Am I Just An Over Anxious Mother? Well actually NO!!!!

Am I an Anxious Mother?

You bet I am!! For two years I have had to drag the medical profession kicking and screaming to accept my young son’s physical illness.

Two years ago I wrote this after I was severely reprimanded for taking my child’s symptoms as a problem, that I must understand that this has an impact on my son's perception? I ask you those symptoms caused me great concern and anxiety, should I just ignore what nature is telling me. 

I have since found out many underdiagnosed and treatable conditions that have caused those symptoms and I wonder how many children and parents are groomed to believe they are mentally ill rather than they are physically suffering. 

How many mothers have been forced quiet by the PACE trial. The lead researchers and advocates could not even determine what recovery meant? For fluff sake this is not an intellectual debate about how far the mind can control the body - this is people’s lives we are talking about!

This is what I wrote:

So it was decided that we must address my anxiety. I acknowledge my anxiety and would hate to inflict this on Angus and agree if I was doing this it would indeed be a very bad thing.

I explained that my anxiety is mostly upped a few notches on the richter scale due to the chronic pain Angus is left with when he has over exerted himself, or enjoys a game, reads a book or film. So what do I do when he is rolling around in pain I asked? Divert the pain and take his mind off of it, the answer came as it always does.

The trouble is all the way through this illness we have been dismissed this way. It is nothing new and it makes the sufferer and career feel as if they are just the ones that are unable to cope. New and old studies and research prove what this illness does to the sufferer’s body physically, but these are just nonchalantly waved aside! It astounds me, and yet I have been forced yet again, to keep him moving and told it is possible to take his mind of the pain, don’t fail him!

While I was being talked down to; with none of my concerns taken or listened to, Angus at this time was in another room with the physio getting out of a chair 27 times and throwing a ball around. And it seems to me no matter how many times I tell everyone in the medical profession that his problem is not moving or lack of wanting to move, it is the fact that when he stops for days and weeks afterwards the pain is constant and unbearable. But it is my anxiety that brings the pain on I’m told; if I do not acknowledge the pain the pain will go away? Perhaps they are right. Last night Angus was more himself – hyper and buoyant full of life. He mentioned he had a headache as he went to bed, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Perhaps the weeks it has taken us to get Angus in a comfortable state, was just a figment of my imagination, I see the pain more acutely as a parent (undeniably true, I would move heaven and earth to stop anything from hurting the people I love) and Angus does not have so much of a problem with it now? Indeed most people who do not deal with it on a day-to-day basis feel this way; we are conditioned to believe that over anxious mothers adds to our children’s suffering. I wonder if a study has been carried out to see how many children’s lives have been saved by these those over anxious mothers.

ME/CFS history has been littered with mothers that are apparently over anxious and distressed. Only for it to be proven this condition is acute and caused by an ongoing infection. There are also many littered children turned into adults left to fester in the belief they are willing themselves ill.

Angus never travels well, he walked through the hospital because they frown on me using a wheelchair, and then they exercised him, knowing full well my concerns. They do not do this maliciously I would hope, but because they believe they are right and that I am over anxious. That is what they have been taught.

The next couple of weeks will show me if I am what they accuse me of. I have decided to live each day as it is, change what you can for the better and keep calm and carry on to be happy x

Well a Year on and he has never recovered from that day. 4 days after that visit to the hospital he was more or less bed bound! We moved hospitals and this is what he has been tested for so far:

Coeliac: Diagnosed two years after Angus became ill with damage to his Villi beyond repair now? Coeliac is an allergy to Wheat that crumples your villi! Without your Villi working, you cannot take the goodness out of your food. So for two years my son has been malnourished.

PoTS; He has just been diagnosed with Postural Tachycardia Syndrome (PoTS) it is an abnormal increase in heart rate after sitting or standing up. Nice was aware of the connection of PoTS and ME and in 2010, they made a note to look into to this further. They have put ME/CFS on the static list, so that it will not be looked into now for a very long time. Why?? This condition can cause so many problems with day to day living and can be life threatening!

Still looking into his connective tissue problems.

I cannot believe how mothers of very sick child are treated. With total disregard to the actual damage to their child’s health and the very physical illnesses they have. As you read this, one of the so called leading Paediatrics into this condition, and one of the only Charities to help mothers and their children are funding a PACE trial for children called MAGENTA.

We are now in 2017 and yet another trial called FITnet-NHS has started and we should all hang our heads in shame. Tymes Trust has had more than 180 parents accused of Fabricating or Inducing Illness (FII).

How does that feel ?https://youtu.be/sjWjCaIoJPs

The leading paediatric in ME/CFS who researchers on children and is doing the FITnet-NHS trial gets the parents involved but look at the wording "address the parents beliefs and behaviour" if you read that would you start to think about the parents involvement in their child's health. I think this needs to be addressed and  the researchers held accountable? Mar-Jane Willows is now part of Action for ME and so this adds to the seeming legitimate questioning of the parent and misinforms about the physical medical problems of ME? 

Dr Ramsey in 1986 yes in 1986!!! For havens sake defined Myalgic Encephalomyelitis:

A syndrome initiated by a virus infection

A multisystem disease

Neurologial disturbance

Musculo-skeletal dysfunction.

So it is not as though we do not understand how it affects the body, but because we have no test a group of psychiatrists could theorise, fudge the figures on a trial paid for by the Department Work and Pensions and get away with it!

Our society would never knowingly groom or harm children would it? Our Government would make sure the right thing is done? NHSE would demand the correct treatment and NICE Guidelines would not recommend a treatment that would harm us? GMC is there to protect the public from malpractice not for other medical practitioners to use it for their will and biding. So how come treatments can harm and not be routed out and the people that use and advocate them can become so powerful?

I do not use the term “groom” lightly, but ME patients are groomed to believe they are capable of living:

It is only when dealing with "CFS/ME" (and Gulf War Syndrome) that these psychiatrists are regarded by Government bodies and the medical insurance industry as "experts". These psychiatrists are on record as being actively involved in social engineering via the deliberate creation of "psychosocial" illness. They believe that the biomedical approach to healthcare (ie. that ill-health and disability is directly caused by disease and its pathological processes) is (quote) "a blind alley" and that the correct approach is the psychosocial one, in which "aberrant" thoughts, feelings and behaviour can be "modified" by their own brand of cognitive behavioural therapy with graded exercise (CBT/GET), resulting in restoration of health and productivity.

Sophia was forcefully taken from her home and put into a mental hospital she died as a result and her autopsy proved how much damage was done to her internally.

http://www.sophiaandme.org.uk/collusion.html

That was back in 2011 when the PACE trial was taking control of ME. 2017 with all the evidence now showing ME is in the blood NICE refuses to budge and Angus?

Well Angus gets no treatment we get no help. We don't have a blue badge due to the PACE trial believers, but that blue badge could give back some of his life.

What of his future? No one can tell me. But we hope the many good researchers will get the funding they need.

Angus is now 12 and has an hours lesson once a week and it takes him four days to recover which is better than the 15 minutes with a weeks recovery. it is progress.

If the flaws in the PACE trial was looked into at the beginning Angus would not be as disabled as he is not?

ME/CFS is bullying Angus again

We are off again to the hospital (30/03/15) ME/CFS is bullying Angus again.

Angus who is acutely aware how this can effect him, questions my judgement on this front. Can’t say I blame the poor little fellow. His thoughts are: his brother is home and is willing to play with him (if and when ever he wakes up) so why should he waste his energy on doing something that will not make any difference at all. His other point is – why should he put himself through the pain of it all?

I have no answers. But we going anyway, what else can I do? This journey of only twenty minutes duration can not have that much of an effect on him? Grit your teeth and carry on?

We shall see, He has defiantly improved over the last couple of days. He has started to doodle and move about much more, so perhaps this is the beginning of his recovery?

I am sceptical, because we have been here so many times before. If you follow this just keep in mind the effects of any exertion can take 48 hours to emerge. Over the next week I will try to post how it all turns out for him, us.

Wish us luck x

Needles in a Haystack

They are looking for tinny needles in a ravaged haystack! Jostling for funding making claim and counter claims, while people struggle to gain some sort of life. I thought to myself as I plunged the toilet brush down and around the u-bend, giving the toilet another good dowsing of cleaner.

This is defiantly going to be a defining Tilly Moment, I smile to myself. I took a few moments to watch the vortex suck the cleaner away. It’s like needles in a haystack on a farmyard of disgruntled animals, I considered with the loo brush suspended in thought. There are a lot of fluffy ducks; I chuckled as I attacked the floor with gusto, a Cockrill, a grumpy donkey that is flogged for being slow. A picture of an idyllic scene popped in my head as the idea gained momentum. Where there are animals, there is normally a lot of… well stinky manure to clean; that’s the story of my life I shruged as I turn on the shower with my determined furrowed brow. I pull up my rubber gloves.

This analogy sums up our knowledge of ME/CFS, Fibromyalgia, MS, coeliac and Alzheimer’s, I continued thinking as I rammed the double duvet in washing in the machine. The salesman had said it would take a king size duvet, but it don’t, frustration started to set in, coupled with my anger, I decided the best cause of action was to sit and write.

If you take the haystack as the central nervous system with the many complex issues hidden inside, that haystack contained within a farmyard (the body of the patient) with many animals (cells, organs, glands and limbs) around it, that are being damaged by ME/CFS (the needles). Even though it has been proven beyond any doubt the needles are there, not everyone accepts this – they cannot see/find the needles, so dismiss the damage being done, choosing to impart the blame to all sorts of behavioural disorders. I purpose it’s not their fault? They don’t appear to possess the intelligence to understand we still do not know all there is to know about the human body. I sip the hot coffee and think. Perhaps they are like the pre-Socratic philosophers who; bless them, believed that the world was flat. Philosophers are full of barmy ideas, but you cannot reason with them, they are all knowing.
Unfortunately the people that have proven the needles exist don’t know what the needles are made from, or how to find them. This means they cannot find the right magnet to locate or get rid of the needles before long-term damage is done.

The poor farmer (the brain or in our case Angus) has been running around shouting about the danger, but no one has been listening. His animals are being hurt (animals being the organs, glands and limbs) are in pain as the needles surge through his/their body. I hold the steamer in mid-air as I once again try to get rid of the toffee on the cooker. I think the Philosophers are barmy, I giggle as I start to write my outline of a story. Here I am thinking in terms of sheep and pigs as though it would make ME more understandable, well it makes it more fun, so I make a coffee and give the story my full attention.

The farmer, I thought needs all of his animals to be fit and healthy, as they make up the ecosystem which makes the farmer’s beautiful and diverse farm. But the longer this situation carries on the more dishevelled his haystack becomes, no matter how hard he tries to rebuild his haystack, another wind comes and blows it down. The animals then are left to forage around picking up bits of hay, and are then in danger of finding the tinny needles and consume them or roll around in them. No graphic illustration needed of what could happen to the animals.

Now the Mother of the farmer has being witnessing his plight, and has watched over a long period, helping as much as she can. She understands that the best thing for the farmer and his animals, is that a huge magnet, but knows the right one has yet to be found or made. Maintenance is the only option open to her for now.
She constantly runs around all the people she can think of to find out how and when the winds will come and bring yet more needles. Some dismiss her and don’t understand about the needles and the winds, which she is surprised about. The concept of winds carrying needles are not new – coughs and sneezes spread diseases.

The wind however is like a swirl of nature that hits at unreasonable times and by the time the disbelieving people come and see the farm; her farmer son has cleared up and hidden the damage. He is a very proud and hardworking farmer, which loves his ecosystem and wants it to work properly. He wants everyone to see the beauty of his farm and not the chaos. His ecosystem runs around plugging gaps as best they can, but they are fighting a loosing battle.

For now the farmers mother has put a huge cover over the haystack, she knows it’s not strong enough if the winds come down again, she knows the animals will nest, pull at and rummage through the haystack, but it is the best she can do for now. The ecosystem shows its determination, but how long can this now flimsy covering contain those sharp implements of destruction? She also knows the cover keeps the haystack dry and brittle and at any moment could burn out! Then how would they be able to sustain the farm animals? She has taken the farmer inside the farmhouse for a rest. But the farmer is all forlorn without his farm and the friends that help him to maintain it all. His mind wont rest, he needs to get on.

People come and go with their new brooms and sweep, taking all the good hay away with them. She shoos them away, but they come back with bigger brooms. She is a strong and determined Mother but that does not bode well to the people who still believe the world is flat and that, positive thought techniques is the only thing that could possibly drive a body to wellness.
At last it’s time to put the animals away for the night and the farmer and his mother start to run around the farm trying to catch chickens, the three Billy goats gruff, geese, fluffy and the not so fluffy ducks, find and catch the errant pig, convince the stubborn donkey it’s time to go in its stable and cuddle daisy the cow. They fall in a heap and laugh about their topsy turvy days. They dream separately for a while of the farm they know they could have.

When  the farmyard falls quiet and the farmer is asleep at last, the farmers mother goes out to the haystack and has a closer look, ties down, as best she can the flimsy covering. Sweeps the debris and pushes it under, hoping it will be contained and out of harm’s way. She walks slowly to the hill near the duck pond; her favourite spot. Her faithful dogs by her side, she starts to wonder at the magic the farm holds, as the sun sinks on another exhausting day, where the animals have ran rampant through the haystack.

She reflects on when they found a beautiful butterfly struggling to fly in the wind. How they both giggled with joy when they caught it, and put it in the huge greenhouse full of plants so that it could be free to fly without the winds hindrance. How it danced and bobbed around on the warm breeze of the ventilation fans. She hopes they will be able to see it tomorrow. But you can never tell with butterflies, fleeting beauties as they are. Perhaps she can draw one. She looks across the sky to see the stars and the silvery moon, there are a lot of things to marvel at and a lot of people that will never take the time to see what happens to be in-front of them. She hoped that she was not one of those people.

We had once been told that the world was flat and if we set sail we would drop off the end, and look how that ended, she smiled to herself. What if we just took the word of those people who said our world was flat? She remembered she had been told that infants didn’t feel pain when they teethed, and that nappy rash was most defiantly not caused by the infant teething, when it was so clearly the cause, she started to giggle. Scientists said it was impossible that Bees could fly, due to the aerodynamics of their shape, but they do. ‘I love honey’, the farmer’s mother laughed to herself. ‘Sometimes’ she whispered out loud, ‘we see and we don’t look, we hear but we don’t listen, we think we know, but simply, we don’t understand.’

Most people choose not to listen to her, for she is just the farmer’s mother, and no one will listen to her farmer son, as he is considered too young to know what the world is about. Worst of all, some think he would rather have a dishevelled farm with no ecosystem. How little some intelligent people want to understand, or open their mind to. But as always there is money to be made in muck. She sighed and her shoulders sagged.

She had read that Katerina Netolicka, a Prada Model, died from working out too much, she was only 26. Rowing as hard as he could didn’t do Andrew Marr any good either, and that Henry Worsley died after developing a serious gut infection, when he had pushed his body to the point of no return, he was only 55. He thought he just needed to rest and recoup. Why is it that we think we can push our bodies so hard with no detrimental effects? She mutters as she looks across at the purple huge that covers the slumbering farm, they don’t see the chaos because they don’t look for it, they can just deny it happens, because we all cover it up.

She looked out over the flat land with its shades of purple darkness and up to the moon, now plump and round in the sky, if only they lifted their chins and really looked at that the silvery moon, they would understand that this world is round, full and slightly surreal, and that’s ok! If only they could offer a blanket to keep her warm, so that she may enjoy the moon and not fight the cold of despair, it would be a help.


Change what you can, and learn to live with what is left, she softly said to herself.

Prof Julia Newman has found some very interesting needles

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UFTngBp7ek

And here with Simon Ellis they give a good understanding to the full round picture emerging of the complexities of ME.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auFEYiDrJts

They need all our support and encouragement! One day I feel sure, they will come up with an answer for us. A day where we can go to a doctor and feel confident they will understand, and do no more harm to us!

ME\CFS Is a Big Fat Bully

Tilly Don't Like Bullies!

A month ago I explained the constant circle that Angus and I are in, expecting that circle to be broken at some point as the weather changes. In fact Angus managed to get back to school for a few hours each day and we extended that time by an hour on returning back after half term. He was more tired but we expected that. But suddenly on 29^th February and Angus broke out again in soaring temp (40 +) and painful hips. A trip to the hospital confirmed my fear, ME/CFS has struck again and this latest symptom is unlikely to go away any-time soon.

Angus, it has to be said has taken this on the chin - I really don’t know how he does it! Perhaps by naming and shaming ME/CFS it no long can bully us, we know we have to fight and that is exactly what we will do!

Our battle this morning is to find something Angus can eat. His appetite has depleted and his sense of smell, taste distorted. His most favourite foods are now hard for him to face. Children with this condition are labelled fussy eaters, but would a child really turn down ice-cream if it was their mostest favouritetest kind ever!! And normally would have walked over hot coals or sand to eat it? I think not fussy, just too ill to eat!

With this in mind I went down stairs and made some toast, put cereal in a bowl on the same tray and went into the lounge to have breakfast with Angus. Angus tires out when sitting at the table, and I have found if we have a slow start to the morning he gets less headaches, and has more energy later on. I ask him if he would like a drink. His anxiety hits the roof because he does not know if he is thirsty. He flaps like a chicken who knows it’s for the butchers block, comical and I find I have to stifle a laugh. I go and get a glass of water from the kitchen, and hand it to him, while I hold his hand. He looks at me with those confused eyes, and begins to focuses on the reassurance on my face, takes a sip and starts to calm down.

‘I don’t want to eat mum, I feel so sick’

‘I know my boy, but you have to try, your body needs energy.’

‘I know’ he replies with that resigned voice that yells at my heart strings ‘you unfeeling bitch’. I sit and eat the toast that I would rather be porridge with blueberries, but the blueberries smell make him feel even sicker, and I need to encourage him to eat. He munches on dry cereal dutifully. With each swallow I see his struggle. When he finishes he shows me his empty bowl. We smile, as the first days struggle is over.

‘Are we going for a walk today mum’ he asks,

‘No I think we will play with the dogs in the garden’ His face falls ‘how about we set up some jumps for them?’ I encourage him, he smiles and our second struggle begins. Angus now has to rest so that at 11 am he will be able to play with the dogs in our garden. Yesterday we went for a walk and we got down the road when his fatigue hit like a bolt out of the blue. His legs went to jelly and he was incredibly dizzy. Car drivers are not very considerate of a dog walker with two dogs and a ME/CFS child.  I was a little scared to how I was going to make the 300 yards back home, and now find I am a little hesitant about putting myself through that again. Even without the dogs I would not be able to carry Angus back home. Tilly also hates Car Bullies!!

Some hope from http://www.ayme.org.uk/news

On Friday 27^th February, there has been some coverage of new research into ME/CFS which is being described by the researchers as ‘the first robust physical evidence’ that ME is biological condition. This means it is not in your mind and cannot be controlled by your mind! 

Dr Esher Crawley, Reader in child Health, School of Social and Community Medicine, University of Bristol who has had some funding and is supported by AYME, said:

"Studies of biomarkers are important to help us develop hypotheses about this important illness.”

You can read her full report on the link above. In reality it means that they now know without a shadow of doubt that there is a biological cause to the immune dysfunction in many conditions. They now have to track down, through a parallel project how and why the dysfunction for many conditions are triggered and target treatment - at the moment there is no treatment available.

If they can establish this biomarker, this will then become the foundation of understanding this very complex illness causes doctors and will be able them to diagnose and treat suffers. It is a big hope, but a hope all the same.

After CBT and GET they promised recovery, what happened?

We now know how harmful Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) and Graded Exercise Therapy (GET) is in 2019. Yet the reluctance to take it down is in my view criminal and against Every Child Matters.

Living with a child with ME/CFS


For the last couple of years Angus has been struggling through constant viral infections, they keep going around in constant circles. Sore throat > painful glands throughout his body > cold sweats > low body temperature >headaches > stomach cramps > willy infection > ear infection > sickness and diarrhoea > repeat. Slowly the fatigue set in, and not in the way I understood fatigue; as fatigue to me was a warm uneasy inability to stay awake or move, for Angus its pain. Predominately it’s his head that hurts, with his tummy going in and out of spasms. When these abate he realises his whole body aches. The symptoms he describes are those you have when you first have flu. We can all remember how awful flu can be, but my little boy at 9 years old has these symptoms all day and most days.

Last year we got him back to 70% of his former self by August 2014 which took us a year. In early September he had a slight relapse, I was told to push through. When I questioned this they turned on me, by end of October we had lost 50% of that recovery and now we are down to where we started from. Since the end of term of winter term 2014, he has been on the loop described above constantly.

Graded exercise and keeping him mentally strong are the only things we are given to combat the symptoms and the condition seems to be rampaging through his body none stop now. Trembling as he grips onto me, he asks for my help to stop the pain, and when it will ever end. I hold and kiss him, but can give no answers as there are no answers they tell me and no real clinical trials, or research to give us a way forward.

So it has to be said I’m a floundering fish. I need to relax and stimulate Angus but never over stimulate. He must rest, but not for too long! One of the symptoms is insomnia (he can’t relax to sleep as he is in so much pain) but he needs to sleep to recover. He needs to eat regularly and keep his day normal, but if he does asleep late does this mean - I wake him and force feed him, or let him sleep and rest? Fluffy ducks I can’t tell. But I know this much – I have to stay positive (while I have very little to be positive about) and determined.

This morning (12 January 2014 7.30am) I went into his room at the normal time and kissed and held him while he tried his hardest to wake. But I left my angle to slumber and now at 9am I will again try to wake him by reading for a while, hoping to try and wake him up slowly, and cross my fingers that I’m doing the right thing. As I wrote the previous sentence he came in the kitchen to find me, bent double in pain, grey in complexion, active in mind, foggy of thought, deflated in spirit. My resolve sank deep as my heart fell, but it’s my job to inflate him with life, and hold him tight and say it will be all alright?

Now our daily struggle begins. We are not alone; all around us and the world there are people making the best of their day, in pain and in anxiety. How will we cope? Thinking of them, knowing they are there and coping with grit determination, that’s how I intend to cope, knowing I am not alone and I will grab a smile and send it to you.

Wish us luck, have the best day you can, and smile at least once for us x

It is now November 2016 and now with the the right advice from a world renowned paediatric Doctor Speight I have learnt how to support my son into a better place and lets hope recovery. Reading back over this post it is tinged with sadness.

The sadness has less to do with the disability that my son lives with constantly now and more to do with the people that perpetuate the cycle of harm.

It is now so apparent that Autoimmunity is at the heart of this disease

Update on Angus 17th October 2019

Well he is not doing very well at all and in the same place I left him in 2016. I am shocked that still autoimmunity is not looked at especially with young children who are newly diagnosed neither is Lymes and still mothers are targeted as the perpetrators of the their child's illness.

There is much nonsense about anxiety and that appals me and I have learnt my lesson about not waking him when he is in recovery from activity. When you feel your body fail you have anxiety that is only human and a safeguard when you look at the damage done by any activity to the patient with ME then it is not hard to understand.

Those that find it hard to understand the human process of coping with a failing body should not be in healthcare.

Well Flapjack Monday I'm a Working Mother

You need a good flapjack, especially on a Monday. This Monday I needed them even more. Ella Starts her GCSE’s and Axl his A’s and my nervous breakdown is about to kick in. If ever there was a time I needed my oats, honey and almonds it was now! But alas the oven was too hot, the recipe not quite tweaked enough, and multitasking was my down fall. I kid you not when I say I had to get a chisel to chip away at the dried and burnt offerings. 

Ella – ever valiant smiled at me in that ‘Oh mum you really try’ sort of way she has that always brings a tear to my eye. And even though we both knew it was not up to my normal standard, we made the best of a bad job.

I took some into work; well I needed something to soak up all the coffee I had been drinking. Stay Calm and drink coffee was my motto of the day. I handed out my offerings which were greatly received, and it made me smile as one golden almond encrusted oat went flying across the room hitting a beam of light as it swivelled in full flight. Good job I thought that it didn’t hit anyone, it could have taken someone’s eye out and you all know how I am with health and safety in the work place.

This evening I came home and tweaked the recipe a little and a little less heat in the oven, with a lot more concentration and the outcome was much more of that comfort melting extravaganza that we all so needed. Happy faces all round just what you need to keep the stamina up.

Tilly’s Flapjack Monday recipe

1 pack of unsalted butter (250g)

75g of brown sugar

3-4 tb spoons of honey

1 tb spoon golden syrup

50g flaked almonds

500g rolled oats

Melt the butter, brown sugar, honey and golden syrup. Add the almonds and rolled oats and taste adjust honey and golden syrup to your liking. Place into a swish roll tin and bake between 12 – 15 mins at around 150 in a fan oven until lightly golden.

Make a coffee or any beverage that will make you take you time to savour this indulgent pleasure I added a few blueberries so I could say it was healthy. As any working mother knows just being able to bake a simple treat and have a little time to sit and reflect is a wonderful pleasure. Even more of a pleasure, when you have perfected the recipe and shared it with family, friends and workmates.  

I wanted to take pictures and show the results of my labour but time chaises on and if I move away of my laptop, I'll start to wash up and would never post this, Oh and I'm sorry for speaking with my mouth full x 

HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS, FRIED OR POACHED?

I wrote this short story after a couple of conversations I had with family, friends and with a lady waiting in a doctors surgery. That chance meeting - fleeting though it may have been, thought provoking most definitely, made me smile and keeps me smiling. 

I hope this story does that for you too.

________________________________________________________________________________

"Now there are some things you just have to learn to live with, Esmay my girl!” I told myself as I did a double take at my reflection in the mirror – I was bemused by my altered shape. A mound of clothes lay on the bed, I’d tried the whole of my wardrobe on.

The very attractive surgeon had given me perfect poached egg boobs that suited my hips, and made me look in proportion. I’d taken a bit of convincing, the double mastectomy wouldn’t make much difference to me really I had thought. How wrong I was. Clothes flattered my shape now. It was pleasingly different, and I was glad I had taken his thoughtful advice. Was it all worth it at the age of sixty though? Soon to be wrinkled up, and too decrepit to move, let alone strut my stuff. I laugh at my own silliness as I strike poses in the mirror.  Was I sixteen or sixty, I sometimes wondered.

Was it God or my parent’s genes that had given me fried eggs as boobs, no it was Mother Nature having a laugh! Nature had a habit of rubbing salt into sore wounds. I would watch as they filled out when I was breast feeding to a lovely D cup, I liked Dave’s face when he saw them. I was always hopeful they would stay that way, but they deflated like balloons afterwards, looking not dissimilar to tassels on a stripper. For months afterwards I would mope around and my ego and libido would be as flat as my chest.

Now the artificial ones protruded from my body, disconnected, and I wondered if they would ever feel part of me. They looked good though, all dressed up and perky. That salt rubbed a little deeper when I think how Dave would have liked the look of them too. This new life of having a body shape I liked, without a husband to show it off to was just plain sad. He didn’t like the idea of me getting implants, but it’s now one of my life’s biggest regrets, we could’ve had a lot of fun with them. Now they were just for show, that sort of fun was a thing of the past for me.

Why had I agreed to go to this blooming dinner party? I close my eyes before I walk out of my cocooned sanctuary, and taking my resolve I set out to do battle once again with life and this new reality of mine. Kaz would not take no for an answer, if I tried to hide she would find me, if I found a plausible excuse not to attend she would dismiss it, so I might as well get it over with. She is my closest friend, support and my foundation. Full of life, fun and a great cook, a goddess, but was that going to be enough I wondered, as I walked the familiar path.

“It’s just the normal crowd they’ll help you through it. You’ll be fine.” Her voice popped in my head. I trusted her judgment, but I didn’t trust myself. I hope I wasn’t going to let her down. “You won’t let me down” she had earnestly told me. But I’ve lost the ability to keep my bitter sharp acid to myself, I was sure it would slip from my thoughts to my lips without any provocation. I had once prided myself on the empathy I could give, now I felt so sorry for myself, and I couldn’t endure my condescending attitude to others misfortunes, now that I understood the meaning of misfortune.

Pulling hard on my bootstraps I rang her doorbell.

            “You look stunning Esmay.” Vincent was honest and straightforward, so I knew he meant it, it wasn’t just a pleasantry. I smiled at him as he handed me a large glass of my favourite wine. He took me by the shoulders and squeezed as his wonderful reassuring eyes gave me strength, and his gentle kiss gave me warmth.

The familiar good natured chatter filtered through to the hall and called me to join them. I hesitated but Vincent, with his supportive hand in the middle of my back guided me into their kitchen. Kaz was cooking lamb, and an explosion of aromas hit my taste buds that did a little jig of joy. She floated over with appetizers. A one arm hug held me with love and I felt drained and just wanted to crumple to the floor. Vincent topped up my wine, and I ate an olive. They were such an attractive couple, I smiled as my heart dropped – I had been like that not so long ago.

People mingled through the large homely elegant space, and out to the garden. Like feathery wavelets, they parted and quietly babbled, eyes avoiding me in kindness. Each dear friends face, trying to control the emotion within. I kissed them, releasing the confines of empathy to a much easier to breath normality.  I joined in the babble, catching up with what I had missed.

I caught glimpses of a new face that moved amidst the familiar ones. Questions he was answering with his caustic politeness pulled at me, compelling me to listen. His voice – that was mellow and smooth had self depravation lingering in his undertones, a humour that I warmed to, and understood. Kaz stood in front of me and comically the striking man bent his head round, so he could keep eye contact with me. I broke the connection as Kaz offered another olive. I took it and looking past her, took a bite. He smiled a warm inviting smile, I focused back on Kaz. She was assessing how I was doing, happy with my progress. She looked over to where my eyes were being drawn to, we looked into each other, she smiled, winked, and offered another plump black olive.

Dave would say “offer Esmay a glass of crisp chilled white wine, with olives and you will see the lighter, sensual side of her come out to play.” I shook my head at her as our broadening smiles became mirror images.

            “His name is Albie, but don’t hold that against him.” I roll my eyes

            “How could I with a name like Esmay.” we both giggle, she touches my arm. I notice he’s making his way over to us. With sheer panic rising I grab Kaz and say a little too loudly

            “Sure I’ll give you a hand.” Albie’s eye’s narrow as I propel Kaz over to the oven.

            “You girls ok?” Vincent pours yet another large glass of wine for me.

            “She has clocked Albie, but run out on him.”

            “You two have set me up.” I accuse.

            “No we wouldn’t do a thing like that would we Vinnie.”

Vincent’s deep chuckle gave the game away. You have to love friends that care and I bit my lip hard. I roll my eyes and take a large sip, well more of a gulp.

            “The starter is ready people, go sit.” Kaz announces so I wouldn’t have time to retort.

She had sat Albie and me opposite each other on purpose, no doubt. We could access each other better that way. I knew how her mind worked, and she knew I would take full advantage of it. I was in the process of doing just that, when I got caught out by his penetrating stare. His jaw was resting on his thumb, as his index finger stroked from ear down to jaw in pondering strokes. It was sensual and provocative. I decided – or rather the olives and wine had, not to flinch at his perusal, but to give him the same consideration. I’m glad I did, for his eyes mellowed, seeping out their secrets, and humour.

Those plump black olives with their hint of chilli, readied your mouth for the caramelised goats cheese squares that Kaz had lovingly laid down for us. Albie’s eyes closed as the flavours devoured him. I found it very pleasing to watch.

I was in trouble again, he had noticed my intense gaze, and was now just as intently watching me, making me more aware; if that was possible, of my new appendages. I wasn’t used to having a cleavage. Every time I looked down all I could see were my boobs it seemed. My spatial awareness was a little off kilter too, and as I past my plate, I knocked the knife off with one of them.

I had recovered by the time the next course was placed in front of me. Nonchalantly I started to cut the soft succulent slow cooked lamb, the aroma of which danced a pirouette with the roast potatoes and lush deep gravy. Normally there would  be nothing getting in the way when cutting food either, but the still soar and bigger boobs made lifting the fork to mouth difficult. Food had to take a different path now, and raised the perplexing question of – should I go around and over the top, or underneath and through the middle. Childishly I was amused by the challenge, and I felt the wine take effect and a giggle escaped.

I let the conversation skip past me; it seemed to the annoyance of Albie, who obviously wanted to know who this mad woman was. Without being introduced and across the table from, he felt decorum didn’t permit him to intrude, which amused me even more. I shouldn’t have had those naughty olives with the wonderful wine; this combination always had a frivolous effect on me. Dave was right and Kaz knew what she was doing. Should I care? “Oh no, we think not!” said the wine and olives together.

Craig, bless him thought everyone knew about my circumstances as we were among old friends, forthright as ever, loudly stated from the other end of the very large table.

            “Looking good Esmay”, He made a schoolboys gesture with his squeezing hands in-front of his chest. “They suit you!” A sharp kick from his wife, and a held anxiety rippled around the table. I let out a forgiving giggle, which made the smile come back on Craig’s loveable face, and with relief let the tension go from everyone.

I really didn’t blame him, but as I looked at Albie his preconceived ideas stung like a bunch of nettles given to me as a bouquet. The tangible tension made every eye around the table go in our direction.

            “Men get motorbikes as a midlife crisis, women it seems get facelifts or new boobs” Albie’s disappointment gave out a stunned silence that looked sympathetically at me, which I answered in my new caustic way.

            “I thought with my new improved boobs I’d get a couple of tattoos, I expect you disapprove of them too?”

            “Depends what they are I suppose.” His eyes challenged mine. I waited until he took a good sip of his smooth red wine, before I answered him.

            “Well next week I’ll be getting tattooed nipples to go with my reconstructed boobs, do they count?” He spluttered and Kaz gave him a napkin. He was gracious with his reply.

            “Beats love ‘n’ hate, which is what I’ll be getting across my arse for that, I’m sorry I should’ve thought.”

            “You’re forgiven. I don’t know why the surgeon took it upon himself to give me pert poached ones instead of my flat fried ones. As far as I can see they only get in the way.” An eruption of laughter went through the dinner party. “He assured me though they would balance out my hips as nature should’ve intended. He didn’t tell me they take a bit of getting used to.”

            “They do, what I mean is not getting used to as I wouldn’t know, but balance out your hips” for the first time Albie smiled his true and honest smile, the one that people have hidden most of the time. It was glorious and heart warming.

            “Are you saying I’ve got big hips?” feigned upset hit my voice just at the right note.

            “Sorry big foot, and even bigger mouth, I’m not forgiven then?”

            You’re forgiven… but I think I should make you suffer a little. What is so wrong with enhancing them anyhow? I could’ve done with my D cup when my husband was alive, life would’ve been a lot more fun.”

            “My wife enhanced hers and died of cancer three years later, that was not fun.”

            “My husband died of testicular cancer without enhancements… at least I don’t think he had any that wasn’t much fun either, and well look what happened to me. Mother nature is a fickle.”

            “Woman.”

            “You got me on that one.” Breath held at our combined misfortunes,the black humoured tête-à-tête suspended our friend’s faces in contorted silenced laughs, until we released them with our own. The ripples of which eased the subject matter, unrestricting the concerns we all felt, and the opinions we all held. Twisting and turning those opinions altering their course.

            “Well Esmay, which do you prefer?”

            “Life is such a bitch Craig, what can I say, I’ve always hated fried eggs, much prefer poached. I made do for years; much good that did me. Now Dave said he preferred fried, but I wasn’t convinced. He always asked for two poached eggs on Sunday mornings.” The ironic innuendo made me laugh “now I’ve got them I don’t know what to do with them, but like you said they look good.” and I rose my glass in a salute, Albie made it a toast though.

            “Fried or poached, you have to love them.”

THE END

WHAT A DREAM CLOUD

There is something rather nice about sharing nibbles, a pot chilli, and nachos with free flowing wine and conversation. Children and young adults can put you in your place and give you a perspective rarely thought of when nearing your fifties. Everyone without exception should revisit their younger self and dream on a cloud from time to time.

This evening after a rather fraught week my children, friends and relatives reminded me of the cloud floating time in my youth. You see I love riding motor bikes (fine weather only) I love the way it opens your senses and encourages you to float with your minds free thoughts.

I’m eclectic in taste and frame of mind. So riding down to Kent bike show one year I was looking forward to the diverse experience and decided to camp, but not to rough it totally. Kev thought he hit the jackpot when I jumped at the chance of going to this roughty toughty wet-t-shirt consumed two day show. A two man tent was his only concession he thought, I thought a double air-bed was in order and a change of clothes. Have you ever tried to get a double air-bed in a two man tent, or a change of clothes in panniers? Well from experience let me tell you it is not easy with either. Take the air bed in a two man tent, when you have the damned thing in place it bulges out the sides and pulls down the top so the canvas touches your nose. It was hilarious at the time but reliving it with people who see me only as upstanding mother of three –it was sublime.

View points and opinions of me changed, shifted and (most pleasing of all) broke. Lack of money and extra responsibility really do make you a two dimensional character.

This coming year I hope to take my bike test (just don’t tell Kev, the thought of me riding his Harley will fill him with fear) and ride once more the rolling hills on my own bike. But is this just a dream, one of those floating clouds of thought that just pour down in responsibility, until that very fine and beautiful cloud disintegrates. I do hope not, I want to be that three dimensional character, effervescent, and all floaty person I used to be.

What floaty dream cloud do you have, that frothy bit of your character that you hide from responsibility? don't be shy share it with us.

The Joy of Her

A while ago a very dear friend wanted some help writing down a story that contained her thoughts. She had cared for her mum through her illnes and as often happens when someone you love and depend on leaves you - so many emotions curl you up into a tight ball of sorrow, called grief.

Like the roses here (taken from Pearl's garden) as the tight buds opened up the beauty wrapped within the flowers uncurled, you could see the love blosom.

The Joy of Her

I see the joy of my mum in roses, her gentle ways, the way she wrapped us up in petals of love but I don’t think she knew how to nurture us as she nurtured her garden. I think that was our gift to her.
 
She was brought up in a time when no encouragement was deemed necessary I suppose, but it would have been nice to have heard the words ‘you did good!’ I sort of took it personally until I decided to plant the rose bush in celebration of her joy. I got to thinking; which is probably my problem of over analysing life, it’s the times we live in I think. We have to be accountable for each action we give a child these days, not the same for mum. She just wanted a family, it was enough and I guess we didn’t have to achieve to make her happy and being proud just wasn’t her thing, giving love was more my mum’s style.

As I dig the hole to bury the strong roots of the rose bush I have chosen and as I look at them I see my foundation from which my family has grown. Each branch strong and sturdy with shoots of beauty ready to flourish if I tend to them. It was then I understood why she loved gardening and arranging flowers so much. Lovingly you put everything you have into it, and at a distance – you admire. With us it was the same she watered and fed us, our every needs were met, and not until now – as my hands feel the earth have I given it a thought. She nurtured her grandchildren because she could not love them as she had us. She had to stand back and enjoy her love blooming through us to our kids. God I hope I can learn that lesson – how to back off and let my boys grow, enabling them to find their own roots so they too can bloom.

She had an acceptance in life that many of us take a lifetime to try to achieve, scholars spend decades trying to reach the Zen like state she found so easy. I’m not sure how deep the resentment of that quality goes actually. She had a profound inability to tell us off as children, I saw it as a weakness that always ended in laughter. Through her illness – that took her away from us bit by bit, she refused to try to understand it. That simplistic acceptance made me so angry at times. I now see it as a strength I envy.

Cooking, being with her family, holidays to Portugal, playing cards was her enjoyment but it was the looks and words she gave her grandchildren that was her joy. It’s what I miss the most and as I stand back and look on at all the rose bushes that glisten in the summers rain, for the first time I can see my glory. So why am I so angry? I have so often thought about this while in my garden tending my flowers and I think it was because I never told her or allowed myself to see it…. that I have finally seen and understood what she saw so clearly…. my beauty.

To Pearl and her family

X

I hope you  agree she did 'do good' and I'm very proud of her. Lots of love

Suffolk County Council The Stealth Bombers of the Education System

With the news of the bankers breaking all around us it is hard to take in how our society is. But we have always known, haven’t we? You walk a hundred yards down any street and you will hear the common people of this land, voice the common and pragmatic approach. They know when they are being hoodwinked, it has always been that way, and bullies have always enjoyed power and find it hard to say that they are wrong.

The government has sent the stealth bombs of deceit that has been falling down on our schools. Bombs veiled in a parents wish to do the right thing for their children and their teachers. The devastation is hard to see – a hidden crater in our education system, covered loosely by twigs of statistics.

As far as I can see, there are three phases to these cluster bombs. The first cluster has done their job well. They have fragmented the teachers, parents and information, dividing us in order to conquer us. One by one our schools have fallen. Stowmarket Middle school the latest to close, no announcements made. Now so close to the end of the academic year what can anyone do? Bactons fate is sealed. No information has been given out willingly, no plans have been shown, no structure put into place just teachers fighting for a jobs, funding and salaries.

Second, take all the best students and put them in a few schools. Bacton, will be taken over by a free school, so adding to this phase. Does it make sense – picking the best pupils and putting them altogether? What happens to the rest? The council try to show us how the middle schools have been failing, but are they?

These schools have done their best with the majority of lower achieving or troubled students. How is it going to improve, certainly not by taking space from our primary schools to make room for the extra classes and overloading our high schools!

Bacton primary school set aside a room for those children with social issues. They had a safe place to learn about empathy – something that is hard for some children with learning difficulties. This protects the class from disruptive behaviour allowing the teacher to get on with teaching, this along with half of the new library will be taken away to allow another classroom. A playground and the swimming pool will have to go too. Soon primary schools with 200 or less pupils will close and what will happen then to the primary schools that are left?

All through these so-called discussions, meetings hurriedly arranged so parents find it hard to attend let alone gather information together. The Plans and changes are always conducted with the middle schools left out in the cold?  Divide and they have conquered us. They have veiled our concerns to hide the ticking bombs and made us parents hold them in silence.

The third and final phase is the sixth form, now what will happen to them? No one has been told – a shrug implies they will stay as they are but how can they with an extra 200 pupils on site.

What is their ultimate game plan to improve education? Surely, the two-tire system will give greater consistency. Well very little true information and a lot of misinformation has been given so it is hard to guess. Maybe a few top schools in the area that make it all look good are the best we can hope for. And the rest? Well the other schools will have to do what they can.

In the reforms that endlessly go around in circles of harping back on the past. It seems to me a few things get forgotten – educating teachers to teach is vital but rarely mentioned. Children are not robots and with more children with learning difficulties this seems to me this should be the priority.

Parent teacher Associations should take pride in providing fun equipment for their children. Supported by the governors the teachers would feel valued. Valued teachers teach well.

The reality is not everyone can teach. We should all be able to understand that children are difficult. A quiet child is hard to engage just as much as an enthusiastic disruptive one but blame seems to take over and this is an error society can not afford.

A good standard of teachers – supported by parents, facilities and Heads

= Engaged and happy students secured with understanding

of what is expected of them behaviour and exams

gives good education

It is not hard to work that out!

This is a letter that I have sent in the vein hope it will be read before a meeting that I have just heard about takes place. In reality I'm not sure how much difference it will make but I thought we lived in a democracy, the way this has been handled I don't think we do.

The impact of restructure is a mighty one and at the moment we just seem to keep going through endless circles of change for the better? I think not. Why restructure when you can think wisely and tinker, to get things right.

My name is Tina Rodwell I was educated in a two-tier system in Cambridgeshire, and I’m dyslexic. I was in the lowest classes at school; my teachers and I were exasperated with the situation. They thought I could do better and saw intelligence and blamed lack of effort on my part for my exam results. I just thought I was thick because I could not learn the way they wanted me too.

My husband’s education, caught up in the struggle of putting the three-tier system in place was unsettled. Parents at that time, being told it was a good system. I firmly believe with the right support it could be. If children going up to the middle school were “buddied up” with their pier group of the previous year and again when they first go through the high school, transition would not be a problem. That way there would be no six weeks of worry over the holidays to what would be expected of them or what to expect. I believe this is what the pyramid system was all about and was persuaded of its merits.

My daughter went through a year of turmoil when teachers left because they thought Bacton was going to close.

My eldest son at Stowupland has had drop out teachers with constant replacement teachers. The biggest issue with schools no matter where you live or system you use, is keeping good teachers. I would guess that the conflict between school in fighting – caused by the uncertainty and their hands bound by the job they do, must be unbearable. Overall they are – people that want and need to teach.

All three of my children are dyslexic and have dyspraxia tendencies and a thing called Irlen syndrome. It does not matter to me what you call it but I do understand that we all learn in different ways – people and therefore children are not pre-programmable items. We live in a diverse society yet we still put constraints on it. This is used as a very valuable commodity by government when putting forward fluid statistics to support their ideas, after all it sounds good.

My eldest son wants to be a doctor and would, I think make a good one, but with his disabilities being misunderstood, and lack of consistency of teachers this is unlikely to happen.

The impact of rhetoric of government makes it all sound so plausible but expects us (the bound and gagged public) to walk a walk we instinctively know has no foundation and does not work.

Teachers are not allowed to express themselves, neither are the governors of our schools and trying to get a polite and courteous reply to a simple question has so far been beyond the council.

On Tuesday 26^th 0212 a meeting is to be held in Stowupland high school where no independent parent representative will be asked to attend and they will only discuss one proposal, my question is why?

This has been going on for six years and my children have suffered. Yet I was told to be quiet in one of the first meetings held, as this would not concern me, my son at the time was too young so this would not effect him. My family has been and will continue to be badly affected, with the coercion during this process unforgivable.

My daughter will be at high school taking her A levels when the restructure takes place. She will not know what school or teachers she will have through her A levels. How is this going to work for her and her teachers?

My youngest will be forced to stay in a Victorian school with substandard facilities with two extra year groups. He will no longer have subject specific teachers going into his sixth year of education. Let me just clarify that. He will have one teacher that will teach all subjects with no subject specific equipment.  He will have to wait until he is 11 going in 12 before he will be able to get to school safely (I kid not have you seen the primary schools in these areas) there will be no question of walking our children to school and no proper exercise at school.

He wont have a dining hall he can comfortably eat in, don’t get me started on toilets, a football pitch, tennis court so sport will be out.

Maths teacher and the equipment that they need in these computer frenzied times.  No support for English, not to mention the Sciences, but it is the teachers I morn the loss of, without the teachers what is the education system and that is what this proposal will take away form Angus.

My Question is for what or whose benefit are we changing the system?

Even after two more meetings have taken place, I still have no reply.

Walking along to the linnet’s song feeling the pulse of nature beneath her feet, Clair’s smile was as warm as the sun. This is what she had worked so hard to have. She had made a dash for some tranquillity in her life and had found it here in a small village in Suffolk.

She had reached the old oak tree her three dogs already knew the drill, and were wandering off sniffing the ground for hares, rabbits and deer. She was eclectic by nature and it showed in her assortment of dogs. Bear, her chocolate mastiff, Peaches, a Chihuahua and Fox Terrier cross and Scruff an apricot assortment that looked like a Jack Russell on stilts ­­– all from broken homes.

The mornings haze, slowly evaporating by the sun made a shimmering glow over the landscape. She had soon reached her destination, pulled Bears holdalls off his back and carefully emptied some of its contents, arranging them on the bank of the natural pond. In the distance, four deer stood, acknowledged their presence and nonchalantly walked away.

Clair knew most walkers had been and gone so she could paint in solitude. For her painting at this time had become her compulsion and her passion. It was making her quite antisocial – if she didn’t start talking to someone soon she would forget how too! She reflected on this point as she drew in the bulrushes and mixed her paint.

Her dogs with their noses to the ground in contentment, gave her comfort. She captured the beams of light, and picked out the differing lush greens of the leaves and grasses, all mixed in with the deep brown yellow of the growing corn. This background made the deep velvet of the bulrushes shine with lustier. Something was odd; too many dogs, a black Lab had joined her pack. He had calmly and without bother just taken up his place. Where there was a dog, meant there was an owner. Clair’s panic rose.

Her paintings were immensely private to her. She started to hyperventilate as she went into the now familiar uncontrollable, fever pitch of anxiety. A soothing calm voice apologised for disturbing her. The blood that had flowed to her ears muffled the words as she franticly looked round, but the sun glared her vision, so that only an outline of the man could be seen.

‘Gosh you’ve captured Rip!’ She looked down at her work and there in the foreground, was the character of him, captured by his demeanour, which burst out through his velvet eyes and glistened with innate intensity. She was stunned that she had been so absorbed – she had painted a dog she had never seen before. Rip must have been there for sometime, watching her through the long reeds. She stood back and agreed – she had done a mighty fine job!

The man slowly came and sat by her on the bank, slipping off his rucksack. In London, she had been hidden by the constant flow of the masses, she found in the country she became more prominent and felt exposed. It had over whelmed her and gave her panic attacks. For the first time she felt her breathing became more controlled, less frantic on its own.

“Sorry for startling you, I didn’t mean to pry but I would like to know if you would consider selling me your painting?”

“Oh!’ Clair fumbled not knowing what to say. She actually believed he meant it.

“I like the way you’ve shown his humour.” Clair smiled – she had somehow painted a mellow chuckle in the dog’s eyes. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” He asked.

“I’ve just moved into the little cottage, on the bad bend – back there.” She pointed in the vague direction.

“Oh I heard there was a young townie just moved in there.” He chuckled, a mellow and congenial chuckle to match his dog’s expression. She could also tell he had sized her up, understood her straight away. He accepted her for her, now that was refreshing.

“I’ve a couple of rolls” would you like to join me?”

“Love too, would you like a slice of quiche?” He started to laugh as she brought out the full picnic she had prepared – including half a bottle of champagne. She started to laugh with him. Bear’s bags where like the magicians hat, a feast fit for a table slowly emerged. Normally she would never have shown anyone, afraid of the ridicule. She liked picnics to be special, just for the sense of occasion. People thought her silly, over the top but to-day she turned fifty, and well there was something different in the way she felt, to-day she didn’t care quite so much what people thought, helped by John’s enjoyment of her little foible.

The Linnets took to the sky, Bear lay down and Peaches curled up for their lunchtime snooze, while the other two dogs went looking for anything that moved. The Linnets song hit the serenity note as two new friends talked about life in general and the village history in particular. There they sat amongst the grass, Clair with her tall elegant champagne flute, and John with his thermos flask cup.

As she loaded Bear’s bags up, John with natural ease called the dogs, and they all walked along the side of the fields to the road. It was no surprise to her that he was a dog trainer, his ability to command respect through his soft encouraging energy, was inspirational.

She got a girlish sense of fun at his face as he saw Peaches climb up into Bear’s backpack. Peaches face poked out periodically with a comical twisting to-and-fro to see what was happening and then she would pop back inside. Peaches now twelve deserved a rest. John was impressed with her agility and energy and instead of making a fuss or poking fun – he took a picture and set it as a screen saver.

“Most people would not believe a fighting dog would ever behave that gentlemanly way. I have to go to the local school and give a talk about dogs, the children would love to see Peaches and Bear” Clair visibly shied away, her pulse racing. John held her elbow while she breathed through it. “I would have to lead them, if you don’t mind, for insurance purposes – you know how it is these days.” He let go as soon as her breathing was normal and held her gaze until he was sure she was calm again.

Each time the insurmountable happened, she had coped and enjoyed the elation of overcoming, the awkward reaction to meeting new people ­– thanks to John’s warm and perceptive personality.

When they had gone a little further, he asked her if she would consider taking on a commission for him. One of his closest friends birthday was coming up and he wanted something special for him. Could she paint a dog from a picture? She said she would give it a go. He nodded and looked at her sideways and his expression made her believe that she was good enough for the task and his faith in her made her anxiety abate.

As they walked along the little birds hovered and soared, singing all the while. As Clair looked up she felt her new roots beginning to be set down here, amongst this year’s ripening harvest and the Linnets unwavering song.