I’m working on at the moment - so if I stop doing all those little things for them, they are bound to miss them and they will appreciate them and me a little more. RIGHT?

            Going on strike or working to rule should never be taken on lightly though! Not only is it extremely difficult for mothers to undertake and let’s face it, if I did go on strike, truly, truly on strike the only person that would notice would be me, also it can be depressing as the house spirals out of control.

            When I look around the house in the mornings and see the devastation that family life produces I do wonder how it all happens. The washing basket at last is empty and I rush to go and get a cloth to wipe the bottom and when I get back it’s full again. How does that happen? That fairy is to blame I’m convinced.

            Francis Xavier; it is told, came up with the quote ‘give me a child before seven and I will give you a man’ or something along those lines. I would like to have a few moments to put him right about this one. A man who lived on his own and had never been involved with the workings of a child’s mind and tantrums can theorise all he wants and we would all love to be able to believe in this simplistic view. I know for a fact he's wrong, otherwise I would’ve stopped telling my children to say please and thank you by now; something I've been doing before they could talk so by now, according to his teaching, this should be part of them. I find that they have minds and a debating ability all of their very own and even though it matters how I bring them up this is not by anymeans the only influence that has a profound effect on them, infact surprise surprise they are indervidual people not robots you can pre-program Saint Francis Xavier!! More's the pitty.

            Then there is the Angel-Devil effect. You know when your child is so angelic and you are so full of pride they then throw a mega wobbly out of the blue (reason un-known to them or you) and just as you get your head around this and put strategies to help get through it all, they change back to that Angelic creature of two seconds ago.

            So after the struggle with unruly belongings, washing and children do you really have the energy to say ‘No I can’t do that, I’m on strike remember!! By the time all that has happened I think your doing well to remember who you are.

Just Why Did I Want to be a Mum?

Just why did I want to be a mum?
I can’t quite recall.
Was it the love of sleepless-nights?
No time to one’s self at all,
With a head full of voices
That are not your own.
I thought of the times
Of stories and teddies,
Making tents,
Snuggling up after bath times.
With long walks
While having long convoluted talks.

I dismissed from my mind
The hazard of learning
Repetitive questions
Investigations of what really happened
Or bodily pooing functions
With wee’s and farts
Demonstrations given of their manufactured burps
At the local supermarket,
On pension day!

I thought of marshmallow cheeks
To kiss softly to sleep
Sweet slumber with loving sighs
I didn’t know anything of the nightmare cries
I’m a filing cabinet, that’s all!
A computer, a machine
From the moment I open my eyes it starts
Where did my wallet go?
Open file
Put in information for quarry
Last seen in husband's hand
Who was proceeding towards
The shower-room
Quarry shows possibilities
Left in pocket of trousers on the shower room floor,
In washing basket
Or on top of the loo,
"See!" He shouts
"I told you , you moved it!"

First child down the stairs
"Is it a school day mum?"
"No, but we have to be out by ten"
"Oh no! I hate being out
On Saturdays!"
Second child down the stairs
"How many elephants can you
Get on a pin head?"
"Fifteen I think the man said.
Now remember to write the
Card for the party,
It’s at two thirty"."What are you going to wear?"
"Out, out, let’s go.
See ya love."
"When will you be back, do you know?"
"Why?"
"I need a bit of a hand"
I look straight at him
With an open glare
Perhaps I misheard
For the list of jobs I have to do
Is rather absurd

I can see by his expression I didn’t mishear
But the look I gave was enough
To strike fear
And he'll not ask again.

Alone at last
House all quiet
Even the dog had gone.
A solitary bath
Luxury

Piping hot water
Fragrant and relaxing aromas
That turns the water blue
The bubbles sparkle and shimmer
And hold rainbow colours that dance.
Slipping into the bubbles
That cling like magical oysters
To my relaxing body
Holding a glass of wine to sip
I regain my inner being
My soul comes to life
And for this moment
I become truly me

For ages I dreamily float
On a cloud of bubbled soap
And soak away the trauma
Of trying so hard to be what
Does not come naturally
A good mother.

Many lessons I have to learn
That will last my whole life long
As my Gran once said
"Your father though retired
Is a worry to me
Is he happy?
Is he fed?

A long time a mother, no turning back,
For even when they're not with you
Your heart is not your own".

I’m dry now
House still quiet
Sexy undies
To keep hold of the woman
That is part of me.

Time to pick them up,
Will he remember where they are?
Should I ring?

I miss their loud antics
The dust they make
Sounds of laughter
And in my mind’s eye
I see their smiles
The way they talk,
Hear their questions
The looks they give each other
And the ones they keep
Just for me.

I begin to understand a little
Of what my Gran once said
They will never be
Out of my heart or my head.

My innate sense of time
Rings aloud an alarm
Time they were here at home
Safe, with me!
Phone in my hand
I punch the numbers,
As methodically I go through
All the sensible and horrific Scenarios.

The door bursts open
And life breathes in
The quiet house gone again
As a home kick starts into action
Flowers thrust into my arms
Closely followed by a take-away.
Smiles and love fills
Every space of the quiet house
Making it our home

As my family sit contented
Watching the latest DVD,
Inwardly I bloom.

It’s not quite what I expected
Being a mum.
But sitting on the family sofa
Is a little like
Flying to the moon
In a beautiful sky blue
Jewel incrusted boat.
You just have to learn,
How to
Let it
All
Float!

The Erupting washing Machine

Alana enjoyed cleaning at Bruce’s house just a pity there was not enough to do. It was like a fantasy a designer life style at it’s best. He had split up from his wife about a year ago and employed her to clean and run errands. It was Friday and as Steve was having the kids this weekend she had asked Bruce if he wanted her to cook a meal and leave it for when he came home.

            The thought of cooking something with true taste excited her, cooking for children was plain and simple with predictability that sat heavy on her and there was no point cooking just for one. Now she could prep a good meal that she could leave him to enjoy, take hers home and enjoy it while having a quiet night with the telly and face book as company, bliss. They could both benefit from it, giving her something to clean up afterwards which intern made her feel better about taking his money.

            When she opened the door to his house though, there was something in the atmosphere that made it feel all wrong, a stress! Lord above, she thought was there a burglar in the house! What should she do, turn and run? Nar not her style, she got her pepper spray out.

            His orderly intelligence reeked through the shelves as she past them and the kitchen as clean as a new pin but the noise was getting louder and without thought she opened the door to the utility. She looked around not seeing it at first but there running from washing machine to sink was Bruce. Bruce, thought Alana, was a strong and practical name, saddly though not a bit like its owner. She walked over to the huge top loading beast (brought no doubt because it was the best and not for the purpose it was needed for; washing a few smalls on the odd occasion). She looked over to the fraught man. ‘Thank god Alana could you ring a good plumber for me?

 ‘Why?’

‘Have a problem with the washing machine. It keeps filling up and overflowing and I can’t stop it’ he said as he emptied yet another jug full of soapy water down the sink and rushed back to fill it again.

            Alana went over to the cupboard next to the beast and switched of the electric off, stopping the soap monster in its tracks. His fretful face turned into dismay at the simplistic solution to his predicament. She tried her best to stop the laugh from erupting and humming fantasia.

            In utter disbelief his stunned voice asked ‘Why didn’t I think of that! How simple, just why did I not think of that’

            Alana retrieved the mop and bucket from its hiding place and began to mop the spilled contents of the jug up. At least it gave her something to clean.

            ‘Quantum physics I can get my head around, switching off an over filling washing machine, far more difficult! Coffee?'

Mr Spring and the Jelly debate.

Mr Spring was a gamekeeper that I lived next to when I was growing up and I have written a few times about him in my blog (My Humble tribute and Twenty Men). He was tall, muscular and intimidating; as his blue eyes challenged you with a tinge of mockery.  When I grew to an age where the intimidation stopped being so threatening and became part of the fun of talking to him, we started debating issues that we both thought were fun.

Mr Spring’s wife had always kept a dog in the house but they always went to his shoots. Mr Spring thought that living in the house ruined the dog, made them soft and harder to work with. Amber was a boarder terrier of renown and as we sat there I felt rather indignant at this widely held belief throughout the shooting fraternity and thought he and they were wrong. We both agreed to blame it on the difference of the sexes.

Mr Springs very male approach to the matter was that if you gave too much of anything the clear rules and lines of acceptance are blurred any blurring makes the dog unable to focus on the job in the field. He said this as he was feeding Amber a jelly!

It now makes me smile at my arrogance, after all, I was living in London and had never fully trained a dog or wholly been responsible for one but I didn’t let this deter me. I gently reminded him that Amber had always been in the house and followed Mrs Spring everywhere and a better foxing dog could not be found. I could see in his eyes the dawning of this revelation. My thoughts were, that this was because a woman can give boundaries while in a home environment, men find this hard and I also thought that women can manage their feelings better. Its not the dogs fault the male handler finds it hard to love and discipline at the same time and I bet that the reason; on the whole, why after their dogs death a family find it hard to have another take its place, is because the men of the family can’t cope with the loss. Women are more able to grieve than men and so we are perceived weaker, when in reality we can grieve and move on better than our male counterparts. Anyhow I finished off, it may because you feed Amber too much jelly and she can’t move so well. He winked at me, as he fed her his biscuit of his plate.

In counter argument he announced with an even bigger twinkle in his crystal blue eyes (I brace myself for the battle of the sexes). When coming across a woman protester against blood sports shouting at him, he quietly and respectfully asked her whether she thought she was any better, stopping her in her tracks.

Not privy to the scene I quickly made a mental picture of it in my minds eye. Wooded area of idyllic tranquillity, beaters getting ready with their dogs Mr. Spring cap adorned and camouflage jacket and kaki waffle scarf protecting him from the bitter chill. Middle aged woman, towards retiring age stops car gets out ‘Skirt a swinging’ leaving five dogs in the back of the car barking excitedly while she was telling him how wrong he was.

When she asked him ‘what on earth do you mean by that? How could she in any way be likened to him and his antics’ (And at this point his broad smile could not get any bigger) He recounted to me what he had said. Five dogs in any car were too many but in a small car such as hers was fool hard for their safety and that of any other road user. ‘My dear lady’ I can hear his clear no nonsense voice still. Your dogs have been bread to chase pray. He had explained. The whippet for rabbits, your two Jack Russell’s for rats and such like, your lovely retriever, you are denying its right to retrieve and your two fox terriers for foxing. Apparently she was under the elution that because the terriers were small dogs that they didn’t need as much exercise as big dogs, so only took the small ones out occasionally. She was soon put straight by Mr Spring who went into great detail of why terriers are so revered by the shooting community. Their stamina and tenacity coupled with their daredevil approach to life, they most certainly needed a good five mile walk a day as they were kept at the heel of the farmer or ran and kept up with the horse and hounds. I asked him what she had said in reply, he laughed aloud and said they had spent a happy lunchtime talking about dogs and she viewed them a little differently, the dogs he hastened to add ‘not me you understand’ he winked at me ‘I’m still a barbarian’. We both laughed at that.

As we sat by the side of his fire, warm and cosy with Amber now on my lap I had enjoyed immensely the telling of the story and I asked him if he also told her that they can make good fireside companions. On cue Amber went back to her master and liked his face.

This poem is to all of us who have loved our pets.

The day I Lost my Shadow

I lost my shadow to-day

I noticed when I hung out the washing

A void that will not be filled

A presence so soft

A nudge so gentle

I noticed again when I walked

As I have walked

A million or more times before

A flicker of my shadow

I thought I saw

But my shadow

Bless her, is no more

My constant companion

Our linked and entwined soles

Shared space

Moments of peace

Solace in madness

She calmed my day

A wet cold nose

Meant time to sit and cose

At night when our home is quiet

Meant my shadow was waiting

A coffee for me

A bone for her

She would watch the kettle with interest

And concern if I walked away

A whimper ment she had waited too long

My shadow would pace me

To the sofa

Our rightful place

Though the void seems endless

The day my shadow

Laid down and to me was lost

I knew

I had truly been

Blessed

X

My very supportive family and a compulsion Takes flight a Tilly debate.

I have added a second part of the story at the bottom. Skip the first bit to find out what happens next.

My very supportive family make my day worthwhile. Oh Yeah! They know how to fill me with confidence and inspire me.

I was talking to Kev about going in for a competition that had; as part of its prize a mentoring scheme, he thought the mentoring was a good idea but told me to save my money on entrance fees as I was unlikely to win. Giving him the benefit of the doubt I thought he put this down to the fact that it was a big competition and there would be many entrants so it would be difficult for me to win. But that was my own naivety.

            Sitting down later that day he said he had given it some thought and while having a cup of coffee he elaborated on his comment earlier. I hadn’t asked him to and as my self esteem had dug its self a rather large hole into which to bury its self in, I think he should have drunk his coffee in peace; after all there is only so much realism a person can take.

            His thoughts concluded that while he enjoys my take on life as I see it, my short stories are not my thing and I should just write the odd poem and anecdote as a hobby and enjoy it.

            It gave me enough food for thought for a banquette for a thousand hungry guests. I will have to take time in digesting this, as I internally debate whether I should give up on the short story and novel idea. I would ask the other family members what they think but I would hazard a guess their answer would be the same. Thinking about that that really should tell me something shouldn’t it! WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE TILLY!!!!!!!!

            How so ever the short story should be 300 words but I wrote 480 so he’s right! I’ll let you decide whether it was worthy of writing.

I Watched as my Compulsion Grew wings

I watched my compulsion grow wings and take flight, I tried in vein to catch her but to no avail. I stood incensed; as once more I had been passed over for a promotion and it was given to the loud mouthed, unnatural red haired, tight skirted, bursting boosomed know it all; that knew nothing and the most aggressive office bully that I had ever met in my life. An unnatural compulsion to tell the truth, without a care rose like an out of body experience. It looked so beautiful and felt so liberating. I was transfixed on the spot at the splendour of it all.

            ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Her banshee’s screech hurt my ears. Slowly I brought my eyes down and focused on her thick makeup that clung to her features like a badly made mask.

            ‘No’ I replied dully and turned to go. She grabbed my arm to swing me around so that another onslaught of her abuse could be unleashed on me but my compulsion was having none of it. Without turning and with conviction and an inner strength; I had rarely felt, I asked her to let me go.

            ‘You stay here and listen to what I have to say. Just because you wanted the Managers job but they picked me;’ her face had screwed up into a contorted hag’s; which I must admit suited her personality well. ‘For obvious reasons, might I add!’ she continued. By now the whole office had stopped what they were doing. I looked around and back at the false nailed, boobs on stilts and before I could capture it, it took flight again and all my thoughts and truths whirled through the air zooming with zeal and delight. The crowd that had gathered were taking great enjoyment in my swooping and looping statements. I watched her face crumble and the mask crack in lines but I didn’t stop and as I reached the door, I bowed with exhaustion and exhilaration, as I closed the door on the stunned manager and delighted crowd.

            As the wings of my compulsion carried me home I kept saying to anyone who would listen, did I really do that? Flash backs of the statements I had made, amused me but if they hadn’t been truths they would have filled me with remorse.

            I thought by Thursday I would get a call; after all I was the only one Mr Fleming would talk to and then no one knew where the key to the supplies was kept or how to work the printers when they had a funny turn; which they did every third day or so. So by Thursday someone would have to eat a large piece of humble pie and ring and ask for help. Now I wonder who will be chosen for that deed and I wondered if a salary of a manager was enough!

THE END

P.S If you’re wondering who the boobs on stilts is, its Kev in drag!

I’m dedicating this to Julie who is suffering from man flu. I know Kev’s thoughts on my work will incense her beyond distraction speeding her recovery I hope and giving her some light relief. x

The second part of this story which I had no intention to write was asked for by a very dear friend who laboriously goes through my work when I send it out to agents. Unlike my family she firmly believes I will get published, with her and a few others they keep me going. That and my readers of my blog so many thanks x

            To Tina my name sake bless ya x

When a Compulsion is Liberated

            Liberation couldn’t last long, finances being what they were. Did I really want my old job back anyhow? Contemplating the issues I walked as I often did, in a semi trans-like-state when I heard a friend call. We had met a few times while she was walking her little lad, so friend was probably too strong word for it, acquaintance is a better description of our relationship. Apparently I lifted her spirits and made her laugh, a much needed thing when your child is teething.

            We had walked across the green some way and had turned to go through our favourite part of the village, a wooded walk through. Going parallel with the road I could see a car pull up, I thought I recognised the car but I’m completely hopeless when it comes to cars. Not wanting to appear rude and stare at a stranger I turned to answer a question Jane had just asked. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the screaming banshee stride on her stilts over to me. Acutely embarrassed, knowing from experience that she was going to get verbal again, I turned to apologise to Jane. I want a word with you her venom spat out.

‘We’ll wait’ she nodded to Tom in the buggy.

‘No I don’t think so’ I replied moving to protect Tom but I was too late as Boobs on stilts, nearly stumbling over him to get to me.

            I could see from her fixated eyes that she was out to get my eyes. Lord I thought she needed careful handling but what could I do with dog poo bag full of the stuff and the lead to my pregnant bitch in one hand? Somewhere in my mind I heard the voice of my son when he had taken an army day at school ‘bend the figures back to gain control. Well I didn’t argue as I’d already sustained a scratch high up on my right cheek bone. When I had full control she started to kick me as hard as she could.

            The thing that struck me was how quiet she was, not a murmur. Her eyes were fixed and with every sinew she had was out to get my eyes, to cause as much damage to them as she could. I bent her fingers a little further while I asked Jane to take my dog and poo bag.

‘You’re hurting me’ she wailed.

‘Sorry’ was my reply. I know, I know. It makes me laugh too but manors cost nothing. Well I was bending them hard to gain control and to stop her kicking me, so I relaxed my gip a little.

            So there we stood in a bit of a dilemma really. Quiet, nothing at all being said while I contemplated what to do. She had started to calm down, well she had too I was in full control. Bullies always think they can physically take on more than they truly can.

            I was not prepared to let her go close to toddler and dog. So I frogmarched her backwards fashion to her car. Jane shouted that she was on to the police and she should go and she retorted that how she could do that, nodding at her hands.

‘You think I’m letting go you’ve another think coming.’

‘I can’t get in the car like this’ she nodded again at her hands. She had a point. So I pushed her free and made ready for retaliation and was a relieved that none came. She hurled a few abusive remarks and left.

            I went over to Jane to check she was ok. Jane was reciting the number plate and handed me the phone to the police.

            When I had got home the police were waiting for me to take a statement. They advised me to press charges; even though it wouldn’t make it to court she would be flagged on police records for my safety and that of others.

            When they had come back from arresting her they could give no answers to why the attack happened apart from what I had told them of what had happened in the office she had said nothing. That was what perturbed me and the officer for neither of us thought what I had said was enough to warrant my eyes from being scratched out. The arresting officer said they had a hard time getting her to admit to what happened he said that only when they told her they had witnesses and that I had pictures of the intentional scratches and that if she did not admit to her part in it they would be forced to take things further did she admit to it.

            We laughed and though I was shaken, I was more embarrassed. Well the sight of two middle aged women having a scrap with a poo bag and a pregnant dog on a lead in the middle of a quaint village, well it is funny bordering on surreal.

            I also know that one day that Banshee Ninja and I will meet again. I wonder what will happen then?

Tink and Paddy

Tink came into season out of the blue, as often happens. All the studs I had lined up for her for one reason or another fell through. So what to do? I trawled through the internet went on walks and then I found Paddy. As he lived an hour away and the window in which Tink would be fertile is small, we didn’t have time to meet him before. So we went on her tenth day ( her most fertile time we hoped) to meet Paddy and his owner for the first time and to do the deed; if we were all satisfied and happy to go ahead. I was a little apprehensive but Victoria was great and Paddy was a star. If dogs could fall in love these two did.

            Now picture the scene: - Idyllic location in Suffolk, small enclosed dog kennel and three grown women looking on with embarrassment at two dogs mating, several times! You have to stay with them as the dogs stay attached for a while and this is less painful if they keep still. Victoria and I took it in turns to cradle the two dogs while this happened.
Paddy is a handsome Jack Russell, of about eleven inches high, making him the same height as Tink and looked a lot like Rip, (my first real dog experience and best friend when i was growing up), so I fell in love with Paddy too. Small dogs get a bad press about being snappy and possessive. Though I think their behaviour is more to do with the fact their owners seem to let them get away with a lot more than big dogs can and very often people put their un-wanted behaviour down to breed type rather than owner responsibility. Breed types have been made so that aptitudes are strengthened for certain jobs but if the handler lets the dog constantly bark or jump up and nip, then the dog will be unaware that this is wrong. Good, clear and constant boundaries delivered by an understanding and communicative handler gives you a good dog! Regardless of breed! I will climb off this particular soap box but will build it up again soon. Paddy was happy to see us and overjoyed to see Tink.

            After our first meeting with Paddy Tink spent the next two days close to the side door and jumped in the car with excitement but when we came back home she would whine her disappointment. My human heart says that she liked him a lot and I know this to be true, though my handler heart tells me this maybe because she was ready to mate and knows her time is right. Both, I think are correct, no animal or life in general is as one sided or simple as we would like to think and though animals see things differently to us (as we are now finding out with Dolphins) they also have many personalities and responsibilities to others that we don't understand yet. I think us humans are very arrogant; unless an animal or other human understands us, they are at fault and are lesser beings. Oh! Oh! Soapbox alert!!

            So all being well around the 25^th March 2011, this house will be a hive of activity and a mother will go on strike big time for a few months. I can feel Mr Springs smiling eyes look down upon me; my ideas and thoughts always brought a glint to his eyes (if you’re not careful Mr Spring, I will tell them about the jelly, Oh yes I will. Mr Spring and the Jelly to follow shortly, his fault his eyes dared me!)

            The responsibility is great and I know that I will feel this heavily when and if she is in pup but I think for me this is part of growing as a pet owner and human. Now I just have to tell my dad! Mr Spring had blue sparkling eyes that always glinted with challenge, my dad has a big booming voice of reason (his reasoning is the only way and wow betide you if you don’t listen).

 

So what sort of flight of fancy would make a mum go on strike?

This particular “Flight of Fancy” started many years ago when I lived next to a Gamekeeper called Albert Spring. If you have ever walked with a pack of dogs or have seen a handler that rarely raised his voice but communicated; what seemed like telepathically, then you would have this energy imprinted in your being.

            There was Miss Lovelace who walked her three Pekenese of Camberwick Green, Trumpton and Chigley; a Children’s program that still fascinates me and they have a brill web page: - http://trumpton3.homestead.com/TrumptonPt2.html I wanted to be her and have lots of dogs on leads at the same time serenely walking, elegant and in control; easier said than done, I know.

            Then there was Rip; so named because when a pup he had a thing about taking buttons of any shirt left lying around, he was my best friend when I was growing up. He was a little Jack Russell that liked to curl up with socks (specially smelly ones) never had a lead but would follow your heal everywhere until he got bored. We never trained him as such but he blended into family life perfectly.

            These three separate imprints later gave this “Flight of Fancy” wings. The catalyst was the passing of Grace my Lab and our first family dog. Even though all the family wanted the dog the responsibility was soon left at my feet. I have come to realise that I am the facilitator of all my families’ needs, requirements and dreams but when it comes to my dreams or wishes they are made to feel like silly fancies. Well breeding Tink could be seen as a folly; don’t I have enough work to do? They ask, I’m always moaning about it they say. Anyway there are many dogs needing good homes at this time of year, why give yourself the hassle and the worry of pups? I could give many reasons but the main two is that Tinks pups will make ideal first time dogs and a great companion too. She is small and her temperament could not be bettered. Secondly she will teach me how to be a good handler. You see when I’ve been trained up enough I would like to foster dogs and by having this experience I will find out weather the work load will be too much or that I haven’t the aptitude to do this sort of thing.

            Even though I talked endlessly about the fostering scheme to Kev when I had the opportunity to have a dog (well three) Kev said that he knew nothing about it? Perhaps selective hearing plays a part in this one or control? Oh I could so go on about this but, I will refrain; with reluctance! We also had mega problems with the drains here and this meant we couldn’t go through with it. Diggers and gaping holes and dogs are not a good combination. So all summer Tink and I was bereft of the company and all the walks I had planed. My children said I should enjoy the summer and that the whole thing would have been hard work, they were right, I knew the commitment and constraints it would put on them but thought the rewards out weighed them all. They obviously haven’t heard how a load might be best shared. They also questioned whether it was really fair on them as they would love having the dogs around – though it was made quite clear the walking, cleaning would be mine alone as it was my idea – when it was time to give the dogs back they would be sad and they couldn’t deal with that. This is when I decided to go on strike. Why should all the hard work, love and worry be mine alone? Why should I be made to feel guilty?

            So I’ve gone on strike or is it works to rule? When I’m asked - can you just do my hair? Instead of yep, just give me a mo, I now say-you’ll have to wait and you will have to help me out! Anything above and beyond the call of duty is now met with this reply. But Oh boy! This is such hard work. The problem is I’m the facilitator and naturally I would just try to help or sort out any issue arising but at some point I have to realise that their life support is my energy and time and they can breath on their own and do all the necessary, I’m just the easy and safe option with no effort or responsibility on their part needed. Will I ever get my fledglings to fly? Or will I have to kick them out of the comfortable nest? Come back soon to find out.

Falling off the Tandem part two

It was only five thirty when I got to my room and I had an hour to wait before diner menu was available.

I had looked forward to reading and enjoying my pimms all week but found I couldn’t settle; due to being wound up by the spiteful text. I decided to go for a walk to unwind the tightly coiled spring within. It didn’t take long the two glasses of Pimms had worked their magic. I walked back to the veranda the July heat had subsided and the flowers sent floated on the calm and still air. It truly was a glorious setting and perfect for a wedding.

The stillness was broken by a rich and good humoured male’s voice talking on a mobile phone. As I walked up to the steps, I caught the gist of the conversation. They (whoever was on the other end of the phone and Mr. Smooth voice) were the ones who had cancelled the honeymoon suite. They had organised a helicopter to take the soon to be newly weds to a seaside location of the bride’s childhood, where the couple would not be disturbed by their boisstres friends and family; who would also be staying at the hotel. I smiled as I walked past, how sweet and thoughtful and was glad that the wedding hadn’t been called off as I had thought.

I heard his hurried footsteps and half of me wanted to turn around and see if the face matched his luscious voice the other half wanted to grab and kiss him fully on the mouth with every ounce of passion I felt. I sighed I had not had sex for so long it was starting to effect me and daydreams of romance an ever persistent emotion to sit on. Must get back to the safety of the room, I was obviously in no fit state to be out in public. I actually giggled out loud at this thought.

As I made my way to the exquisite French doors still wondering what he looked like and planning to sit on the table just inside, so I could take a sneaky peek at this voice that melted me like a warmed marshmallow. But before I could reach the top tier of the extensive veranda, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Oh and he was as sexy as his voice. His appeal dripped from his smiling eyes and down his cheeks to his smile that I immediately swooned for.

‘Sorry to bother you’ He almost pleaded with his voice and I just about stopped myself from saying ‘the pleasure is mine’ I blushed as he kept his hand on my shoulder the contact with another adult human being was intense to the point of pain. ‘Are you going into dinner now?’

‘Yes’ I replied trying to breath and not fling my arms around him and snog with gusto, now there’s a word from the past snog. The long lost sense of teenage faire l’amour sprang from that word and a primal instinct that was hard to ignore came with it. The little devil inside me wanted to hide the mother side of my complex being in a cupboard and release the animal within. But regrettably the mother side won, again! And the frustrated animal was captured and behind safe bars mores the pity!

‘Would you mind if I tagged along?’

‘Sure’ I tried to casually shrug. This was not good, how on earth was I going to keep my hands off him, let alone think straight? Now I felt a little uneasy about being on my own for diner and what on earth would he think if he knew I was in the Honeymoon suite, I wondered.

As we went down past the reception he asked me if I was on the bride’s side or the grooms.

‘Neither’ I answered tensing, lord I thought how ridiculous and silly my ideas are if he finds out I’m on my own he is going to think I’m a right loner; which of course I am, a mother is always a loner when divorced.

‘Oh’ His awkwardness made him pause for a while and then he carried on. ‘So sorry I thought you were one of the guests for the pre wedding dinner. Can I get you a drink?’

Good lord a drink, not a great idea really, unpredictable urges that felt as if they were going to erupt at any second needed strong support not more of a relaxed attitude. I reasoned; I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. If we parted now he would be embarrassed as he would be unable to keep his invite to diner and not to mention how I would feel about being dressed up and on my own. Having a drink would get us both out of a difficult social situation. It would also give me time to plan a timely retreat. I could have a soft drink but when he asked if I wanted to share a bottle of wine I smiled and said that would be lovely.

‘So are you waiting for someone?’ He looked at me obviously taking in my dress. I wished I could lie but some of us just can’t.

‘No’ I confessed with guilt. His confused and puzzled expression made me want to play with his bemused face that he fought gallantly to control. My heart took pity on him and the truth tippled out, thanks to the Pimms.

‘This is a new beginning, silly really and a story that probably would take up most of the evening in the telling and would bore me and send you to sleep, so I’ll spare us.’ He was about to say something but once started I had to carry on. ‘I was going to have dinner and then go and read a book.’

‘That dress would be wasted on a book’

I blushed. ‘That’s very kind’

‘Nonsense, it’s a simple fact.’ He took a wine buffs approach to the just poured wine which had appeared like a magic trick. Deep in thought we waited the wine waiter and I for his verdict. He looked right into my eyes, deep into them and smiled. I felt that I could almost read his thoughts; he had picked the wine for me. He nodded at the waiter. As the waiter left he turned his thoughts to me by which time I had rapidly drank half the glass; the tension was getting to me and he was right the wine was divine. He lent over to refill my class but I held my hand over the top.

‘I try very hard to sip wine but when it’s cool and as refreshing as this, I tend to drink faster than perhaps is wise.’ He smiled and gave a little rumble in the back of his throat. It made me breathe deeply with contentment. He looked at me pleasantly surprised by my reaction.

            ‘I would like to ask a favour and I honestly wont be offended if you decline’ He attentively began. ‘I know we’ve just met and that was a little unorthodox on my part and this is going to seem really strange. But would you help me….you see I was supposed to come with someone for the family pre wedding diner and to my sisters wedding and our over bearing mother would spoil her evening and day, if all she could go on about was the fact I’m single again. There would be the Spanish inquisition of why and at the top table there would be no let up, it would all be unbearable.’

His pleading eyes drove away my inhabitations and all defences.

‘I would love to be your knight in shinning armour’
As I took another sip and an inward panic started to built up. It’s ok putting yourself forward heroically, I thought but will you be any good at riding the white charger and how are your lance tactics? I pondered. I took another sip; well actually a gulp, perhaps I think too much and even worry more. Live a dream, just for a short while, become something you will never have a chance of becoming again. Go on have a little fun, without responsibility. Mothers should have a duel personality to keep them sane; now who had said that? If nobody had they should’ve. I looked across at the stranger and into his eyes that were deep and mellow and full of playful peril. Irresistible! Somethings in life you just have to have a go at. I mounted that white charger, I feared the wrong way round, as he led me to my quest. 

My Octopus on Speed Has Gone Missing

So what do I mean about my octopus on speed? Well when any child enjoys doing things they know they shouldn’t but don’t quite know why not, they go through a really hard period of time when that is all they seem to do. Angus use to like; on the odd morning I was unprepared, to go straight to the cupboard I used to keep the biggest box of washing powder I could buy and spill it all over the floor, as I would’ve reached that point he would have scarpered to the dogs bowl emptied that then run through to the living room and emptied all of his numerous books all over the furniture, put some in bags and all his hiding places as fast as he could. So I had no hope of any damage limitation. He would then calmly sit and read as though he was the book worm and not the octopus. By the time I had cleared up the aftermath of his arrival I would be running late and stressed. I would then look in on him and there he would be oblivious happy and content.

The thing is that he would go for long periods of time in-between these outbursts so I was lulled into a false sense of security, I’d let down my guard with ‘Oh that phase has passed, good!’ so the explosion of activity always caught me off guard. Then he would go full pelt and headlong into a situation I could only live and breathe through; if I was lucky.

Angus enjoyed doors especially ones with locks on so when we went for a sort break to Paris and booked a family room I was on my guard. When we got there and found that the bathroom door was solid and had no emergency lock on the out side, I was on my high alert setting. Every time one of us wanted to use the bathroom I would stand near the door making sure Octopus boy could not slip through below my radar and lock himself in. Axl 10 Years Angus’s senior had just came out and as I was on century duty holding the door to make sure little man could not trap his fingers or lock himself in I turned to ask Axl if he had brushed his teeth. I felt a slight force and as I turned back the door slipped shut and the lock was engaged and my heart filled my veins with a cold dread.

While Kev went searching to find help, I held Angus’s attention as close to the door as I could, while reaching across the hall to pick up the fire extinguisher to bash the door down. I clouted that door with all my might spurred on by my over active imagination running through all the possibilities. There was a long mirror near the toilet that was fragile when you consider that a phone was opposite and I could hear him clunking the mirror with it, as I was thrashing the door with every fibre I owned. Then there was the fact he could run the hot tap by himself and climb into the bath unaided, put the plug in slip and fall on the marble, climb onto the sink with all the chemicals to sniff and drink. 

So when Kev arrived back with help, I was relieved. The man went straight to the phone understanding this was a very dangerous situation, so picking up the phone to get an engineer to take off the door - I though we were home and dry. That is until I heard Octoboy picked up the phone cutting off our help line and his voice full of enjoyment and fun said clearly ‘Hello, Hello, Hello’ which was all his vocabulary held at that time and put the phone down, only to do it all again on an endless loop. This carried on for a few more failed attempts when my ‘would be hero’ asked me to tell my eighteen month old son to put the phone down. I looked instantly at him and retorted not too politely, if I could have that sort of conversation with him I would have asked him to unlock the door.

Well the poor man asked me what he should do when I suggested he should use his long legs and go and get help before my son did real damage to himself. Again everyone departed and I was left coaxing Octoboy to the door again. I asked him if he could wiggle the handle and to my pure relief he did. I then asked him to reach down and push the lock; I was ready to shove with all my might. I then heard that most wonderful sound of metal gliding on metal quick as a flash I grabbed him like a mother possessed, just as a non English speaking engineer came through the door. Putting as much distance between the room of horrors I tried to breath through my sobs.

Although Angus was out, I knew he was still in danger, the door had to be sorted before he was safe and this man I could not communicate with was going to be my hero. He picked up the phone and handed it to me and through my uncontrollable sobs I tried to explain to the main desk what had just taken place. I then handed the phone back. Comprehension and empathy erupted over his face and he hugged me with such compassion.

Sometimes words are not needed especially when emotion is shared.

This was nine years ago and today my Octoboy has gone missing and mostly forgotten. Today my boy is in constant pain. Over the last year or so there have been medical people that should know better and more informed tried to explain the mental state of my son. They tried to convince me the virus he had, had left him so he had forgotten or he did not want to live as he had. Now I tried to get my head around that and it was like watching one of the ugly sisters ram the glass slipper on her foot. It was never going to fit! What they described to me was their theory and not my reality.

It now makes me wonder about the mental state of our mental health providers. We need proper research into mental health, not sticky plasters over physical problems.They so wanted a theory to fit, they ruled out a physical component to my sons health. Unexplained physical symptoms are just that, that is to say the medical profession are just not able with their ability at the moment to figure it out, it does not mean to say we should blame the mind of the sufferer for the lack of knowledge of the medical profession. Perhaps all mental illnesses have a physical element and this need investigating.

If you understand the 80 or so autoimmune illness that have a devastating effect on people, then why cannot they believe in ME? what sort of dangerous situation are we heading for if we give physical control of the health of our nation to Psychiatric theories. Psychiatrists convinced the NHS that Cognitive Behaviour Therapy was a good idea for people suffering with ME. They came up with inappropriate research and trials. Now we have a fresh trial called Fitnet, the coverage has been extensive through the BBC as a treatment like no other they seem to gloss over the PACE trial fiasco. Yet since 2011 a connection has been made to the autoimmune system and ME. Reading the literature regarding Cognitive Behaviour Therapy there is a stark difference between the delivery and I would shameful.

James Gallagher in a radio four program Inflamed Mind sensitively tackles the subject of the autoimmune on psychosis, yet talking about ME he tells how the treatment will  change the way children think of the disease then tells how 'that some activists say that Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) just treats the mind. He omits the fact that the World Health Organisation list ME under a neurological condition and immunoglobulin has been used with some promise around 2011 with ME. .

ME sufferers are so good at managing their pain and determined to be normal, that medical jargon can get away with saying they are fatigued. ME is about the whole body being affected in the most crippling way, not about fatigue. Psychiatrists can not understand or diagnose  PoTS ceolacs and if they could not tell that, why are we giving them control over our health service with regards ME? PoTS or some form of orthostatic intolerance (OI) along with PEM is two of the criteria and Fitnet does not include either. How can we trust them psychiatrists with our bodies when they just want to blame out thinking minds regardless of the ongoing evidence?

Inside my son even now there is Ocotboy meets monkey act waiting to burst out as soon as his body is able. On good days I can see them waiting in my sons eyes. He does not need CBT to get him better, he needs his condition understood and most important of all a cure. Psychiatrists prolong and mask the agony, they do not have the answers biomedical research does!

The sadness I feel looking at my child with hope that some part of his day will be enjoyable, I cannot describe. I reflect on those days I was stressed over the pile of washing powder, how he looked on top of the pile of books when he was young and I wonder who will take the responsibility over those who fall like my son?

Have I Wishful Attitude to Life or Just Plain Silly? A Tilly Moment Debate.

Having to get the car fixed can be a nightmare especially when you live a mile or so from the school and have a son like Angus who thinks it’s a joy to bike. Even better when your mum has to peddle and you’re left in charge of the dog. Both boy and dog love the ride, not for scenery and the serenity of the bike ride per say, but the fact that mum can’t see what you’re getting up-to.

Angus asked if we could take Tink on our unplanned bike ride. I could not think of a reason not too and said I would try to find something to put our little bundle of fun in. Angus said he could hold her, but I explained that this would be a little dangerous to do. The only thing I had that would keep Tinker in was one of the spare haversacks, it had two separate zips. So there was Tink, comfortably sitting in it with her head between the zips looking with anticipation at Angus; that should have been my warning! But as ever too busy to pay too much attention to the little details easily missed, I looked down at my improvisation with some degree of admiration of my ingenuity. Pride before a fall springs to mind here, will I ever learn!

Where do I get the ideas for these sorts of capers, time constraints and a wishful attitude to life, maybe? Though I don’t think a normal haversack is quite the thing to keep the dog in, on a bike, especially when your young son can; unknown to you undo the zip so that the dog can sit on his knee. Even so, I could have coped with all of this, if said son would sit still and was not as heavy as he is. The fact is he knocks my bike off balance at the most inconvenient moments and then there was the cat, mayhem is not good for your soul. Surely, a Tilly Moment if ever I heard one.

Now Angus is a little older I intend to buy one of those attachable links from adult to child bike. Now I reason, if Angus is so far away he couldn’t possible undo the zips. I did think about putting Tink in a basket at the front, either way I have a harness so she should be more contained. I’m not one for giving up even after a few mistakes is this because I have wishful attitude to life do you think or just plain silly?

Ironic that!

This Story is based on true facts but I’m not telling you which ones. The best thing about writing is that you can take a little of this and a little bit of that out of real life and add a little spice to make a whole new dish to devour; it is quite like cooking really. But in essence you have to have the ability to taste and have an imagination not to mention good ingredients to start with. So I would like to take this opportunity to thank my family who are the base of all the characters in this short story who have kindly given their consent and allow me to use them in my blog, bless them.

They play themselves in this Story and I have kept it as true as any writer of fiction can. My friends wonder what it would be like to read my work without knowing me so well and I must admit I do ponder on this too. I know I now have a following of people that I do not know and I welcome you all to the Tilly way of looking at things and hope you enjoy your time on my blog. I would also like to thank all my readers for their e-mails and taking the time to encourage me to keep going and taking the time to read my blog as without you reading there would be no reason for me to write. So with that in mind I humbly say thank you to you all x

Ironic that!

I lay quietly and drowsily reveling in the fact I didn’t have to get up, enjoying the autumn sun glowing through the curtains as it gently kissed my sleepy face. The heating was chasing the chill air out and I nuzzled into the soft pillow. The man beside me stirred and heavy with sleep he slid his arm around me like a boa constrictor and squeezed.

 “Are you pregnant?”

 Perplexed and dazed from my rude awakening my eyes flung open in a reflex action, “That’s not very nice!” I slapped him.

“What - no, I didn’t mean; I had a dream you were, we had to get a new car for the baby”

“ye, ye I’ve heard some excuses to buy a car, but because of a silly dream now that’s pretty lame, anyhow I’m not even late so how could you think such a thing.”

“Not sure” he shrugged.

It had taken us years to make the decision not to have anymore children. As our two now aged ten and eight got on so well, why rock the boat? I was forty and deemed by my ever-loving husband too old to have any more without complications, so this coming Friday was chop, chop day, for him. I eased up on him; maybe it was all playing on his mind. I got out of bed to make a cup of coffee for us, before he went off to work.

When he came down stairs he had a dreamy smile on his tired face.

‘Are you sure you want to go ahead on Friday’, I asked

‘Ye’! A frown covered up that enchanted smile he wears, so to bring it back on his face I said,

‘“Does my bum look big in this?’ Turning around in my over sized silk pjs I wiggled my toush, he affectionately patted it and gave a low rumbling growl of affection. In reality my bum was too big and heart shaped, but he never complained. We enjoyed spending the little time we had before he went to work. Now the children were older they slept in on Saturdays and it was lovely. As he turned to get into his van he smiled an odd sort of smile and I blew him a kiss.

I rushed upstairs to get ready like a little girl, I was excited. I’d taken on a part time job and managed to save enough money to get Kev a large larder fridge freezer for his fortieth. It had a drinks dispenser and I had made room in the shed for the old fridge to keep our ample stock of booze nicely chilled. I’d asked all our friends around for a surprise party for him and he had no idea. I’d just stepped out of the shower when Steve and Bob came through the door bringing in the larder fridge with them, as the children ran down the stairs to see if they could help, I marveled how grown up they were and how helpful they could be now. Everything went swimmingly, the ice was flowing and cold water on tap, a real treat. We all filled the fridges with the party food and drinks for later. When Steve and Bob left, the children and I decorated the living room out, it was great fun. We had finished by lunch time and nothing else needed to be done.

Axl’s was going off with a friend and as the car to take him had just arrived, he was putting on his shoes, when his friend came to the door he started taking off his. They were deep in conversation about play station games; just like any ten year olds the bubble of youth consumed them.

“Hey lads, both of you should be putting your shoes on” I smiled; a worn patient smile, that motherhood plants on your face. Their conversation stopped as both lads looked down and laughed at the pickle they had got them selves into. Now a balancing act pursued as they both propped each other up, while walking and talking to the car at the same time as putting on their shoes. They looked like little old men after too many jars. With a toot of a horn - they were gone. 

I called for Ellarose to get in the car but she was already there and waiting. We were going shopping and then lunch at the “Funny Mans” It was our nickname for our favorite place to eat. The owner made the best carrot cake and bagels and she loved the way he made her feel grown up by bantering with her and talking as if I weren’t there.

We had only been in town for a short while, but both of us had arms full of bags so off we trundled for our treat. As soon as we arrived he called out to his staff that a V.I.P had arrived and that a table had to be found, he winked at Ellarose and asked “The same as usual madam”, with a delighted giggle she nodded and grabbed hold of me for security and to hide her self consciousness.

As I sat there looking at my eight year old that had an outlook and attitude to life like an eighteen year old, I bloomed inwardly. My life was great. I could sit back and enjoy eating, discussing clothes with my daughter in a way my mother and me could never had done. My daughter told me I was beautiful and I should treat my self to the outfit I had just tried on; I held her close and kissed her on the top of her head and said

 “I won’t be able to do that much longer”

“Why?” She asked

 “Because you just keep growing and soon I won’t be able to reach, I keep telling you.” Before I cold finish my sentence she interrupted and with her not again sort of voice with a giggles attached, rolled her eyes with an embarrassed tinge that I find so enduring. She retorted back

“I know but I can’t help growing, can I!”

While we sat there enjoying the good food an idea for a little joke began to form. The whole idea of giving the fridge for Kev’s fortieth was to get him to chill and enjoy life; he was hardly going to do that if he was worrying that I was pregnant. So I’ll do a pregnancy test, show him the negative result and put a note on top of the beer to say “Told you, now enjoy and chill!”

When we got back home the kitchen looked clutter free and not it’s normal homely messiness. I just had enough time to get dressed before everyone arrived.  I took one last look around my quiet house and a surge of contentment thrilled me. I had two beautiful children who were quickly turning into teenagers, I had a part time job I enjoyed; which meant freedom; both time wise and financially. I ran up stairs with glee to check Ellarose had got ready and then started to get ready myself.

By the time Kev had got in and had a shower. I’d had a very large Pims so little giggles kept escaping like bubbles in the air. I rushed him along by saying we had to be out by seven. He had commented on how tidy and quiet the house was, but hadn’t noticed the large fridge freezer, which made me giggle more. I’d just put a little note on the now chilled beer, when another giggle escaped and I smiled a big warm smile. I then remembered I hadn’t done the pregnancy test yet. I ran up stairs and into the on-suite and performed the deed while he finished off getting dressed. But it was I that the last laugh fell upon. I shrieked out

 “Fuck, Bugger” I fell to the floor. He was soon there to find my crumpled form in a limp state.

 “What have you done now’? His bewildered question had no answer as I could not admit any sound from my tightened throat. I could not breathe the feeling of sickness too great.

I held up the test. He held me close and laughed. I looked up at his face in horror to look into a face that was barren of concern or worry but full of the love of a father.

‘I’ve ruined everything I cried’

By the time our guests arrived for his Birthday Party, Kev had calmed me down and was having a ball, telling everyone; while supplying everyone proudly with nicely chilled drinks, of my little joke that back fired and how his intuition was better than mine. We laughed and enjoyed the party but we both knew what this baby would mean. The lack of sleep, no more time together, relaxed eating out a thing of the past, the list was endless. I had to smile though; the joke was, ironically very funny, chill! You gotta be kidding!

Falling off the Tandem

He meant it as a joke I know he did but I’d had enough of it always being at my expense. His idle lip service crazed me and it still does, though these days I don’t take it with a pinch of salt or shrug it off. That constant “what’s he like” face and my eyes rolling to the heaven, took a toll on me and I don’t want to pay that price again.

Looking back that evening was just like any other, no worse, and he wasn’t a bad man, an ok farther but I was trapped in a role I’ didn’t want to play for the rest of my life. I tried to tell him how bad I was feeling but he just laughed it off as light hearted banter. I saw red and instead of cooling off, it bubbled over and in a week I’d left.

I denied the guilt I felt. Leaving just before Christmas was hard on the children and it took a long time for them and me to come to terms with it all. Financially it took a while too; starting at the bottom is always hard, even harder at thirty eight. Motherhood had stripped me of personality, and it seemed employability; eventually though, we made it and now my children were back here living with me. Their farther now puts every effort into fatherhood that I find engaging but rankles me beyond distraction, a form of torture; why practice what I had preached for so long, then not let me be part of it?

 I had spent so many years yearning for us to reap the benefits of our hard labour; him working all the hours and me with the children on my own. Our family and financial outlook had looked great from an outsider’s point of view but on the inside, for me was empty and hollow. Though looking back at it from the outside, Hugh was still a boy even at forty, cocooned as he was from family life, by me.

We’ve moved on and can now talk rather than shout with that animosity we both had over the pain we had received from each other. The children are going from strength to strength. So here I was wondering why on earth I was pounding his head into the washing machine, metaphorically speaking. It was his turn to have the children; which is one of the benefits of splitting up that I enjoy the best, he has just decided that he’s going away. Oh he’s sorry it’s short notice. I slam the door on the washing machine. He does deserve to go away, he looked tired the last time I saw him. There I go again; it’s none of my business or doing any longer. I storm upstairs. Why the hell didn’t he do that when we were together? Going out was only thought of when he was not tired and didn’t have to go to work the next day, so as a consequence we never went out. Picking up my mobile I decide to ring him and tell him I can’t have the children. I was expecting the answer machine and was taken a back when his velvet gravel of deep sexiness came vibrating through¸ again hitting my sensual nerve.

‘Oh! Er, was just getting back to you about this weekend. Sorry I can’t have the children I’m away.’ Letting go was intense, a new experience I was not sure I was ready for.

‘Oh where are you off to?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business any longer’ I curtly replied.

‘I was just, oh never mind, I’ll make other arrangements’

‘Ok, then they’ll be ready at the usual time, Ok?’

‘Ya, fine’

I came off the phone in even more of a bad mood. That was such a bitchy thing to do I thought, I had no plans but I hate being taken for granted and just recently he had started to treat me as though we were married still. No it was the right thing to do, I strengthened my resolve. I so wanted to know what was going to happen to Tim and Eve and who was going to look after them. They needed some prime time with their Dad. Since leaving them that Christmas two years ago my guilt found it hard to not know every detail of their welfare. I also wondered (with a degree of jealousy) where was he off to and with whom?

‘Oh god!’ I threw the mobile on the bed. ‘Shit’. Now I’d have to go some where. Not one of my strengths lying, Hugh would sense my dishonesty. He’d ask the children and if they didn’t know he would get suspicious. I tell my kids everything, big mistake, honesty, definitely not the best policy in these situations.

Why should it matter to me any how if Hugh thought I was lying it was my weekend free from the 24/7 shift of motherhood. Surely that month on his own with the children should have made him more respectful of the time consuming nature of children. Guilt, my guilt I put on myself because I’m a martyr, that’s what Grant would say but I’m just living up to what others expect of me. Lord what a rock and a hard place to get myself into.

I rang the only hotel that I could think of. As it turned out they only had a four poster left, due to a soon to be wed couple cancelling. If that was not ironic enough it was the same hotel we stayed at for our honeymoon. I had wanted to stay in the four-poster but we couldn’t afford it or Hugh didn’t want to waste our money, better things to do with our lives he had said, I believed him but at the time he was the best thing I could spend my time and money on.

Now look at me, talk about Billy no Mates, no one to go with or wanted to go with, how life had changed! The strange thing is I didn’t feel weird about it, quite excited really. Now that was wired!

I rang Pip knowing she would put me straight, if she thought it was a bitchy thing to do I would hear it in her stuttered answer. Pip was the best sound board I had ever found in my life. She had this ripple in her voice that would instantly say are you sure about that, her face an even better indicator of her feelings. So I arranged a coffee conference so I could see that all telling face, a truthful insight to the rights and wrongs of weekend visitations.

Our conferences were always at the best farm shop in the county, where the surroundings were calming with perfect coffee and the best selection of cakes that could be had, which made life a better place for a short time. The word “conference” meant urgent but sounded professional and constructive so if we were overheard by colleagues they would think that we were beavering away. To my relief Pip was free at 11.30 for an early lunch. So with the washing out and the house tidy, paperwork completed I joyfully went off to the reckoning.

As I walked in Pip beckoned me over having got the coffees in and we both decided to give the cakes a miss due to swimwear season that will soon be upon us. Time was short so I told all and I could see that I was right. Hugh had to stop behaving as my husband and a new form of respect had to be found. Out of the last month he had not had or seen the children (mostly because of work) and the only weekend he had off he was going to be on his own.

‘Typical, Stan couldn’t see why Beth had been so upset when he had let her down last week. ’ Pip fumed. ‘It’s not easy being a stepmother with no children of your own’

“Stan the man” (which was my nick name for him) had been part of Pips life for the last seven years. He had lulled her into a false sense of security of a relationship of two equals, sole mates a social up-lift to Pips shy side and in the main they worked well together. Stan was more of a child though; as with most men their rufty tufty, ‘deal with it’ image that they gave off, was a social façade.

‘I was glad though; don’t get me wrong Beth is so sweet and if you could choose a daughter it would be her for me. But I just couldn’t cope with those two rubbing up each other the wrong way all weekend again. I need a rest from confrontation; I get enough of it at work. Stan’s a typical man just thinks he can do what he wants because he works full time, where as his ex-wife is only part time. Therefore she has the time and can do everything else; well you know the reshow it goes.

‘Ali, why have you booked that Hotel?’

I shrugged at her obvious and worried question.

‘You have to stop beating yourself up about the breakup you know.’

I was stunned; I was way over it, being divorced now for nearly two years. But her perception in my experience was always spot on. She had seen what I had not, had known what I could not even try to comprehend. Was booking the hotel a Freudian slip of a yearning to go back and start again. I missed the man I married not the one he had become. Or was it I yearned like a school girl for the man and the marriage I thought I would have?

I smiled trying to hide the realisation I had just come to. Pip knew though, I could see it in her eyes and as she bent her head to break our gaze I was grateful. As ever, my perceptive friend left it to me to come to terms with my denied reality. Love and attraction could never be switched off like you do a tap, perhaps I would ever drip for the thought of love and yearn always for the physical reaction I had for that one mans voice and touch. Talk about a no brainer.

This thought made me determined to find a way of getting over this physical hurdle and to find a place to put the love, so no more harm was done to my fragile and broken heart. I was never going to get answers to why Hugh could not act around me as he did with the children on his own and to why he found me a woman to rib and ridicule, than to talk to and enjoy the company of. This week end was the beginning of a new way to see and to treat myself.

As always a woman starts with her wardrobe and a new haircut. The children enjoyed it and excitedly were telling Hugh as I came down stairs. But because I had inconvenienced him, he didn’t look up and his annoyance vibrated through the air. I didn’t need his approval and inwardly I enjoyed the release of the ties I had been bound by him for so long.

Purposely I had dressed to kill. My curvy figure was hugged by the sensuous material like no other I had ever had; actually I had not possessed a dress, a frivolity I had denied myself by the financial constraints I had lived under for the whole of my married life. He could be under no illusion that this weekend I was off the leash of motherhood and a real woman again. I found it didn’t matter whether he looked or not, I was me, ish, the new me anyhow!

As they got into the car, I locked the front door and got into mine. I was shaking and felt nervous and was not sure entirely why. A weekend on your own to read while drinking pimms without thinking what on earth I had to shop for or prepare or anyone to clean up after was slightly different to having an affair with some gorgeous hunk. But beings I was dressed for it, was my body preparing for the excitement? Well I thought it had a bloody long time waiting, not going to happen. A good romantic novel while drinking pimms was all that was going to happen. I laughed at myself as I caught Hugh’s eyes. Now what was his problem!! They were his children and his responsibilities too, not just mine. It was his weekend and my wind down time, which was long over due and much needed.

My phone rattled on the dashboard and I opened the text before I looked at the number the words hit me and I could feel the blood rush out of the wound. “Will stop all maintenance. You obviously don’t need it!” as I read the stunted words a wave of sadness stung my eyes, was I never to have any relinquished guilt of my own enjoyment? Was this reaction due to the dress or that I could afford to go away. I looked up and out of the windscreen to the man I thought needed a rest and would have given anything but my sole to and saw a hard edge to his features which I knew from experience meant that he thought he was on the side of righteousness and beyond all reproach.

I could have crumpled and run back into the house and cried but this was a new beginning for me and sometimes new beginnings were uncomfortable and painful so get used to it! I told myself turned the key and drove the hour to the five star hotel.

I had blanked my feelings by singing loudly to Curtis Stigers whose pure voice was for me, pure sex. After sex came the elation of calmness and once again I was ready to enjoy the indulgence.

I went to the reception feeling slightly silly and very alone. I signed for the honeymoon suite and took the key while glances were avoided expertly by the receptionist; which made me want to giggle as an embarrassed reaction to my outlandish behaviour but I managed to stifle it. I asked if I could have a jug of pimms sent to my room with that and time to read a good book, I found the embarrassment and the looks were worth it!