Blog 54 y...Chick...Chick...Chicken...

 Blog 54 y...Chick...chick...chicken...

For a long time now both the ‘Hubby’ and the children have been asking for chickens...not for tea but to keep; to roam around freely and to produce lovely fresh eggs. I had my reservations and have always said absolutely not...nothing live other than us was to ever be in residence here! I know some of you reading this will be shouting at the screen: “Why on earth not?” Well let me tell you...

Growing up in a house of 4 children there was always going to be a request for a pet; we started small by having the goldfish Splish and Splash who were won at the summer fair on the local park’s coconut stall. There was nothing as exciting as carrying home a goldfish in a plastic bag and the talk of buying a large tank so they could have babies and we could ask all the neighbourhood children round to watch them all swimming round. We had seen fish at the pet shop which had stones and little underwater gardens with bridges and plants in their tanks. They looked so happy but our mother always refused saying that they would be hard work. But when the opportunity arose for the goldfish at the fair our ‘big sister’ was expert at chucking the hard wooden ball at the coconuts: several bang on targets and we were the proud owners of three fish.

Walking round the fair with our bags of pure gold was so exciting and we each picked a name. [ah well the three fish became two as I lost mine, Splosh, in the public toilets and when I departed the toilet cubicle I was heartbroken to see that the bag with my fish had disappeared from the sink where I had only left it for a few minutes!] Still, I could share the other two fish. So we went home to face the wrath of mother who was non too pleased with the win. Splish and Splash spent a few days in the old tin bath as we intended to buy a glass bowl as soon as possible. Somehow they got ‘free’ according to dad...they must have jumped out of the bath and down the drain to join their mother at the seaside...mmm well I was only 6 and the ‘little brother’ was only 4 so maybe they missed their mother [the ‘big sister’ however was not convinced...being a see-all know-it-all 8 year old! She announced that she was going to simply win some more...but after a quiet word from the mother there were no more trips to the coconut stall!]

The next pet to arrive at the house was a dog that had ‘followed’ dad home from a party: this dark little thing barked and snapped at our heels but we were besotted. We trained him to follow a handkerchief as we ran him ragged around the yard. During the fireworks on Bonfire night mother was furious to be left inside with a howling, moaning dog. I’m unsure who was most afraid of the fireworks but she said it was cruel to keep him as he was ‘sensitive to noise’ so dad dropped him off at a friend’s house. We all felt bereft when we cleared the punctured balls and bits of chewed toys from the yard.

As we grew older and moved to a house with a large garden we began to pester for another pet; all our friends had pets and it would keep us out of trouble and busy. When it seemed likely that nothing was going to appear the ‘little-brother’ requested a hamster for his birthday and he didn’t let up, constantly talking about the hamsters he had seen in the pet shop. Well what the first son and heir wanted he always got [no offence brother dear!] On his birthday he ran into the breakfast room to discover not one but two hamsters! They were in a cage with a wheel, a water bottle, feeding dishes and straw in their little metal bed. They were a dark, golden brown colour with little stripes of very dark brown and the birthday boy announced that they were to be called Flash and Lightning. Believe me they lived up to their names!

They spun round and round in that wheel as quick as any flash of lightning! They also discovered how to get out of their cage and run as fast as they could under the furniture, into cupboards and would disappear for days on end. There was nothing funny about waking up on a Sunday morning to the sound of something being nibbled and see a fat hamster devouring the remnants of miniature furniture in my doll’s house! Or worse still finding the shredded postal order that had been sent from my grandparents in Ireland for my birthday! Ah yes these hamsters began to rule the roost and quite frankly the lingering smell of used sawdust still reminds me of them.

Then one day Lightning disappeared and no matter how hard we tried we never found him. It appeared that poor old Flash was pinning for him and refused to leave the pile of tissue in her bed. No food was eaten and the sound of her water bottle ceased. So it was a sad day when our ‘big sister’ decided we should give Flash a decent burial. The four of us gathered around the tiny hole that had been lovingly dug in the back garden under one of the apple trees. As we stood and listened to our ‘big sister’ say prayers we lowered the metal bed into the hole. Suddenly my ‘little brother’ cried:

“Wait! She’s moving!”

“Not at all,” replied the ‘big sister’; “it’s only the wind.”

Distraught he knelt down, stroking his little pet and then jumped suddenly as a pair of brown eyes peeped up at us all from beneath the tissue! Luckily we pulled her out of the premature grave; Flash was actually only trying to hibernate!

Her survival was then celebrated with the birth of her babies; ha! No wonder Lightning escaped! He had done his deed and knew what was coming! She delivered a huge pile of babies and so a new cage was needed. The seven babies eventually became eight more and the large cage was no match for all the activity, not just the exercise wheels! Before we knew it there were 24 hamsters of varying sizes and colours and so mother called time on the ever growing brood of hamsters. All the new hamsters were sold to the pet shop and Flash was put into retirement. Bless her she must have savoured the new found freedom and space but sadly one morning the ‘big sister’ and I came downstairs to see her stretched out on the floor of her cage; she definitely wasn’t hibernating this time and she received the best funeral any hamster could wish for...complete with music!

By this time it was my turn to long for a pet! I saved up all my pocket money: doing extra chores in the hope of more money; that’s how I learnt how to iron! I stopped buying sweets and comics. [I tried eating everyone else’s by taking just 2 out of each bag of sweets so that no one lost more than the other and I would take the comics to read sneakily into the toilet... but soon got caught and then both brothers started to hide their Superman comics; so I really was doing without!] but I survived the trauma of saving and proudly presented my Tortoise to everyone. [Honestly I think the pet shop owner must have been rubbing his hands together each time he saw the four of us standing outside his shop!]

Well of course by now you must have guessed that all was not going to go smoothly. My sweet tortoise was having the very best of care: he crawled around the garden and ate all the weeds, the rhubarb leaves, the Forget-me-not flowers and mother’s pride and joy: Lily of the Valley. He devoured her lettuce patch when she wasn’t looking and he would set off on three day safaris: walking along our path, onto the pavement, along next door’s garden fence, down the side of their house and back through the hedge into the raspberry plantation! The first time he escaped I was so upset I cried for days and then suddenly he re-appeared. After that we got used to his disappearance and were able to track him down at some point between our garden and next door’s garden! We tried penning him into a set area and this was the worst thing we ever did to him. Early one Saturday morning we were woken up by barking and growling and as I ran into the garden still in my pyjamas I came face to face with a large golden retriever dog who had my tortoise firmly in his mouth and was shaking him about like a rag doll. He refused to drop him and even when I wielded the sweeping brush at him he thought I was playing. My screams brought the ‘big sister’ and both ‘little brothers’ running from the house, including one of the children from next door. Between us we managed to get this vicious dog to let go of my tortoise, who was dropped unceremoniously into the pen. If only we had left my tortoise sleeping under the bushes where he liked to be then the dog would not have noticed him. Once the dog ran off we were left stunned at the damage caused and I broke my heart not knowing what to do to save my pet.

Our friend said he knew what to do and he returned with a sack, string and a brick. He said it would be kinder to put the tortoise out of his misery. As he was older than us we trusted him and followed him as he carried the near lifeless little pet down to the brook. We watched in stunned silence as he placed the brick and my tortoise in the sack and tied it at the top. To my horror he threw the sack into the brook whilst the ‘big sister’ said some prayers. [She was still going through her religious phase that summer!] We stood still for a while not sure what to do and just as our friend turned to go the sack began to get very wet and move. We were about to go when the youngest ‘little brother’ shouted:

“OOH look!” and to our horror we saw the tortoise poking out of the sack and struggling in the water: the ‘big sister’ waded into the ankle deep water and collected the tortoise, who no doubt was not amused at having been half eaten; half drowned! Of course the friend laughed at the realisation that the brook wasn’t deep enough and then he suggested we put the tortoise to sleep as that’s what a vet would do to be kind.

“How?” was my question.

“Like the dentist.” Was his reply.

So we all trotted off back to his house, piling into his kitchen and watched amazed as he put the tortoise in the oven and turned the gas on, but not the ignition. We all stood round the oven, I’m not sure what we were thinking at this point or how long we were standing there but all of a sudden his father appeared at the back door having just finished his night shift.

“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” He roared. The 4 of us jumped back and pointed at his son;

“He’s putting my tortoise to sleep like the dentist.” I said.

“Bloody hell fire, you bloody nutcases...” he wrenched open the oven, the smell was sickening and he held my tortoise who was not asleep but wriggling in his own little way, definitely not impressed with the situation!

After an explanation of what had happened with the dog our friend’s father said it was kinder to let the tortoise die as quickly as possible but not with an audience so he offered to deal with it and sent us home.

The final pet I ever had was as a teacher in Liverpool when a pupil donated her two terrapins to the class. The class loved them and helped feed them, clean the tank etc. Sometimes in the middle of a lesson one of them would crawl up onto the rock at the side of the tank and tap on the glass...totally disrupting the lesson! I wasn’t particularly fond of them but the class loved them and we made them a focal point as well as incorporating their care and background information about them into the learning process. They survived two full school years in the class, coming home with me for the summer holiday. [Now that journey is a blog in itself...a tank of terrapins sloshing around in the back of my car...] However, during the third summer break one morning I noticed how quiet one of them was and as the day passed he didn’t move but instead lay as if sunbathing in the sunshine...I decided to take him to the vet who took one look at him in the bucket:

“What can you do for my terrapin...?”

“Not a lot really...I can offer to bury him for you...!”

So, you have to understand that my track record with animals isn’t really all that good. I know that the chickens would not be pets as such but I worried about the attachments that might form and the pain when an animal passes away; I have in my own little way managed to protect my children from this over the years by always saying no to a pet. That is until now of course. 

The ‘Hubby’ came home excited to say that a friend was giving away his three chickens and we had first refusal...ah the lure of walking to the end of the garden first thing in the morning to collect freshly laid eggs was too much for the ‘Hubby’...and so I relented; I had reservations but I felt that I couldn’t be the ‘baddie’ anymore and deny the men folk their wish.

Preparations were made in the form of securing the fences, fixing any gaps to stop them squeezing into the neighbour’s garden, a coup, hay, sawdust [yikes!] food, grit [this helps with shell formation] water dishes and after being reassured that they would not attract rats or mice and that any red mites would be dealt with...the chickens arrived!

I was totally unprepared for the cuteness of these three birds: a large brown, speckled chicken [just like the ones in Old Mac Donald’s Farm storybook!] a large pure white one with a red crown and the sweet little Polish bantam who was black with a shock of white feathers like a slipped wig over her eyes. We named them Sage, Onion and Stuffing! These were going to be the saviours from the ants...after all they eat anything like that don’t they?

So finally we were part of the growing number of people who were keeping their own chickens in their back yards...the ‘Bridezilla’ and her ‘Young-man’ popped round to see; them announcing that they were sweet and they too would be having chickens once they were settled...ah well we’ll see...

It was lovely, it was exciting, it was different: my patio, my courtyard back garden, was overnight transformed from: a sandy coloured, block paved, peaceful haven of potted plants, strawberries, gooseberries, fuchsias, mini bushes, lettuces, water fountain, shiny black wrought iron table and chairs, mini lamps...all of which have taken me 18 years to achieve...to: a shit hole of the worst kind.

Yes I do mean shit and I apologise for the use of the word but it was shit on my table, shit on my chairs, shit on my block paved yard...shit in piles and shit in circles, shit in the bushes, shit in the tubs...you name it if it was not moving it was shit on !!

They sat on the lights and pecked at the glass, they ate the strawberries and spat them out and then shit on them... then plucked the gooseberries and lettuces, they climbed into pots and dug out the soil scattering it over the shit, they squawked, they fought, they flew onto the table and shat through the wrought iron design so their shit was splattered in minute triangles and they shat on the top of the chairs letting it run down to form mini mountains of...shit!

Of course their eggs were wonderful...brilliant white shells and brilliant yellow yolks but to be honest 3 tons of shit a day in return for three eggs a day...not sure that’s a good bargain!

Of course the ‘Hubby’ patiently explained that it was because it was a new environment and soon they would settle and feel at home...did he mean that they wouldn’t shit as much?

It was a strange feeling opening the back door and being followed by a cheeky black hen who sat between my legs as I crouched down to shovel her shit into the bin...a strange sensation to hand feed chickens with worms and finely chopped tomatoes...it felt peculiar talking to them as I lovingly called;

“Good morning girls...” as I let them out of the coup and; “Here you are my chickie-dees some fresh water...”

It was a weird feeling opening the lid of the coup and collecting the eggs, having fallen head first the first time I collected them I left it to the ‘Cutie-pie’...he’s taller than me now and his arms are longer and I think he found it easier to collect the eggs than trying to haul me out of a large wooden box with my arms and legs flailing about in a cloud of sawdust with chickens gathered round his feet!

It was infuriating picking my way across the yard in between piles of pooh to hang my washing out because ‘yay’ for the first time in weeks we have had the most glorious, burning hot sunshine...just in time for the chicken coup to start smelling and the green-bottle flies to discover the chicken shite!

The ‘Intelligent-one’ was not impressed with the cleaning duties and decided to become a non-egg eating teenager...as if somehow that would relieve him of having anything to do with them...except of course for taking pictures and laughing at me as I proceeded to turn into the farmer’s wife...no wonder they need to wear wellingtons when pegging out their washing!

The ‘Cutie-pie’ on the other hand was in his element. He researched what they needed, the best food to feed them, the best equipment to keep them healthy and he was on line to one of his friends who also has chickens. Sage, Onion and Stuffing all followed him round the garden and would run up to him as soon as he opened the door. In fact in a morning if he hadn’t appeared by the time they were out of their coup having breakfast and their first stroll of the day then they began to wait for him, pecking at the glass door.

He was happy, he was busy, he was too attached. Bless him, he patiently helped me several times a day to scoop the poop and swill the yard. He abandoned his holiday activities to help look after them. What began to worry me was...what happens when he’s at school, ‘Hubby’ at work, the ‘Intelligent- one’ at college and I’m left on my own all day...

I needed the ‘Hubby’ to know just what was involved; so after being out all afternoon at the pictures we arrived home to a very hot, fly ridden smelly yard at the same time as ‘Hubby’ finished work and I informed him that before his tea he needed to do his duty! It was unfair to neighbours...I’m damn sure I’d be complaining if it was the other way round...I said. He couldn’t believe how much muck there was; in fact he was as naive as me as he thought that chicken pooh was small pellets like a rabbit not this squishy stuff that then became as hard as concrete and had to be chipped off the patio.

Mmm... funny how the romantic notion of chickens soon began to falter...luckily after 6 days he had finally understood what was causing my stress...he even decided to fence off half the back yard in order to give me some space...ha yes note the words ‘give me’ some space but then of course he was only coming home to the evening shit!

The fencing didn’t work and I’m not sure if it was just curiosity or a protest but when we had sat down to our Friday night Chinese takeaway supper...oh er yes spicy chicken wings and special fried rice...there was a sudden reflection of movement on the dining room window and I followed the glazed stare of both boys as their eyes landed on the sight of the large white chicken a.k.a. Onion...landing on top of one of the newly erected posts and staring in through the window: her eyes wide and menacing...enough to put anyone off fried chicken for life!

The next day ‘Hubby’ had a full day with the chickens...note one full day...and decided that actually this was not for him... it wasn’t fair to expect them to not have grass to run around on or to try and reduce the amount of space they pooped on and so he bravely admitted that perhaps it had not been such a good idea after all...of course he had to break the news to the ‘Cutie-pie’ who was distressed [exactly what I had tried to avoid all these years!] but understood that they needed a lot more space to roam. So the friend was sent for to collect the three pooper makers and arrived armed with a large net and box...

“Good God what have you been feeding them...?” he called out when he stood in something soft...
...ha! Don’t get me started again on that subject...

Footnote...
...if in doubt stick to buying your eggs from the market and leave the rearing of chickens to the bolder, braver, pooper scoopers of this world... 

                   ...preferably the ones with larger gardens...! 

                                               

Blog 54 z...coming soon...next Wednesday...

Copyright © GML 2012.

Blog 54x...I've been thinking...

Blog 54 x...   

 I've been thinking... the first two weeks of the boys’ summer holidays has passed in the blink of an eye…it has been strange having no uniforms to wash and press or sports kit to organise. The weather has been unbelievable with torrential rain and then burning sunshine! It has been too soggy for picnics and then too hot for walks. The worst part is that already there are signs of ‘Back to School’ as the war for the lowest priced uniforms commences…it’s worse than Christmas time: no sooner have schools closed for the Christmas break than the sales start! It used to really bug the life out of me when I was teaching; the term would end with the Nativity play; calls of 'Merry Christmas' echoing behind me and I’d be feeling all Christmasy and excited and set off for late night shopping to discover half empty shelves, Christmas displays being removed and sales signs going up as well as there being a sudden and devastating lack of Christmas treats!  

There is a sense already of the supermarkets moving items in order to clear away the summer garden paraphernalia in favour no doubt of the onslaught of the Hallow’een decorations! What is this pre-occupation with rushing through the year? We have Valentine’s and then the next day Easter eggs are on sale…is it all to do with consumerism because if it is then shame on all of them…someone somewhere is making us all race through life at too fast a pace!

I don’t want to rush…I want to stop and smell the roses as someone once said…wake up and smell the coffee [was that my own version or have I heard it somewhere in my long ago past?]…stand in the rain…jump in the puddles…you get the picture; I want the world to stop and give me a chance to breathe…give my children the chance to be children enjoying a break from their studies…let all children think that the new school term is a million miles away. 

As you all know the sad loss of my close friend’s son happened just recently and it rendered me helpless with shock and sadness.

It has been difficult to know that my friends are suffering with this devastating loss and there is very little I can do to make things better. 

The funeral was a wake up call for me.

A favourite song of his was played..."Don't look back..." although it's a popular song I have never known the full meaning or all of the words but those three words have been repeating in my head constantly...I suddenly felt that I think I have wasted some of my life…mainly due to my illness… I lost track of time…how to make everyday count…you see when you are working there is a purpose to your day; or when you are looking after someone or a child…but when you become house bound on your own all day you slowly become reluctant to go out, to see people, to be part of the world and as you all have read before my days rarely have a purpose or routine as my days are ruled by my pain…I suddenly felt that I have been wallowing in the pain, hiding behind it sometimes to avoid life…I have allowed myself to not be thankful for actually being given a new day…I have allowed the years to be rushed by...I have been wasting my days either sleeping, feeling miserable, isolated and just totally fed up!

Well, I don’t want to waste another day…so yes I want the world to stop rushing us through life; I don’t want to see school uniforms or stationary equipment adverts so early in the summer break, not for at least another 2 weeks…I want to feel a sense of freedom because there are no classes for the boys…I want to wake up in glorious sunshine and say to my boys… “Get your bikes out…here’s a picnic…I’ll meet you at the park…” [It’s not too far for me to walk as I certainly cannot cycle there!] I want to wake up when the rain is pouring down and say to my boys… “Get your coats and pop corn, we’re getting a bus to the movies…” I want to begin making the most of time…their time.

As an unmarried, childless, young teacher I used to love the first day of the school holidays…I would set my alarm for the normal time, get up and make a coffee and then get back into bed and sit and read a novel that I had specifically bought for the summer break.

As a newly married woman I used to love getting up early to make the ‘Hubby’ breakfast…well alright it was only cereal but the thought was there! Then I would spend hours clearing cupboards, organising school files, going into the school and arranging my classroom ready for the new term or gardening and cooking an evening meal and drinking copious amounts of wine whilst watching a movie or soap opera during the week …just because I could! 

As a mother of two young boys the beginning of the holidays used to mean lazy breakfasts of hot chocolate and croissants or waffles whilst watching cartoons; baking and picnics, playing on swings, games of Frustration [very apt!] and then a trip to the Toy store to invest in new Lego/Bionicle figures and then spend days piecing them all together [and then spend even more time hoovering them up!]

As a child the summer holidays always seemed to be endless weeks stretching out in front of me…the weather always seemed to be hot and a few of us children in the neighbourhood would get together and we would spend days in shorts and sandals. We would explore the fields and parks near the house; crawling on all fours pretending to be snipers in amongst the enemy [the cows on the hill!] We played hide and seek in the long grass and we used lampposts as the bases for games of Rounders. We went swimming in the open air swimming pool on the local park…er the memory is more glorious than the actual activity: the water was always freezing, there were leaves floating on the surface and the changing cubicles were draughty…but we had crisp butties and 'Tizer' pop to cheer us up! We fished for tiddlers in the brook [yes the same one I recently fell into!] and built a rope swing after fighting off the children from a different neighbourhood…ahhh the battles the gang of us had…not serious but it helped spend some of our energy; after being chased for several blocks we would sleep a peaceful sleep that night and wake with our batteries fully re-charged! 

Everyone has happy memories of the freedom of the summer break…freedom from school…freedom from routine…freedom to be what we want to be: dressed up as cowboys and Indians or princesses or knights in shining armour riding around the streets [usually the garden sweeping brush with our own neighing sound effects!] 

One night last week after the funeral I lay in bed with the windows wide open desperate for the cool breeze after a strange really hot afternoon…somewhere in the distance the sounds of a summer’s night floated in through the window; a BBQ was still burning and the smell was wafting in the evening breeze; the sound of laughter, running footsteps, the sound of someone putting out the recycling bins, the clatter of their bottles, a bird was singing…really yes and it was almost dark;the sound of the odd car passing and it all reminded me of nightimes when I was a 9 year old girl...

I shared a bedroom with my 'big sister' at the back of our Victorian terraced house.Our bedroom was freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer. During the cold months if we breathed out we could see our breath hanging in the air. There would be frost on the outside and ice on the inside of the windows. We had hot water bottles but if you moved your feet during the night there was always a cold patch guaranteed to wake you up! But in the summertime we lay on top of the beds, the old sash windows open wide, the cool breeze wafting the net curtains; we could hear the rumble of the trains nearby. Sometimes we would kneel on my bed and look out of the window; we watched our next door neighbour run around the garden in his vest and we giggled when we saw his bare backside wobbling as he happily danced whilst singing to the moon. We would often hear one of our neighbours a few doors down shouting to her children to come inside before she "Ruddy-well" was going to chase them home. Then there was the cat lover shouting her cats' names as she called that their supper was ready. As it grew darker we heard young lads climbing over walls and through ginnel ways escaping from their mothers' calls as they rushed to meet friends and we heard women shouting their friendly banter over the back walls as they collected their washing; we could often see the smoke rising in a swirl from the side garden wall as someone was stealing a quiet moment with the last fag of the night and there was always someone shouting or singing as they left the pub in the next but one street to ours. It was a happy place to sit and I have often thought that had we lived longer in that house my 'big sister' and I would have been the ones at the side of the outdoor lavatory wall smoking a quick one or climbing out of the window onto the kitchen roof, shimmying down the pipes into the garden to make a quick exit down the lobby. Who knows I might even have got lucky and be snogging one of the young men against the lobby wall like the oldest daughter from the corner house! 

I found myself laughing at what could have been! 

Ah yes, warm nights get you thinking and so do funerals, particularly those of someone so young...and the words from his song struck me; suddenly making sense in my own interpretation...

I realised that I needed to pull myself together... put my pain relief patches on and get on with life; for the sake of my boys: I need to slow down the pace of life for a while and take time to do some special things with my family so that these summer days of their childhood are worth reflecting on...not looking back at how their mother suddenly refused to go out over the door…not of how their mother needed to rest…not how their mother changed from a fun loving, laughing, creator of happy days…I want them to think of the summer as a great time to be together, to go out and do something worthwhile…so yes I have thought long and hard about life over the past two weeks and I have had a re-awakening much like a slap in the face: a young person has passed away living only half as long as me…so I need to be thankful for each day not just for me, not just for my boys but in memory of him…I have to slow down the pace of the world for us; I need to stop thinking about what could have been if I had not become ill and start looking forward...because I’m damn sure he wouldn’t be wasting his summertime...he'd be out there... somewhere...not looking back...

Blog 54 y...coming soon...

Copyright©GML2012

[R.I.P.  young man, September 1985-July 2012.]

Blog 54 w...

 Blog 54 w...

With sincere apologies to you all, especially those of you who have become weekly readers, out of respect and love for my life-long friend I am not publishing a blog this week...it would just be inappropriate...

you see a very special person has sadly passed away this weekend and whilst I am struggling deeply to overcome the shock, my heart goes out to my friend whose son’s death has brought her and her family the worst possible grief.

Out of respect for them all it would be in bad taste to publish anything other than: I am sad for them and their loss…I have no idea how I can help my dear, dear friend cope with her loss.

May their very special, very loving, very talented, very funny and very much loved young son rest in peace.   xox

Copyright©GML2012

Blog 54 v...5 become 4...

Blog 54 v…5 become 4...

As I write this week’s blog I am filling up with tears…tears of joy and a little sadness as this is the day that the ‘Bridezilla’ is moving out; lock, stock and barrel as the saying goes and although I’ve known this day was looming I had put it to the back of my mind: head in the sand I suppose.

The ‘Bridezilla and her ‘young-man’ have worked round the clock : decorating, organising, replacing, carpeting, painting, clearing; you name it they’ve done it! All as well as working full time: and she’s even been doing over time as well as her secondary job of mobile beautician. Even the news that the ‘Bridezilla’ will be facing redundancy soon has not quelled her enthusiasm and where someone less determined to succeed would have crumpled at that news she instead set about updating her C.V. and going for interviews.

Nights out to parties have been replaced by nights in painting…take-aways have been replaced by cheaper micro wave suppers…new clothes and new shoes have been abandoned in favour of ‘old’ things found in the inner realms of the wardrobe.

They have saved, saved, saved and cut back on everything they could cut back on.

The last few months have flown by and right before my very eyes they have both turned their house into their home.

As well as working hard they have never asked for anything. They have received early Christmas presents in the shape of an S shaped wooden unit and matching nest of tables plus lamp and a few wee bits from the ‘Hubby’ and I… [purchased in an early morning sale…5.00am to be exact but what the heck I don’t sleep anyway and what an eye opener that was…everything half priced…too good to miss!! I was ‘gobsmacked’ at the amount of people there!!] Then her granddad took my lead and bought her 4 dining chairs to fit round the beautiful dining table that she had bartered for…yes my quiet little ‘Bridezilla’ actually stood in front of me and her future ‘Hubby’ and knocked the salesman down CONSIDERABLY! Ha! I would never have had the nerve but as cool as a cucumber she persisted and he caved in! Then the grandmother-in law to be provided a fabulous fridge freezer on hearing they were going to do without! They have shopped in outlets and sales to make their pennies go further. The final gift of kindness was from a wonderful aunt who has provided stunning bedroom furniture. It has all come together so beautifully.

Ahh! Who would have thought it?

Today the bed arrived and that sealed the move…there is no need to stay here anymore, boo hoo!!

So I wanted to give her some pearls of wisdom. What would her mother have said she needed to do? I have wracked my brain and quite frankly, no offence to the ‘big sister,’ but I cannot think of anything sensible that she would have wanted her daughter to know!

I have found it difficult enough… but I thought maybe saying something like:

‘Never let the sun go down on an argument’…mmm well I have, many, many times; and so far we’ve survived;

‘Always say goodnight with a kiss…’ mmm well sometimes it’s more than a kiss but I can’t advocate that to my ‘little girl’; perhaps I should say something like;

‘Always save for a rainy day…’ or for new shoes or a set of proper saucepans;

The ‘Hubby’s’ words of wisdom are;

‘Have your own televisions…because Sport and My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding programmes don’t mix…’

The ‘Intelligent-one’ decided to suggest;

‘Never run out of toilet paper…’

And of course from the ‘Cutie-pie’;

‘Always keep your cupboards stocked up…and don’t forget I like…’

At a loss of what to impart I have found myself wanting to say things like;

being together full time is hard, once the holiday period is over it’s a case of compromise…each person has foibles that drives the other one mad…you have to give and take…you have to put up with things…you have to get used to the toilet seat still being up at night and in the darkness you become wedged in the loo…you get used to seeing a dark shape in the corner and squint closely to see if it’s a mouse only to discover it’s the discarded socks …the best towels saved for guests are the first he pulls off the towel rail to stand on…never let him have cheese and biscuits in bed as cream cracker crumbs get in all the wrong places…don’t clean the cooker until he’s finished frying his egg and bacon…

but then there is also the flip of excitement in your stomach when you are driving home from work and he’ll be home first waiting…the excitement of the sound of his key in the front door after a night out with the lads…waking up next to him and running your fingers across his nose [wouldn’t advise doing that more than once though…!] the linger of his after shave in a morning…curling up on the sofa when the rain is pouring down and you are warm and snuggly…yes there is a lot I can tell the ‘Bridezilla’ about being with the man you love… but it’s been a lifetime of discovery and they have to discover it for themselves; so really I need to hush and instead of giving advice I need to become a listener first and adviser second.

Together they have made the decision to marry, to set up a new way of life and heaven knows she deserves the best.

So with a little heavy heart I have taught her how to use her washing machine, how to organise her fridge and supervised her making up the new bed with new bedding and enjoy her giggles when she said;

“Ooh it’ll be like sleeping in a hotel…!”

I have put on a brave face when we have discussed ‘When I move out…’ and I have smiled when she said that we will still have a day a week together to plan the wedding and go shopping.

I have tried to think positively about the fact that she filled the house with music and laughter, fashion and magazines and shoes and G-strings! She has often left a mountain of washing and needed the very item of clothing at the bottom of the laundry basket asap! She has given the boys advice on how to be a teenager without disrupting the parents’ lives too much…she has, in short, made us a family of 5…and now she needs to spread her wings and look to the future and one day her own family. I feel blessed that I have had her all to myself all these years and all the memories she has created with us are recorded in photographs and firmly imprinted in my mind.

You know it is exactly 25 years ago this summer that I moved out of my parent’s house and into my own little two up two down mews terraced house. Although I had been living away from home at different points in my life I had always had my childhood home as the permanent base and all my stuff and clutter was there: my bedroom had become a comfort zone. Then I decided that at the age of 27, following a promotion, it was time to have my own place and began house hunting. 12 months into saving and searching I found the perfect place within walking distance of my mum: brand new houses were being built on the grounds of the old Continuation hospital and the original hospital wall was retained; giving me an enclosed garden all of my own. The house I chose was built in the kitchen garden area of the hospital and came complete with some very old hydrangea and rhododendron bushes that survived the builders’ creations.

Not once did I stop to think about the effect it had on my mother that I was moving out for good not into marriage but as a single woman…not once did I consider her feelings whilst I chatted about carpets and curtains…she often went very quiet and I thought she was just pondering how exciting this was for me …not once did I stop and realise that my mother was having to say goodbye to her second daughter and begin a life without me coming home from work, sharing the day’s news, asking advice on the latest fashion or hair colour. My mother was facing the prospect of yet another one fleeing the nest, the nest she had tried so hard to create into a wonderful home that no child would want to leave.

All these feelings are now haunting me as I prepare to say goodbye to the ‘Bridezilla’…how the tables have turned…on the day I moved out all those years ago my ‘big sister’ and the baby ‘Bridezilla’ had been spending the day at the house whilst I drove back and forth with clothes and boxes and after I had unpacked what little bits and pieces I had for my new home and we had had our tea it was time for them to go home. They were walking, as my ‘big sister’ felt it would help the baby ‘Bridezilla’ to sleep…I stood on the doorstep to wave goodbye, excited to spend my first night in my new home…when they reached the corner  they turned and they waved and then the toddler that I had been so happy to be with at her birth, see her first steps, hear her first words; turned and shouted “bye bye” and then burst into tears and shouted;

“Coming home now…?”

I dissolved.

 My ‘big sister’ swept her up and carried her off and I was left in tears on my doorstep, the full impact of what I was doing finally dawned on me.

So today it was my turn to walk away and wave, desperate to say “Coming home now…?” and although this is the right time, the right place for her and the right ‘young man’ to start a new life with… I cannot help but feel it’s all too soon for me…

Blog 54 w coming soon…next Wednesday…

Copyright©GML2012.

Blog54u...Summer?

Blog 54 u…Summer? 

 It is hard to believe that we are in the summer month of July when you look at all the unfortunate people who have been flooded for the second time in weeks. Where has all this rain come from? Where is it all going to go? I know, I know the rain cycle and the sea but honestly it is beginning to get beyond a joke now when we have so little sunshine to brighten up our days before the onslaught of the winter!

Looking at old photos of holidays it makes you just want to go out and book flights to somewhere hotter, less wet and relaxing. Talking about summer days when we were children and what we got up to in comparison to the children’s wet, wet summer breaks; just makes me long for the sunshine even more so that they can get out and enjoy some summer sunshine!

Whilst I am sitting here typing the rain is drip, drip, dripping down the windows, the lamps are on to try and cosy up the place and yet my door is open because it is hot…no, not just the menopausal hot flashes that keep me awake half the night…but real moggy heat that makes your shirts stick to your backs and your skirts flap on your thighs. How is it that it is pouring with rain and yet so hot? Are we heading towards a ‘Rainforest’ climate; good God think of all the insects and creatures that would start to appear in our trees…huge spiders…and…no stop! I cannot think of that. It’s too unreal!

But what I can think about is the small ray of sunshine I felt on my face just two days ago. For a very brief moment, an interlude in between the rain storms, there was a crack in the clouds and the sun broke free. I stood in my wellies in the middle of the puddle that we lovingly refer to as our garden and I turned my face towards the sun; eyes closed, hands on hips and standing very still I transported myself to a different time and place…Corfu 1983…

The sky was the brightest, bluest, cloudless sky I have ever seen. The sea was the deepest blue with the whitest waves. The sand was the cleanest, purest, golden sand I had ever set barefoot on. The warmth of the sun on my skin was magical…I can place myself standing in the shallow sea, hands on hips, face turned towards the sun, soaking in every minute. The sound of people laughing, children playing, Greek tunes on a radio in the distant bar, the smell of coconut sun oil and the freshness of the sea as the gentle waves circled my legs.  As I stood there I remember thinking if only time could stand still…if only I could stay here forever…I was determined to somehow imprint the sights, sounds, smells and the sun into my brain forever.

Ah yes, what a beautiful place and a holiday to remember: not least because it was only the second time I had ever been abroad and the last time I would holiday as a single, carefree girl! I was on a girl’s holiday with two very good friends and my ‘big sister.’ The four of us had jetted off to Corfu for a summer break of two weeks for sun, sea, sangria and…well actually even though the saying goes; “What happens in Corfu…stays in Corfu…” we actually didn’t find love on the beach, or the bars or the airport for that matter although we did come close to some form of sex when we emerged from a night club and some boys on motorbikes circled us and shouted:

“Hey, English…you wanta gang plank..!”

We fell about laughing and they nearly fell off their bikes at our response…funny how 'Clear off...!' can translate into all launguages…!

We may not have found Mr. Right but we did have a laugh and lots of sunshine and we made happy memories. [I have treasured photographs which I can share with the ‘Bridezilla’ showing how beautiful and happy her mum was as a young woman…]

We went sailing on a clipper ship and dived over board into the crystal blue waters; we ate sword fish and chips; we drank ouzo in the local bars at night and danced until the early hours in the little disco; we watched fancy dress competitions whereby the young men dressed in togas and the girls looked like Aphrodite; we visited a little hill top restaurant and ate the most gorgeous food whilst listening to the crickets and looking out over the town all lit up, lights reflecting in the sea.

We visited the Old Corfu town where the Castle was lit up at night; there was a fabulous market, designer dress shops, shoes to die for, tavernas, ice-cream emporium…just a beautiful place. [We actually had to find a chemist first as I, at the time, suffered badly from Dyspepsia and needed copious amounts of Aludrox in order to keep any food down…the chemist only sold it in huge bottles the likes of which I had never seen before! He put it in a brown paper bag and I rushed out, down a side alley way and glugged from the bagged bottle…ah… relief and yes, there are photos of that too, somewhere in someone’s photo album!]

Although not all the memories are happy…there was an incident one afternoon that actually has scarred me for life…emotionally that is! The four of us were determined to get the best suntan ever! We were staying in a small block of holiday rooms within walking distance of the beach; we sat having breakfast in our bare feet and bikinis listening to the sea and at lunchtime we sat in the beach taverna under shades eating watermelon, slices of ham and crusty bread; then the rest of the day when we were not eating we sat on the beach reading novels, sleeping in the sunshine or swimming. We got to know other holiday makers quite well and often chatted. There was a group of young lads who would carry a table and four chairs into the sea and sit playing cards with their beers cooling by their feet.  One particular day we decided to get some lie-los so that we could lie in the sunshine getting a tan but also keep cool by dipping our hands or toes in the sea. Out of the four of us there was a ‘very sensible one’ who did not partake in the lie-lo culture and would sensibly return to the rooms for a siesta and chill. Whereas me, [totally senseless!] my ‘big sister’ [a little more sensible than me but not much!] and the other ‘less sensible one’[but more sensible than me and my ‘big sister’] laid out in the burning sun to catch the end of the days rays…on our lie-los.

This particular afternoon we stayed out a little longer and laid on our backs paddling our hands and feet over the edges of our lie-los, talking, laughing and completely unawares of the tide changes in our little cove. Then it began to get a little windy and my ‘big sister’ announced she was off for a quick swim before we need to go and get ready for our night out. She slid off her lie-lo quickly and disappeared, her lie-lo was free from her weight and shot off into the distance whipped up and out of reach by the wind.

“Don’t move,” she shouted as she re-emerged from the depths and grabbed my arm; “stay very still, don’t panic but we are in deep water…”

When someone says don’t panic; you do don’t you?…my stomach was flipping faster than the mirage of her disappearing lie-lo. OMG. What on earth? The tide had changed and had been carrying us out towards Albania in the distance!

The other ‘less-sensible one’ announced she would swim to shore to get help but on sitting up carefully and putting our legs over the sides of our lie-los we realised that we would be swimming against the tide, the wind was blowing the water into our eyes and stinging, how the hell could we swim that far?

My 'big sister' knew I hated deep water anyway and she knew I’d probably drown if left behind... she made the decision not to leave me…for which I'm thankful…and that we should try and attract attention by waving and shouting every so often. After trying to paddle the lie-los together towards the beach we were becoming exhausted and not getting too far…of course I was crying by now…and the other two probably would have been safe on dry land if they had left me behind! Surely someone would notice us?

Well actually they did! The four young men sitting in the sea around their table happened to see us and thinking that we were rather far out decided to swim towards us…thank God for young men!!

We were saved! They dragged us into less deep water where I could stand and then after giving us a good ticking off they laughed with us about ending up as white slaves somewhere…the relief was unbelievable. I have never been so afraid of drowning and I used to be a strong swimmer but that far out to sea…well…let’s put it this way never again once my feet don’t touch the bottom of the pool or the sand in the sea…I panic and need to swim back quickly to a safe place!

Thing is the next day exactly the same thing happened to another girl…we watched in horror as we saw how far she had suddenly gone…the lads stood up…

“Here we go again…” shouted one of them only this time they borrowed a pedalo and reached her before she woke up and panicked!

Needless to say the lie-los were relegated to the room!

As a way of treating ourselves to get over the ‘almost’ disaster we visited an evening bbq and circus festival; whereby trapeze artists flew above our heads whilst we ate and there was a little market place where we bought silver jewellery and my ‘big sister’ mixed  her own perfume…a haunting odour all of her own design! This night was the cause of our second holiday mishap…it rained and we sat in wet clothes for hours.

During the night I became ill. Thinking it was just me and my usual upset stomach I dealt with it and crawled back into bed. I was up and down what seemed like all night, my temperature was high and the sickness didn’t stop. Then I became cold and shivery and put on some clothes before crawling exhausted back into bed. The night seemed never ending and my head ached, my throat was sore and I was desperately in need of a drink. I longed for the morning and lapsed in and out of the most fitful sleep. Eventually I tried to wake the ‘less sensible one’ to discover she too had been ill during the night. We sat feeling really poorly and wondered should we nip next door to where my ‘big sister’ and the ‘sensible one’ were sleeping. It was dark outside and the lights were lit all along the pathway.

“Get the English Embassy…call the travel rep…help I’m ill…OMG I’m so sick…the toilet’s blocked…the shower’s blocked…” I can laugh now but this is what we could hear from behind their door!

On all getting together we discovered we had all been ill with the same fever…worse still when we dressed and walked up the little road to the local taverna for some food we were greeted with:

“Ah you English girlies…where ave you bin?” shouted George the landlord of the taverna.

To our horror we discovered that we had actually been ill in bed for two full
days ; he explained that they were all worried as they had not seen us at the usual time and they knew we were not due to go home for a few more days and they were deciding who should go looking for us when we appeared!

He insisted on feeding us hot soup, crusty bread, no alcohol and gave us a bottle of white spirit to rub on our backs and chests to help with the coughing!

No more late nights in the rain after that! But long, glorious days in the sun…and a wonderful trip to a monastery on the hill tops in a little place I think was called Paleokastritsa where the buildings were white and the sea the most beautiful of blues…yes it’s exactly as it is in the films!

All too soon the holiday was over and we had to face the flight home…from the smallest of airports with the shortest of runways…that ended sharply on the tip of the ocean…each time a plane took off the crowd on the balcony stood watching and shouting;

“Is he going to make it…yes yes..ooohhh that was close…”

When I opened my eyes I was standing in my wellies in the middle of the puddle that we lovingly refer to as our garden…hands on hips, face turned towards the sun…ahh the warmth…ahh the memories…ahh the summer time of my youth…

And I wonder…what kind of memories will my boys grow up with of their summer times?

Wellies…umbrellas…floods…hailstorms…?

Perhaps one day they will stand with the sun on their faces and say…    “ee...remember that summer when…?”

Blog 54 v coming soon…next Wednesday…

Copyright©GML2012.

P.S. apologies to those of you who have been having problems posting a comment: I've 'flicked a switch' so to say and should have now enabled anyone to post a comment...good or otherwise!