A Friend Indeed....

Well. What can I tell you. I'm having a coffee down town.

I've picked my things up from Linny's...all one bag of it...and am waiting for another friend, Maxine, to meet me here. She's lending me her place for the week while she's away on some kind of a course. She's a Career Girl.

So, Linny gets her place back....and I move on to borrow someone else's bed.

I can't go on like this.

You know, it feels like I'm holding myself back. Like I'm scared to start living my own life, with just me to take responsibility and me to make the choices. I'm a grown-up woman, not a 16 year old! How ridiculous is that?

Anyway, I was scribbling a list of things on the back of the Sunday newspaper....

'I AM strong'
'I AM confident'
'I AM brave'
'I AM independent'
'I AM capable'

I was just getting to the 'I AM starting my new life today' when Maxine sits down opposite me, peers over at what I'm writing and says "Oh! I thought you were Alex?"

Now, I would normally call her a Smart***, but as you can see, I've joined the 'Kind Blog' group today and so, this New Me is going to be Nice.

I attempted a laugh in reply but needn't have bothered, she laughed loudly enough for both of us.

Slinging her keys down on the table just hard enough to knock my coffee over, she peered over at me, too close for my liking.

"Hmmmn. For someone who's just been to Mauritius, you're horribly pale. Too self-conscious to bare some flesh, were you?"

I smiled through slightly clenched teeth.

"Pale's beautiful, don't you know? Skin cancer and all that....Thanks Max, I owe you", and I was gone.

About this 'KIND' thing.

I don't want to be angry or bitter anymore. I don't want to waste my energy thinking horrible things about HIM (except I do hope it rained every day in Mauritius), I just want to move on and concentrate on me and my new life. I'm finding alot of kind people are out there, so I'd rather give my time and energy to them instead. This is the new good, kind, strong, confident me!

Oh, and about Maxine.

Yes, I'm sure she knew all along I hadn't been to Mauritius. She just likes to score points. But- she's lending me her place for a week, and that's a nice thing to do.

Oh, and did I mention that she's actually His friend?

This could be complicated.

I promise- by Wednesday next week, I'll have a job.

Really.

'The Moving Finger Writes, and having Writ..'

I've just come across a great blogger I want to share with you-Having Writ.

Well, firstly, her name caught my attention, because 'Having Writ' is part of my very favourite quote, one that my dad taught me when I was younger...

'The Moving Finger writes, and Having Writ, Moves On....'

'See?' my dad would say. 'Once you've said something, or written something to soemone, it's really hard to take it back, so think before you speak...'

I was about 8.

Really excited, I read on- and what do you know, Having Writ has the very same quote, right there in her profile!!!


'The moving finger writes, and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.'


Someone else loves The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as much as I do! I'm sold!


So, just for 'Having Writ', these are some of my favourite verses of his:


'How long, how long, in infinite
Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and
dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful
Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter,
fruit.'

'Indeed the Idols I have loved so
long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye
much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a
shallow Cup
And sold my Reputation for a Song.'

Ah Love! could thou and I with
Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits-
and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's
Desire!'

for Carmi...

This is especially for Carmi....




I hope I got it right!

Blogging is Good For My Health

I’ve been back for a few days now but too depressed to write. Couldn’t think of anything to say except how lousy I feel right now and how well….. how lousy I felt…and where’s the fun in that?…

But then I remembered that this is the point of the blog. I can write anything here that I want. He won’t see it! And if He did, I probably wouldn’t know. And if I do know, I refuse to care.

Blogging is Officially Good For Me.

I can get things off my chest, express my fears,
Moan and groan, offload, chew things over,
I can make plans, confess secrets, talk about my hopes for the future.
And I can laugh.

It’s a hell of a lot cheaper than the £80.00 an hour therapy session He thought I should try.

What a cheek. Believe me, He needs it more.

In case you’re looking for an update -on Him- ….I can’t give you one. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing, and I don’t care.

In fact, until I imagined you to be asking, I hadn’t even given him a thought.

Well, ok. Maybe only a tiny one. It’s just that I’d like to go back and get my earring and I need to figure out how and when. I don’t want to have to see Him, so I’ll have to be creative.

While I was at Celia’s, I went to see an old friend of my mother’s. His name’s Robert and he’s about 84 now. He lives in a tiny little cottage overlooking the sea, he’s lived there all his life as far as I know. His memory’s going a bit now and he kept getting me confused with my mother.
Not that I minded.
She once told me that Robert had rather fancied his chances with her, and almost proposed. They met during the war, and when it was over he came to see her and sort of hinted at marriage. My mother had to tell him- gently- that she’s just got engaged to my father. But they kept in touch and stayed friends, and it was always rather sweet.

I noticed a picture of him on the piano- him in his soldier's uniform.. looking proud, all handsome and serious. Then I saw the woman just to the left of him, slightly behind as if hiding from the camera. It was my mother in her Wren's uniform, smiling shyly at him. Her hand nestled in his elbow. Taken during the war I suppose, maybe he brought her home on leave, to meet his family. They did those things, back then.

The thing is, he never married. I don’t know if it was because he’d only loved my mother, or whether he’d just never found anyone else; but he seemed quite sad about it. It suddenly struck me how lonely he seemed now, and that got me all upset.


Is this was I’m destined for? Having been chucked away, like a piece of garbage; am I going to spend the rest of my life alone and lonely?

Then I told myself not to be so bloody stupid, and felt a bit guilty. How could I possibly compare Robert’s 64 years of being alone with my few weeks?

PERSPECTIVE- girl- PERSPECTIVE!

Keep it, and use it, don't lose it- that’s what I say.

Down by the sea...

I’m away at the minute, looking after my friend Celia’s flat while she’s in Spain, and as I didn’t bring my laptop I’ve had to wait until I could find an Internet Café. This last week has been really hard. I have too much time on my hands to think, I’m bored, I’m lost and I don’t know what to now. I can’t keep staying with friends, I know that; it’s not realistic. I need my own space, and god knows they do; but I need to be independent again and be responsible for myself. Four or five days is about all I can manage in someone else’s place, before I start feeling ‘in the way’ and noticing that the sofa’s not bug enough for 3 of us to squeeze on to.

It’s very scary though. I don’t know where to go to, what to do, who to be. My moods swing from feeling excited and optimistic about the future, and proud of myself for making this change, to feeling so scared at being alone, and feeling useless. No job, no money, no home, no career, and no man. Although I don’t mind that last one. Jeeez! What the hell have I been doing with my life?

Don’t think badly of me, but I admit, there have been moments, fleeting moments; when I’ve missed him. Not him, so much, but what I had with him. I don’t mean that I lie awake in bed at night, sobbing into my pillow because I’m so heartbroken; but sometimes something reminds me of a place we went together, or a holiday we took, and for a few seconds there I miss it. Which makes me sound shallow…like it was the lifestyle I loved, not him.

And maybe that’s the truth. We lived a lie together, brought together by a need to belong to someone; totally unsuited to each other but hiding behind the façade of money and wealth. By dumping me, he’s done me a favour. The difference is, I’ve woken up to what was really going on, the people that we both were. He’s just oblivious. He’ll never be able to change.

I’ll be here until Thursday, then I’ll be back at Linny’s. I’m supposed to be thinking about a job, but it’s too relaxing down here by the sea. I sit on the beach, just watching people. Making up stories in my head about who they are and what they’re doing. I love it, but I suppose I’m hiding away here.

I hope your week has been good so far.

What's a Girl to do?

I’ve been a bit bored the last couple of days, at a loose end I suppose. Usually my diary is packed with things but there’s nothing in it for the whole of this week. Or next week. Then I remembered why....I’m meant to be in Mauritius.

I went down to see Max, my friend who owns the café on the corner. I really went for a bit of a chat but the place was busy and Max was buzzing from table to table like a little bumble bee with a big smile. He let me sit at the corner table though, and threw in a free coffee for me, which cheered me up a bit.

I half-wondered if he’d offer me my job back- it doesn’t matter that it years ago, I could do it standing on my head! I was almost considering asking him, subtly of course, when a large, buxom blonde with a squeaky voice appeared out of the kitchen with a tray of doughnuts for the window.

That answered that then.

Had a browse through the job section in the local paper but became more disillusioned by the minute. Everything requires experience and references and qualifications. Apparently you need a degree just to be a rocket scientist.

I thought I’d better look as if I was being productive, at least, and started to make a list of the jobs I’d had. The list wasn’t going to be long. It was so long ago that I worked in the shop; I can’t even remember what year that was. Then there was the café job; that was a bit dodgy back then, what with being paid cash under the table.

I don’t have much to add to my CV then, other than the nanny jobs I’ve done. And somehow, when I’m trying to put a really shit-hot CV together, ‘nannying’ doesn’t really cut it.

A smartly-dressed woman came in to get a ‘latte to go’ and I realised it was my old doctor. Haven’t seen her for years. I should have been a doctor or something. Something with a career, something important and guaranteed to always be needed, then I wouldn’t be in this predicament.


I wondered, wistfully, what it would be like to be needed, to be valued and to know that I could walk into a job anywhere.

I suddenly don’t feel very useful.

Sandals On A Shelf

You won’t believe this, but he’s sent me a postcard from Mauritius.
How it got here so quickly I’ll never know, he must have sent the damn thing by courier.

‘Shame you’re not here’ it said. The worst of it is, I don’t know if he’s being sarcastic or not.

Anyway, I don’t care, I’m glad I’m not there. What would I be doing except shopping endlessly by day and being paraded on his arm like a possession, by night. I feel sick now when I think of how he called me his ‘eye candy’.

No, I’m glad I’m here, not there; even if I am homeless and living like a pauper now. I’ve learnt more about myself in the last few days than I have in the last few years and I like this new person I’m getting to know. This is reality, this is me.

About the sandals though…..I’m keeping them. I’ll never wear them, but when I get my own place, I’m going to give them pride of place on a shelf. They will be a reminder that prosperity doesn’t always bring happiness.

Guilt Complex

Linny’s been great, but I can’t stay with her much longer. Her place is too small for both of us. Her bedroom is also the living room and kitchen, there’s a tiny bathroom, and that’s it. You couldn’t swing a cat in there.

I got to know her bathroom pretty well yesterday- it was the only place to go when her new boyfriend came over. With his hands all over her, he was giving me this look- he definitely wanted me out of there. I made an excuse up about wanting to paint my toenails and not wanting to risk spilling any on the white sheepskin rug and took my coffee into the bathroom. I was glad to be out of the way, what with all the heavy sighing and moaning that was going on, but I didn’t count on it being the Whole Morning. But hey, it’s not my place and she’s doing me a huge favour, so what can I say. She’s opened up her home to me, she’s given me food and shelter and a shoulder to cry on and all without batting an eyelid. She hasn’t even asked how long I’m staying.

Which, as I said, can’t be for much longer.

Anyway, I didn’t feel quite so magnanimous about an hour later when a huge row erupted between them over who spilled red wine on the couch. I mumbled something about not liking the colour of the nail varnish I just put on and did she have some remover and beat a hasty retreat. I had to sing all four verses of the National Anthem to drown out the yelling. Did you know that if you stare at cracks in a wall long enough, they start growing? Then the glass started flying and I made a mental note to find myself a job and a place of my own tomorrow.

It only ended when a glass she threw at him missed and hit the wall instead. It shattered all over my rucksack which just happened to be open at the time. He stormed out and Linny and I spent the next hour on our hands and knees picking shards of glass out from my clothes.

As I type this I’m propped up on the sofa bed, devouring toast and hot chocolate she’s just brought me. Blobs of butter have dripped on to the duvet and there will be crumbs everywhere by the time I’ve finished, but she hasn’t complained.

I think she’s feeling guilty.

Finding my way

It’s been such a strange few days. I feel out-of-sorts and in unfamiliar territory,
as if I’m looking down from above on a life that used to be mine. Which, by the way, seems to be carrying on quite well without me.

Was my life so wound up around his that I don’t know how to be, who I am, without him?

I mean, it’s not like I miss him, because I don’t. It’s not as if I want to go back to him, I don’t. It’s that I don’t recognise myself now that I’m alone. I'm staring at my unfamiliar face in the mirror. Was I really so defined by being his girlfriend? Did I see that as being my sole role in life?

I feel like the girl who sneaked out of the party for a minute to have a quick cigarette behind the shed and ended up having a lucky escape when the house blew up. I’m realising that, after all these years, I’ve suddenly got what I never had which is my independence, and I don’t know what to do with it.

Was it love? Maybe not. Maybe it was more of a ‘caring/ sharing’ thing. I needed somewhere to belong, he needed someone to be with and for a while, we fulfilled each other needs. As much as I used to joke around about ‘waiting for his proposal’, deep down I probably knew it wouldn’t last; that it was just masks that we put on, a game we played while waiting for the sandman to run out.

And maybe that’s ok. No-one got hurt. We helped each other out, we filled voids in each others life. There were times I had a lot of fun with him, and others when I turned a blind eye to some of his more questionable habits.

But maybe it’s not okay. I’m worth more than that. Why did I settle for second best?

I don’t know why. I believe that everything that happens -good and bad- serves a purpose; that every experience that we go through has something to offer us and can be learnt from, but it’s our job and responsibility to find it and make use of that knowledge.

If I’ve learnt anything from being with him, it’s that I don’t want to be dependant on someone like that again. I want to be able to hold my head up high and say “I’m making this decision, I’m taking responsibility and I’m taking care of myself.” And I will- I will do that, just as soon as I have figured out what to do next.

I’m not his girlfriend anymore, I’m not his lover; I’m me- just me. This is the first time ever, in my life, that I have really been on my own.

Does that sound sad? Now that I’m thinking about it, I think it does make me a little sad.......sad that I’ve always been so dependant on someone, that I’ve always been happy to drift along and let them make the plans and the decisions. I’m supposed to be the Master of My Destiny, but I certainly didn’t see myself that way. I’m not blaming him though- he treated me that way because I allowed him to. I know that.

Whilst it does make me sad to see myself that way, I have moments too of exhilaration; like a new door has opened and a whole world is out there waiting for me.

I just have to decide what to do with it.

Thursday Thirteen 1

Thirteen Things about Why I Knew It Wouldn't Last



1…..... We met through a friend. We were both visiting her in hospital after her appendix operation. I arrived with a new pair of warm, fluffy slippers (I knew she’d lost hers), magazines and flowers. He arrived at the same time, with a box of fudge for her which he proceeded to munch through while telling us about his appendix problems years ago.

2..... An hour into the appendix story, he finally got around to telling us it had actually been wind and proceeded to demonstrate it. He still hadn’t asked our friend how she was.

3..... He spent the next three months bombarding me with phone calls, telling me he wanted to date me. Get this- he wasn’t ‘asking me out on a date’, he was just telling me that he ‘wanted to date me, but he was checking his position’. Checking out the other women walking by first, more like it.

4..... I finally agreed to have a drink with him….to get him off my back. He took to a wine-bar where, I discovered later, his ex-wife was working. He got hideously plastered and spent the whole evening telling me how much he loves tall brunettes. I’m small and blonde. You’ll know what she was. I left after an hour.

5..... The first night I met him, he told me he had just got his pilot’s licence and that he spent most Saturdays flying. Months later, I kept asking him to take me flying and couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t. I thought he might be having an affair, so one day I followed him. He spent the whole day sitting on a station platform with his binoculars, notebook and a soggy sandwich. He wasn’t a pilot at all ; he was a train-spotter.

6..... Our first row happened when I refused to ‘iron his underwear’. He sent them out to the laundry to be ironed instead.

7..... He wore white socks with sandals in the summer. Short, ankle length white socks with his initials ‘V.N.C.S.’ embroidered in purple thread across the back.

8.....We went to the Bahamas for two weeks in July last year. The second day we were there, he stubbed his toe (the one with the in growing toe-nail) and hopped around like a baby for the rest of the day. The third day, he said he was too injured to go to the beach and spent the rest of the 11 days lying on a lounger on the hotel balcony. By the fourth day, I’d lost my patience. I spent the rest of the trip on the beach. Fabulous!

9..... He cried when Suddam Hussein was hung. Yet when his cat was run over the following week, he called me home from the dentist, telling me I had to take it to the vet because he was going to play golf.

10..... At first, I loved how good-looking he was but my feelings soon changed. I couldn’t stand the amount of time he spent checking himself in the mirror.

11..... He said he didn’t want me to meet his daughter because, not having kids of my own, I’d find her ‘difficult’. Then one day, by sheer accident, I did meet her and we clicked. The closer I became to her, the more jealous he became. He said ‘Why do you bother with her? I should be more important to you’…..She was six years old, by the way.

12..... I only discovered what his first initial –V- stood for when, just before we broke up, I read a letter that he’d kept from an ex. It’s Valvanus. Yes, that’s what I said.

13..... There were so many nights I lay beside him in bed wondering...........
Is this who I want to be with?




Links to other Thursday Thirteens!
1.Susan Helene Gottfried!
2.(leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!).


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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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Interview Anyone? (Thanks Leigh!)

What is it that you like to read most and why?


I like to read things I can just dip into and then put down again, so mostly newspapers and magazines. I like getting snippets of information that get me curious about something, then I’ll go to the library to find out more, or search for it on the internet. So I guess I like reading about current affairs, real life stuff. I ‘m not really into fiction and I can’t remember when I read a book last. I love reading letters, I have lots of family and friends abroad who send me airmail letters. To get a letter in the post is a real treat for me.




Are you a spiritual (not necessarily religious) person and if not do you feel like that it's an important chunk of your life missing?



My ex was a ‘born-again Christian’, my phrase, not his. I’ve never been into it, and to be honest I never really understood it. He tried to convert me…maybe that’s why it didn’t work out. I do believe in the after-life though, and I believe in ghosts so maybe I am spiritual after all. My grandmother- her ghost- came to me when I was a little girl and warned me ‘to beware of the bee’. A few hours later my mother heard that her aunt had died (my grandmother’s sister) and she told me that many people believe that ‘the bee’ is a fore-warning of death. I was very close to my grandmother and I believe she was looking out for me.




Do you have an irrational fear of anything and when was the first time you noticed it?



When I was very young, I had an irrational fear of people with scars on their faces. I don’t know what caused it, but I remember the first time I noticed it. I remember suddenly seeing an old man with a scar across his cheek- I was quite young, maybe 5 or 6 or so, and I was transfixed by this scar. I started imagining blood and gunk seeping out of the scar and dripping onto my foot. It was so real I almost thought it was happening. It made me feel sick, and I remember bursting into tears and running away from him. Unfortunately, I collided with a lady carrying a tray (I think we were at a restaurant or something like that) and there was chaos when I knocked the tray out of her hand. That made me cry even more and then my parents thought I was crying because I had made the lady drop the tray. I couldn’t get them to understand! When I turned around to show them the man, he had disappeared. They thought I must have imagined it.
After that, I couldn’t look at anyone with a scar on their face, although it’s fine if it is somewhere on the body. Its funny how that story sticks in my mind- writing about it now, I can still feel that fear! I still don’t like looking at scars now.




When was the last time that you talked to a friend and do you feel like you were able to be that kind of support for said person?



Well, I talked to my friend Jo this morning. We met in the park (she was pushing her daughter in the pram) and walked for a while. This is the first chance I’ve had to tell her about the break up, about why I’m not in Mauritius right now. She’s a really good friend, she didn’t say ‘I told you so’, even though I know she’s never liked him. Anyway, then I looked after her baby, I pushed her a bit longer in the pram and then sat with her in a coffee shop, whilst Jo went to buy herself a dress. She hates shopping with the baby in tow, so yes, I think we both offered each other support today.




Are you really outgoing or are you the kind of person who is very cautious about the type of people that they surround themselves with?



Well, I have to think about this! I am outgoing; I know that I talk a lot, sometimes too much. I just always feel I have so many important things to say, and I can’t keep up with my mind. My ex said I had an annoying habit of talking to three or four people at the same time, all different conversations though, and sometimes he couldn’t tell what I was saying to whom. I have become a much better listener though. Am I cautious about people? No. I wish I was…I tend to like everyone and find it hard to see people’s faults, and sometimes I’ve regretted that. I’ve got close to people and then realised they weren’t all they made themselves out to be.




So...your mission should you choose to accept it is:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. Update your weblog with the answers to the questions. Remember to leave me a message on my blog to tell me you've done this.
4. Include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, ask them five questions.

Thanks Leigh, this was fun. You made me think hard about these things. I felt quite emotional, remembering about my grandmother, and 'Beware of the Bee'.

If you want to be interviewed, let me know!! C'mon, it'll be fun!

New Life

I found myself being dumped today,
But treasure gets found in the reject pile.

I found myself at a loose end today,
And decided to enjoy the freedom a while.

I found myself without a home today
But realised I can sleep almost anywhere.

I’ve left my dependence behind today
I don't need him! So there.

I left my glam clothes at his place today,
But I feel free in a t-shirt and jeans.

I've left the old me behind, you see
And I love what my new life now means.

Hey-ho.

Ok. I’m an ‘Upbeat/ Pick Myself Up & Carry On’ kinda girl, so I’m only going to say this once. ONCE, d’ya hear?

Why didn’t I see this coming?

There were no warning signs. Honest. Unless I was so busy shopping for Prada I didn’t notice them…..but hey, what would he have booked us on a two week holiday to Mauritius for if he was about to dump me?

I don’t get it.

So. Here we are.

Last night was kind of unreal. My first night as a single girl, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I went where I always go to when I’ve got to figure something out- I went to Linny’s. Of course, I’d forgotten she works late on Sundays so I sat on her doorstep waiting for her, shivering in the cold and feeling an Absolute Fool. I ate the whole packet of Blueberry Muffins though.

By the time Linny got back it was almost 9 and she was late for a date. She said I could stay as long as I needed to, but I could tell she really wasn’t listening, she was too busy blow-drying her hair and trying to squeeze herself into a red dress. She asked if I wanted to go with her, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. At least she asked though. She’s a good friend.

So. Here I am. My entire life’s belongings are in a black rucksack beside this sofa bed. Besides my laptop- thank god I bought that myself!-, that’s it, that’s all I got. Oh, and about £580 in the bank, my ‘Honey In Gold’ sandals and my Dignity. The rest, he can keep.

In case you’re wondering, yeah, he’s in Mauritius.
Bastard.
Said there was no point in wasting both tickets. I pointed out I wasn’t going to pack his things now, like I usually did; he said ‘That’s ok, I’ll buy everything new out there.’

Yeah, it’s not only Girlfriends he throws away, it’s Money too.

About Me.

A-Z of Me.

Age- 20-Something.

Booze- Bacardi and Coke or Pimms in the Summer. Port in the winter. Red wine anytime. (White gives me headaches.)

Career- At 16, I left school, threw away my chance of 6 years at Uni to of being a Vet; all to move in with the 'man of my dreams'. I was going to marry him, have loads of babies and be a Stay At Home and Lovin’ it Momma for the rest of my life. Sad, huh? But that was all I wanted to do. So, while waiting for the ‘let’s get married’ bit, I worked here and there as a nanny, a waitress, a shop assistant and a library assistant. Then DH decided he didn’t want me working, and let’s face it; he had enough money for both of us, a house in the country and an apartment in NYC and the six babies I wanted. So I gave up my ‘little pastimes’ as DH referred to them, and became a Kept Woman instead.

Dad's name: Jeremy

Essential Item– Before now, I would have been had pressed to choose between my Anya Hindmarch bag, my Tiffany lace drop earrings, my Nikon DSLR Digital camera and my red Audi…all gifts he had given me. Of course, I threw them all back at him, everything; except for the sandals. So now? My Essential Item would be my Dignity. I just have to find it.

Family: I’m an ‘only’ child (my parents told me I was lucky not having to share them with anyone) and my parents both have died. I have an Aunt, somewhere in London, but I haven’t seen her since I was about 19. So, until today, DH and his family were My family. Now it’s Me.

Guilty Of: Looking through a box of old letters he had hidden at the back of the wardrobe. If he loved me, why did he need to keep letters from her? If I felt secure in our ‘it’s a matter of days before he asks me to marry him’ relationship, why did I need to snoop?

Hometown: You won’t have heard of it, but it’s a place called Lickfold. Really.

Instrument I Play: Piano, Clarinet and at school, the recorder. I had guitar lessons too, but my Dad stopped that when he realised I fancied the teacher.

Jam or Jelly I Like: Strawberry jam, and lashings of it with butter on thick, crusty white bread. So unhealthy but delicious.

Kids: None, Yet but I’d love them. At least three of each. My grandmother always told me that my hips were made for child-bearing.

Living Arrangment: Was living with him in his apartment off the Kings Road in London, until three days ago. Now sleeping on a friend’s sofa-bed in her studio apartment in Balham while I figure out what else to do.

Mum's Name: Virginia. 'Ginny' to anyone she liked. When I was mad at my parents, I'd call them 'Gin and Jem'. Behind their back, of course.

Overnight Hospital Stays: None, unless you count the time my best friend had complications after a secret abortion and she was so scared, I slept on the floor beside her bed so that she wouldn’t wake up alone after her surgery.

Phobias: Spiders. Being trapped in a lift. His Mother.

Quote I like: You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do. (Eleanor Roosevelt)

Regrets: Snooping through his things when I first moved in. Reading the letters he’d hidden at the top of his wardrobe. Was she beautiful?

Surprises I like: Breakfast in bed, a rainbow peaking through a wet, grey sky; a phone call from a long lost friend.

TV Shows: House, Desperate Housewives, Spooks, The Apprentice, West Wing…not that I’m a TV addict. I prefer books.

Unforgettable moment: That moment in Harrods, staring at my brand-new £199.00 sandals in one hand, listening to his voice stammering on my cell-phone in the other....’We need A Break’.

Vegetable or Fruit: Either, as long as it’s raw. I hate mushy, over-cooked food, and I like to eat on the run so carrots and apples are my favourite snacks.

Wondering About……Was she beautiful? Why did they break up? Did it bother her when he kissed his (Male) Friends on the lips?

X- Rays I’ve Had: One on my wrist, which turned out to be broken. He didn't mean to make me trip though.

Yummy food I Make: I don’t cook. I can’t cook. As far as his mother was concerned, if I couldn't cook, what good was I? (I resisted the temptation to send her a few polaroid snaps of what I 'Could Do' for him.) I do the best white toast with oodles of butter and strawberry jam though. For what it’s worth, he couldn’t cook either. We ate out a lot.

Zodiac Sign: Gemini. The twins. Dual personality. I can run hot and cold, changing from happy to angry to sad and back again in a flash. Some people find it a little un-nerving, but at least I don’t bare grudges. (Except this once.)

Life is what happens.....

Three days ago I was in Harrods, trying on a pair of tiny size 3 Kurt Geiger gold leather sandals (a mere snip at £199.00) and my cell phone rang.




Guessing it was DH, my wonderful, tender, funny, loving and full-of-surprises man (did I tell you about the time he hid a pair of Tiffany lace drop earrings in a bowl of ice-cream for me?) who was whisking me off for two weeks in Mauritius; I shoved my bag under the seat and tried to ignore it.

I was supposed to be at home baking Blueberry Muffins for his precious sister who was ‘dropping by’ in an hour, he was no doubt calling to make sure I hadn’t forgotten to plump the cushions and dust the curtain-rails first.

‘D’ya wanna get your phone?’ the assistant asked as it started ringing for the fourth time. She eyed me curiously as her clammy hand shoved my left foot in to the sandal. I winced.

No, I didn’t want to get the damn phone. I didn’t want to have to lie to him about being home baking, I didn’t want to hear about why I had to entertain his precious sister with tea and muffins when we were leaving for the airport in less than two hours, and most of all, I didn’t want anyone else buying the only pair left of Honey In Gold size 3’s, before I could.

I still had his suit to pick up from the dry cleaners, his packing to do, the insect repellent and Factor 15 to buy, the cat to take next door to Mrs Ferman to look after, the Blueberry Muffins to make; and he’d invited his sister to ‘pop in’ at 3.00?!!

I was getting the Damn Sandals.

The most beautiful pair of sandals I’ve ever gazed down at and one heavily-used Charge Card later, I’m pushing my way through the throng in Cosmetics and Skin Care on my way to the Food Hall in a desperate search for Blueberry Muffins, when I remember to check my messages.

"I think we need A Break", he said.

Life is what happens when you’re busy buying shoes.