Sugar and Spice

.... and all things nice.... and all things pink and pretty.

Christmas 2008 has been one of my favourites by far. I must have been a very good girl all year as Santa was very kind, or, I have a very lovely boyfriend. I don't think I have felt this lucky since I unwrapped my Barbie House when I was seven. There is however a downside to my Xbox and Guitar Hero game; I might become neglectful of this blog for a while. I will try not too though, willpower is all I need (and to stop being booed off stage)

My mum found the cake stand I had wanted months ago, it is so pretty and will look perfect in my new kitchen. I never described it to her, just told her that I had seen in in my favourite shop. Apparently she went the next day, telling my step dad that she would know which one it was as soon as she saw it and bingo! Call it mothers intuition.

Life is good

I am starting to feel a bit more comfortable with Christmas now and I feel happy. I have put up my tree (although it looks like the roots have been sipping on sherry making it impossible to stand straight) I have wrapped all my presents and placed under the tree and finally, I know how and where I am spending Christmas. Every year I have the drama of too many people to see and not enough time, which heightens the pressure and my bah humbug attitude. Last week I would have been content to go to sleep Christmas eve and wake up New Years Day. However, I have had a good few moments over the past week or so which have put me in a very good mood and I am ready for the festive jollity.

Highlights include:

1. Seeing my good friend Lou become a Mrs; she looked so beautiful and ecstatically happy. I like the idea of a winter wedding. Their first dance was a teary moment; I don't think I have seen two people so happy and in love like Lou and Matt - it was one of those perfect moments which you want to put in your pocket to take away and watch time and time again.

2. Being at the O2 with Martyn on Saturday for the last night of the Stereophonics - Decade in the Sun tour. Absolutely amazing. It was a special night and we had so much fun. Kelly Jones sang outstandingly well, the acoustics were fantastic and the atmosphere was electric. The best gig I have been to by far.3. Watching ice skaters at Hampton Court Palace on Sunday evening, then riding on the carousel, licking sticky candy floss fingers. Family fun at its very best.

4. The annual girlie Christmas dinner with lots of food, fun and laughter. A joint effort cooking a gastronomic feast, red wine flowing and toasts to us all and what 2009 will bring. After a session on Guitar Hero, the paper came out for some drawing and consequence fun! I am slightly concerned as to how my best friends view me.

Around the world and to the moon

Today I have spent a few hours losing myself in blogs and websites. It wasn't intentional, I found one of interest and then carried on clicking and have gone around the world reading about other people's lives. I find it fascinating and a little obsessive, I almost feel like I am stalker delving into worlds of the unknown. Sometimes I worry about what people feel when they land here, in between my rants and waffle there is the odd attempt at something 'creative', when I think about it I feel a little naive and embarrassed that I am even here in the first place.

I started with Is there anything wrong with plastic rosaries? which is an intriguing title (I find it fascinating about how people arrive at their blog titles, take Sally for example, she found her recent title in a fortune cookie) Bethan has recently listed her favourite books and I have spied one that I think I would enjoy, so thank you for that.

I am in awe of I'm not anti social Her dress style and make up is gorgeous. I wish I had the patience to apply my makeup in a more professional manner and have time to experiment with colours, I don’t think I have the right kind of eyes for such a make over. I am coveting her dresses and her shoes.

The One-Minute Writer is another great blog encouraging you to stop and use one minute to write. Each day there is a new prompt, today’s is about describing a memorable birthday, here is mine:

The Great Storm of 1987 happened on the eve of my eighth birthday, I woke to a tree uprooted in the garden, no electricity and coldness. School was cancelled and so was my birthday party. I remember the only presents I could play with were a set of red and yellow stencils. We had soup for my party tea and no cake due to the oven not working.

This blog here has made me smile this afternoon and reminisce about some disastrous cakes that I have produced in my time. There was the desert island, which I made for my ex’s birthday in our first year of being together. I think it was Dick Tracy Island – it came in a box and gave instructions on how to construct, I just remember very messy blue frosting. It wasn't impressive and it set a precedent for my baking skills. Once I made a Bakewell tart for Valentines Day but coloured the mixture pink. It tasted nice but looked more like Mr Messy than a cake. The Gingerbread Mums and Dads that I made one year on Mothers and Fathers Day were good, albeit a 7 year old could have produced the same level of decorative icing.

Tonight, the moon is going to be the biggest and brightest full moon we have seen in fifteen years. It will be twelve percent bigger than the normal and is being called a lunar flypast. I like the sound of that. I am keeping my fingers crossed for the clouds to part so I can see the moon and her beauty.

Goodnight

A kiss can say so much, and so little. Kissing should never be something that stops between two people, however old they become. From the first kiss that releases butterflies to the kiss goodnight at the end of each day. I want to make each goodnight kiss special, in case you are not there in the morning or that it feels different following night. That difference in the strength of a kiss can tell a secret. Whether I am kissing you every night for the next fifty years - let it never become routine, for again, your secret will be known. Let us savour each kiss with the memory of our days, weeks, months and years together and be thankful for what we have. Don’t let us fall asleep without the commitment of our lips sealing our love, for our love may not be alive tomorrow.Kissing should not be taken for granted or used as leverage. A kiss between lovers is a sparkle of ignition, a word without explanation, forgiveness without sound and an apology without a tear. Never underestimate the power of a kiss or what it means to me, to be kissed goodnight by someone who loves me.

December has arrived with a frost and sense of urgency. It has rushed upon me and I feel compelled to hurry into the spirit of this festive month. I think though, this is only because of the mayhem outside; shoppers rushing in and out of closing down stores, crowds hurrying to get their mulled wine, market traders shouting their offers and the changes to our economy. I also feel the pressure from others to know what I am doing and when they are going to see me, and it is also the most chaotic time at work with four publications being due before the end of the month.

Whilst I sit at my cluttered desk (which is how my head feels) eating my warming parsnip, butternut squash and ginger soup, I thought I would take some time to stop and think about December and what I enjoy, so even if I don't have time to think of them in the next couple of weeks, I have smiled at them today:

making my Christmas cards
mulled wine in front of a blazing fire
German markets
the smell of cinnamon
stollen
fat little robins
chunky knitted jumpers
mittens
gingerbread lattes
smell of pine needles
real Christmas trees
un co-ordinated decorated trees
white fairy lights
handmade gift labels
woolly tights
bobble hats
hot toddys
glitter
smell of wood burning
bright red holly berries
walks on frosty sunny days
holding hands
wrapping presents
hot chestnuts
turkey roast dinners

I actually think I could list endlessly. It has done the trick though, I feel slightly more excited about winter now.

Just a thought

A year ago I wrote you a letter. I told you it would be the last one that you would ever receive from me. I remember the pain I felt in my heart as I penned that statement. I had left you reflecting in front of the fire. We had finished our last argument, we had talked about it the last time, options were exhausted and so was I.

My letter was never meant to be so long, but as I sat curled into myself; the emotions that I could not show you fell out and splashed onto the page. I left the letter on the spare bed. No hearts or kisses to illustrate the page, it wasn’t a love letter; it was goodbye and a reminder of the pain you had caused.

I heard you reading it several hours later, your regret echoed with every page turned. We never spoke of that letter and I never got a reply. Sometimes I still want a reply – even now. Sometimes I want to send you another letter, another reminder to stop you from moving on.
I want you to be stuck in a mud full of memories.

Whooooosch!

Everything this week has been rushed. My life has stepped up a gear and I can't slow it down. This post is going to be rushed because although I want to update this blog I have no flipping time. (Flipping is my word for the month, every other word is a flip or flipping) So for a while, I feel that this blog will become my 'ranting space' with very little creativity, not that I think I have any but I like to give it a go - I am in it for the ride.

I realise that I am not making things easy for myself. I can't say no and I can't stop helping people, thus giving myself no flipping time. Seriously though, where is time going?

 

At work I am a cartoon character, with arms buzzing up and down typing, answering the telephone (because no one else flipping bothers) I am up and down like a flipping yo-yo. I don't run this company, I flipping well should do, so why am I having to sort out our fire extinguishers (which have been out of date since 2001!) I am a full marketing department - just me.

At home I have a new kitchen to plan and install. Work hopefully starts tomorrow in which case I need to pack everything up. Then I need to plan plan plan.

I have friends who I want to see and talk to, and with Christmas time looming, lots of people to catch up with. I want to help my friend who has three year old twins and after being amazingly strong for the past year, after finding out her husband was seeing someone else, is now in pieces and unable to cope. I don't know what to do to help, other than offer to babysit so she can go food shopping or walk the dog, I can only do this if I have another 3 hours added to the day.  I think I might put a Christmas hamper together for her - some handmade goodies for her and the little ones. 

Time time time time, flipping time. My dad has offered to buy me lunch today, great! saves me cooking tonight but I have adverts, copy, deadlines, phone calls coming at me from every angle.

Talking of which... better get on.

Rant over.

Mindful times

I am all about being mindful at the moment and exploring new visual treats.

Yesterday, I had another stone posted on the inspirational Handful of Stones blog, reading it this morning has made me hungry!

I also found a title for my new blog, well, in fact it was given to me by my friend Peta. She cooked dinner for me last week, and over a couple of glasses of red wine I chatted to her about this blog and my idea for another, to which the title rolled off her tongue: Pedal to the floor and mindful.

I like it.

I enjoyed my drive to work this morning and being more open to what is taking place - even it it happens every day, it is never the same. I need to be careful though, I did a little too much 'looking up' this morning and nearly hit the curb.

Second thoughts

Is there a name for those few split seconds, when you wake realising that whatever you had been dreaming about, was just that – a dream, and before you remember what is really going on in your life which causes your heart to sink to the pit of your stomach, those few seconds when you have nothing on your mind but feeling of complete peace and contentment.

Why can’t those few seconds be longer?

That moment of realisation that everything is not as it should be or that there is a big task at hand, whether a work presentation or a relationship/friendship problem, is like going too high on a swing and losing your stomach. The heart beats harder, reaching the back of your throat causing short sudden breaths.

The thought of staying under a duvet, hidden from the world is appealing. Why not just crawl under a rock until the storm has passed? Surely not everything has to be addressed and dealt with.

As the cogs begin to turn, there is hope that a new solution may be found, that the night to ‘sleep on it’ has provided an answer. Breathing slows and the stare begins, the wall becomes the visual for the thoughts being churned. Eyes stay open, fixed on a dent in the wall or a flower on the wall paper, it distorts as conversations are rehearsed and responses prepared.

The thirty minutes which pass achieve nothing other than lateness.

Ping!

I have had a light bulb moment. I have been inspired by blogs like this and this. I like how they encourage me to be more observant of my everyday life and how, when you look close enough (or perhaps it is more about being open to look) there is so much more to see.

I take the same route to and from work. I sit in traffic watching other drivers, the expressions on their faces engraved with the impending day or ahead or the relief that a day is over. I don't want to be one of those people - staring out the window at the car ahead, not really seeing what is taking place around me. The drive is monotonous but what I see doesn't have to be. So, once a title comes to me, I will take time to see something new on the drive to or from work each day and post it on a new blog.  Maybe Southampton can be inspiring. If only it could give me the title.

Not enough time in the day

I have a new favourite book, well, one to add to my list. I have just finished Enduring Love by Ian McEwan and I am thinking of turning back to the front and starting again. The story of Joe, Clarissa and Parry has kept me captivated, with a eagerness to turn each page and the sense of panic if I knew I couldn’t squeeze a couple of pages in each day.
The book is so beautifully written with such detail into the characters, their emotions and the balance between love and obsession, the destruction that betrayal leaves and the delicacy of all relationships. I love reading books that make you think and ones that extend my vocabulary.

Talking of which, do the kids of today look up words they don’t know in a dictionary? I think not. My new word for this week is: crepuscular.

Another beautiful book, which I can’t stop looking at is 100 years of Fashion Illustration by Cally Blackman. It is full of gorgeous pictures of the development of fashion and collections from the great couturiers such as Chanel and Christian Dior. The styles of the illustrations cover Art Deco, paintings and computer generated all creating beautiful pieces of art which inspire.

I have never been too interested in fashion design, I don’t follow the catwalks and don’t really know what is in season from one to the next, I just like what I like and wear what I feel like, but this book is something I can get lost in, time after time.

Profile pictures

I see your face
no longer close
your gaze is not mine
it belongs to another
the one by your side
in the place that was mine
she can stay in those shoes
my soul no longer fits
green is not my colour

twisted smiles
the light in your eyes
my heart gulps down
a pang of pain
reminded of being broken
but my happiness prevails
and brings me back to
better times

When I grow up......

This past week I have been reflecting on my school days and the impending stages of adolescence my half sister faces.On Tuesday I listened to her arguing with her dad, she is fourteen years old and much more feisty than I was at that age. The problem is - she doesn’t know when to stop. She bites so quickly at remarks that are said in jest to madden her and shouts at everything before storming out the room in a ’Kevin’ strop. The argument was about how lazy she is, how she spends her day in bed and what a waste her life is. It moves onto the paper round she has quit because she doesn’t want to get up at six in the morning every day for the rest of her life. ( I know that feeling!) My younger brother is laughing, he has reaped the benefits and now earning £20 a week for a paper round consisting of a few papers. When I was fifteen, I had a paper round for the local news which always had to be stuffed with the freebies, making the weight of my round double. I got paid £7 tops for delivering to two big caravan parks. Unlike Louise and Sam, who don’t talk or help each other out, I frequently enlisted the help of my brother Adam to share the load. I remember the day we discovered that one of the caravans, the one furthest away, down the gravel track was inhabited by a witch. We watched her from behind a bush and noted that she had two big pointed ears and always wore black. We didn’t deliver her papers for a couple of weeks until we were told he had to. We dared each other to be the one to put it through the door, sneaking around the caravan so she wouldn’t see us. She did though and she opened the door to accept the paper. I remember being so scared, that was until, we realised that she wasn’t a witch, nor did she have big pointy ears. What she did have, was two large hearing aids that were tapped to her head. Needless to say we ran away laughing and we still chuckle about it now.

On Wednesday, I watched Louise's GCSE dance performance and the rest of the school delivering ‘House Dance’ where groups of friends put together dance routines in aid of their team house. I watched twenty dance routines over two hours and all I thought about, was how glad I am not to be at secondary school again and how, no matter the money, I would never take the opportunity to be twelve to sixteen again. It was interesting to watch and be able to identify the quiet ones, the bullies, the ‘popular’ girls who all the boys fancied, the small geeky girls and the stud of the year.
The actual routines were monotonous, they were all to songs in the Pussycat Doll genre (not sure what that is) with a lot of body popping and jolty movements. A breath of fresh air came with the girl who tap danced to a classic Chicago song unlike the twelve year old that truly believed she was part of the Pussycat Dolls and throughout her routine pouted and provocatively twisted her hair through her fingers whilst bumping and grinding. She got the biggest cheer. I felt sorry for her and what the next few years will have in store.

I have been trying to encourage Louise to find her own identity and install some faith in her that it is ok to be different, but all I get is raised eyebrow and a ‘yeah right’. I see her conforming to what her best friend tells her is right. Last week they went to Thorpe Park and had been given a strict dress code - totally impractical for a theme park and the wet cold weather. I could see the panic in her eyes that she didn’t have the ‘uniform’ to which I told her to be bold - wear red tights not black, shorts instead of a skirt, but my job at convincing her that it would be ok was poor. But on reflection, I don’t think that I would have listened to a peer telling me to be different and stand out, when the rules of the social circle brand you as odd or un-cool.

Now , I couldn’t care less about conforming. If I like something - I wear it, I only hope that I can lead by example and that she will find her identity and be comfortable and confident with who she is. I think we have a long way to go yet and a lot more ‘Kevin’ strops.

Hanging in the balance

I knew that I had made a promise but I couldn't’help it. I had been pacing my small kitchen to my own rhythmic drum, the tempo increasing as I heard laughter from above. My legs shook, my ice cold hands trembled.

I had been told to stay downstairs, that I was to show respect in order for the ‘right’ to happen and that I should trust what had been promised; that the call would be the last, and then it would be over and our lives would return. The problem was, I didn't believe it.

After ten minutes of pacing, I opened the kitchen door and as I stood in the doorway I planned my route across the wooden floor to avoid dangerous spots that would signal my move. I was reminded of the childhood games with my brother where we would find ourselves trapped on a sinking ship or island surrounded by quicksand. We had used our survival skills to escape and get to the safety of the sofa. I needed those skills, for it was fight of flight; I was choosing fight.

I made sure there was some noise to distract my crossing by turning up David Attenborough’s soothing tones on the television; would the lioness survive? Then, with a lightness in my step I stayed close to the wall and successfully reached the my first safety point. I could hear his voice, he hadn’t closed the bedroom door and niceties of their conversation caused my breath to stutter as I swallowed a scream.

Poised for the next step, I took a large stride through the doorway, the floor creaked echoing up through the pipes, I balanced on one foot as I heard his steps across the floor and the bedroom door close. Taking advantage of his movement I made two more steps and landed on the bottom stair. My heart raced with adrenaline. I looked up to the zenith, fourteen steps was all I had to take. I shifted my body around and climbed two steps on all fours, my legs and arms reaching to the corner of each step. I stopped, deep breath, two more, then again. As I stretched out my arm to the next step, it creaked, my body froze as did their conversation. It soon started again as I pivoted onto my behind. I had made it halfway and their conversation was clearer. There was laughter. How dare he laugh? I tried to make a mental note of the random words; they may come in useful as evidence: Oxford, Canterbury, conference, weekend. I needed to get closer. I re positioned myself and begun the climb to the top, three steps to go and another creak - my knee was positioned on the lose board, if I lifted, the alarm would be signalled and my position compromised.

Slowly I reached out and laid my torso on the landing, my legs unable to move. With stealth, I pulled myself along the wool carpet burning my chest, I tried again to move my knee but all I could do was stretch my legs out behind me. I was in a Mission Impossible position, balanced on my stomach, thankful for my paunch , arms and legs in a starfish position. I steadied my breath and pricked up my ears.

I was not hearing what I wanted. Pivoted on my stomach I stayed for fifteen long minutes, unable to go forward or to go backwards. When the bedroom door finally opened, he stepped out and over my body which was still hanging in the air of betrayal.

“I knew you were there” he said as he descended the stairs, “Do you want a cup of tea?”

Comfort

It is a proper blustery October day. On my drive to work this morning, there were showers of burnt orange leaves littering the pavements; a montage of colours and textures.
The sky is grey and dull, I want to be at home snuggled with Martyn, on my sofa, the fire ablaze, homemade leek and potato soup watching Goodnight Mr Tom. That would make me happy, very happy indeed.

Movement

It was my birthday last Thursday. It is official, the countdown to 30 begins so I need to make the most of this year. I received some lovely presents including the biggest box of Jelly Belly beans I have ever seen and I am enjoying the flavours, not so much the peanut butter one though, or the jalapeno. Hot!

On Friday I went to the Bargate Monument and Gallery in Southampton to see the new visual art exhibition: In the Flesh by Billy Cowie. Upon entry to the darkened gallery room, I was given a pair of 3D glasses and told to stand on a raised platform, which is the best viewing position. The piece starts and dancer Sara Popwa who is on a zebra-print mat begins to move; it is beautiful to watch. At one point I wanted to reach out and touch her hand. I became part of her dance as she effortlessly stretched and moved outside the boundaries of the mat. I felt slightly sad as I thought about her being trapped in this art form and only coming alive through 3d glasses, but then that is the beauty of it, I was there, with her.

Handful of Stones

I planted a small stone over the weekend. It can be found here. I enjoy taking the time to notice and enjoy what is taking place around me, I think it is important to take pleasure in the small things and to smile at their beauty.

I smiled a lot over the weekend.

Pepper's drool

I have just returned from my morning meeting. It has been a bizarre day so far and I am wondering what might happen this afternoon.

Firstly, the lady that I met with this morning, who owns a self- catering property asked me to help her carry her wet washing. I became her laundry assistant.

Once in her house, we had a conversation about a swede; she was apologising for the smell of the swede, explaining that her friend had given it to her. Fair enough the conversation was relevant (there was a pungent aroma to her house) but to talk about a swede for 5 minutes - I struggled.

We started to talk and I went into 'sales pitch' mode to which she kept responding with words I didn't understand, especially the random french words that were thrown into most of her sentences. I just smiled and sipped on my coffee.

After half and hour, our meeting was brought to an abrupt end by her black Labrador who was happily devouring my ham, lettuce and salad cream sandwich. Pepper, had sniffed out my lunch and removed it from my handbag; she wasn't too keen on the lettuce or the cling-film but the rest was gone and I was left with nothing other than a diary covered in drool. This led to a few minutes of awkwardness with Pepper's owner apologising profusely whilst offering me some lunch money and me telling her not to worry. It was a table tennis style conversation.

I left with £3.00 and no sale.  

Earthy leaves

I love October. It is my favourite month of the year and not just because it is when my birthday falls (although this year I have a complex about my birthday; I start the countdown to 30).
I love the smell of the air and the crispness of leaves underfoot. I could drive through the countryside for hours in October looking at the beautiful colours on the trees. I drove to Abergavenny on Saturday and was transfixed by the scarlet reds, burnt oranges and the many shades of green as they turn to brown. When the low autumn sun lights up the tree tops, the colours come alive with such vibrancy, that I want to put on my wellies and go for a walk where I can kick the leaves releasing that earthy smell. Kicking leaves reminds me of visiting my grand parents in Winchester; walking back from school along Chilbolton Avenue, shin deep in crisp brown leaves, kicking them high in the air with no thought to where I was or who might be watching.

As the nights draw in I get ready for the winter; my first log fire is lit in October giving the homely smell of dry wood burning. I like the cosiness of being warm indoors with a glass of red wine and a good book. To me, October is about cosiness, pulling everything in and around me tight to keep warm and settle down.

Tracks

My eyes sting. I am blinking, on average, every other second. The white of my eyes is red and dry. They have been expelling saltiness all afternoon. They hurt and feel heavy. The weight of the world lies within my eyes. I have tracks running from my cheekbone to my jaw; white salty tracks.
Sometimes I want to close them, lids closed tight, warm, moist and protected. Forever.

Not much going on today

I am working from home today, well, meant to be. I have just gone online to check my work emails but instead got lost in reading stories and blogs about what people did on the weekend. Suddenly half an hour has gone by. Oops.

Below are the reasons I cannot concentrate:

My house is cold. I am refusing to put the heating on until the clocks go back.
The sun is shining outside and I want to sit in the garden and work, but I know if I do, I am in danger of closing my eyes and dozing in the comfortable autumn sun and getting even less done.
My washing machine is too loud
I keep picking at food: few crisps, lump of cheese, biscuit, more crisps
I am tired.
I feel emotional and keep thinking about the weekend gone
I keep watching my neighbours.

There we go, another 10 minutes gone. Double oops.

Just say it

I wait for a word
or a few that tell me you love me
I search for them in everything you say
I read words of the non specific
burying my head between the lines
searching for what I need

I have heard the words before
they spun me on your pedestal
until giddy with adulation
I tell myself those words are still there
just transformed through the other

But every once and a while
when my bank is empty
and my soul feels hollow
I need you to say it straight
and tell me that you love me

Potency

You make voices rise
Allow the tough ones to cry

You give confidence to the small
Make the angry brawl

You start giggles and smiles
Let some forget for a while

You enhance the pain
Liven the games

You allow truths to be told
Secrets to unfold

You encourage discontent
The fuel to vent

You damage ties
Words live through a lie

You make me see
How I don’t want to be

Decisions V's Choices

Ever feel that you are a hamster in a wheel which is being spun at such a ridiculous speed that your little tiny legs just won't keep up?

I do. I am stuck in that wheel which the Great Hand of Life is spinning; I am sure, just to have a laugh at my expense. I am not always running at the same speed, sometimes the Hand of Life is kind and will gently keep me at a stroll but only for long enough for me to catch my breath.

Work is insane. The two Directors have locked horns like two stags fighting over a female, only in this instance, the female is the company. There is no communication just straight at it. A split is inevitable and we all feel it and know that it is going on. At least with us all being aware there is always someone filling the uncomfortable silences. 'Anyone watch that show last night, you know the one with that funny guy', 'Cup of tea.... biscuit?' The only problem is that the decision makers rely more and more on myself. I should be a Director. I have to cover the sales campaigns for three publications between October and December, potentially another two as well as writing all the copy and carrying all the marketing activities and brand building for the company. Not much to ask hey! I could have said no, and continued to tell them that they should source a Sales Executive from an agency, but I see this as a chance to prove Director number two wrong.

Life is persistent. I have too many choices and decisions to be made. I know what I want to do and I know it is the right thing for me, but, what of the people I leave behind?
Some say I am distancing myself, I say not. These choices are going round my head like a die on a roulette wheel, it will stop soon, but where will it rest, black or red and can I handle either option.

My painting

Over the weekend I finally found time to sit down and paint a snuggle, (definition is here) it was my second attempt. The first was too cold and didn't portray the closeness of a snuggle.

I tried to incorporate some elements of some of the aboriginal art I saw in Australia. In dreamtime paintings of the indigenous people, the half circles represent people, you can tell whether the people are male or female by the instruments by the side, men often have spears. I can't remember what women have, I have just tried to look it up in one of the books I brought back with me but I can't find my Australia folder anywhere, I feel quite panicked about this. It has everything from my trip, from tickets to postcards, leaflets and books. I hope it turns up..... soon.

Anyway, my painting doesn't have any instruments, to me, it portrays the closeness and warmth of a snuggle.

Foreshadow

I stand in the shadow
Cast by giants
Not in size but presence
Too easy to forget I am there
The shadow holds me close
I may be stood in darkness
But the light has not gone from me
I am still alive and I still breathe
I can speak for myself
I do not wish to be told
For one day, I will be bigger than you
And I will be sure to leave you
Stood in my shadow

Foundations

They met for a reason

Two broken pieces
A shattered heart and a broken soul
One night to connect in body and mind
Gave light to dark times and new hope
Hands that fit, bodies that mold
An understanding of trust as the basis for new
A knowing that love lifts and lightens the path
Sometimes so close, yet distance prevents
The release of the past and belief in the now
The season continues as a friendship spins
Out of control where mistakes are made
Through fault of the past
But lessons of trust continue to build
Foundations for freedom
Build and grow
Together as one
A lifetime

Weekend of constrasts

What is with our weather? We have had almost two seasons in one weekend.

On Saturday morning I woke to sunshine and heat and what an August day should feel like. I took my tea and toast into the garden and sat relishing in the warmth and the sunshine. I looked up into the bright blue sky and witnessed the migration of hundreds of fairies. As I felt the gentle warm breeze on my face I strained my eyes to the top of the sky seeing more and more delicate wishes taking a journey, some flying higher and faster than others. I thought of the many dreams and wishes that would be made following a successful capture of a fairy, children wishing for new toys, for someone to be their best friend or perhaps that their first day of school wouldn't be too scary. I then thought of the grown ups who still catch fairies and believe in making wishes, grown ups like me, who wish for love, friendship, happiness and solutions. As I walked down the garden I rescued fairies who had been caught in the long grass and spiders webs, I thought by giving flight to the fairies again, I would be helping to make wishes come true.

If only I had kept one for myself and wished for a repeat of the weather for today.

Today, I had my first fishing experience which took place in the rain. Martyn and I were up early where the sun gave hint to burning away the early morning haze, but as we arrived at Teddington Lock, the mist moved slowly in creating a calmness to the morning. The air was so still, the Thames so quiet until thunder rumbled through the sky and the rain began. I sat huddled under a large umbrella watching the intricate setup for the day ahead. There is something very soothing about being out in the rain (when you are warm and dry!) I watched the droplets create music on the river, the tempo changing every few minutes with the odd clap of thunder providing a bass. I felt at peace as I watched and listened, feeling proud of the catch of the day - a 4lb perch (apparently it was a fine specimen of a fish!)

I didn't actually do any fishing, I hadn't actually been prepared in dressing for the rain so I stayed on my little seat in the dry and watched the multicoloured maggots escaping from their pots (they were coloured in a similar way to pilau rice) some had made a dash for the moss covered steps where with a valiant persistence they climbed the step, well, as high as they could until they fell off. I watched for around 10 minutes, transfixed on whether any of them would make it. None of them did, but the pink ones reached the highest.

Somedays I love you

A shadow creeps
Through a once loved heart
It states your reasons why
Yet believes the failing truth
Lust burns within
The soul makes judgements
On heartbeat promises
Believe in trusting the truth
Trust believing
Hope for trust
Trust hope

Emptiness

Today I can't and don't want to write.
No poems or stories, words of love and living.
Today I just want to say

a million little pieces

At last....

I am so content. This weekend I have finally got round to purchasing a laptop for home. I no longer have to store up my ideas and thoughts in my head until I get to work where I steal moments to write on here, I can happily sit at home on my bubblegum pink laptop and write to my heart's content. At present, I am sat on my bed, after just devouring left over KFC feeling at peace that I am in my own home doing just what I want and when I want.

Questions for Carrie

I watched a few episodes of Sex and the City on Friday night. A few things have been on my mind so I have come up with the following for Carrie to write about or explain in a way I understand.

Should we make sacrifices in order to be happy?

Can love really make you turn a blind eye?

Is there such a thing as unconditional love? Don't we always have a conditions and expectations on how someone should be or behave. Is that right?

If anyone wants to answer these in Carrie fashion, answer away!

ipod poem

I am bored at work, don't feel like talking much today.
My ipod is on shuffle. This has been the last hour:

Life is wonderful
Tear
Maybe
Beautiful world
Exploding machines
The boy in the bubble
Million faces
Might tell you tonight
Patience
Girls
Rainbows and pots of gold
I can't decide
Nothing really matters
Exo Politics
Living for the city
Change your mind

For Emma

best friends as children
soul mates as adults
opposite sides of the world
but the distance never far

a reunion and adventure
freedom from the known
we saw it all
azure blue skies, turquoise sea and fire red sand

a journey of a lifetime
opportunity to discover
a chance to find and a place to be
time to heal
and just be.

Sunday fun

The wind was strong as we had fun throwing the aerobie
I laughed so hard at how far you had to run
The ground was damp as we collapsed from handstands
I melted in your arms as we kissed on the grass
The arcade was alive with noise as we played on the 2p machines
I giggled as I was crowned winner
The fair rides were quiet; the roller coaster creaked in the wind
I screamed as we plummeted
The fish and chips were salty and fresh
I smiled as we ate, sat in the sun with the sea at our feet
The afternoon was lovely
You were perfect
I was happy

Confuddled? I am

I am confused. Why couldn't I list more than one thing when asked what his good bits were? Ten years of being with someone and I could think of one positive attribute. I know there are/were more but why can't I find them? Have they faded away?

Why when I feel so happy do they highlight the negatives making me feel uneasy with my choices?

Why do they provoke and embarrass further when they can all see I am uncomfortable?

Why do you continue to behave that way when you know I find it insensitive?

Why can't you do your job properly and be as organised as me?

Why can't he be honest?

Why?

Old Photo

This is my Nan and Granddad
I love this photo. It looks like a hot summers day. I imagine them driving for a day out by the sea, the air hot and humid. Tempers rising in the heat as granddad gets lost; him shouting at nan because it is her fault ( it never was!) Nan muttering 'Oh shut up Arth'
I imagine them reaching their destination in silence, but being calmed by the smell of the sea air and the sound of the waves and as a peace offering, Granddad walking over to the ice cream van to buy two cans of pop, then him handing her the can and they sit, perching on the back of the car, supping pop in the sunshine.

The rescue of Green 10

I was attracted by your smooth, shiny exterior and the way that I could turn you in my hand and there would always be a star on your skin, a reflection of light, be it the sun, headlight or the kitchen light strip which flickers erratically.

It has been 1 year, 5 months, 3 days, 9 hours and 47 minutes since we first met and since then I have taken you everywhere with me. Some days I carry you effortlessly; my fingers fit perfectly in the space you provide. Other days, when it is hot and the air humid, I struggle to hold your weight and my arms become heavy and my fingers either slip from where they hang on to you, or they swell and I worry that we will be attached forever.
Sometimes I think I would like that, to have you with me always.

I have seen others like you, but they aren’t free. They live a monotonous life – rolling the same way and down the same lanes day after day. Sometimes I look at the others, their colours different to yours, you are one colour and the others are marbled with flecks of light. I feel guilty when I think about the others and I say sorry to you. I wouldn’t trade you for any of them. I promise.

My parents think that I am not well, they shout at me when I have you with me. They tell me to leave you alone, to put you back where I found you, to not be so strange. They don’t want a strange child. My mum always goes a shade of pink when she has to explain to her friends why I have you. She stutters and flusters, like a pigeon on the High Street trying to get out of the way of footsteps. Most of the time, she brushes the subject off with ‘ I don’t know where I went wrong, he clearly isn’t normal.’ I am normal I just have not-so-normal friends. My dad tries to grab your from me, but my fingers are always holding on tight. He has tried to take you in the night, he says it isn’t healthy or hygienic to have you in my bed, but because I am always attached, I know when he is trying. Last week I was grounded for nearly giving dad a heart attack. He had come into my room at night and was trying to prise you from my grasp. He had woken me up when he stood on the creaky floorboard; I like the fact I have a creaky floorboard, I like to think of it as an alarm, an intruder alarm, one that will save me from monsters and my dad. I waited a while, pretending to be asleep as he lifted my fingers one by one and just as he thought he was nearly there, that he would succeed in breaking our un-natural bond, I shouted "Boo". Dad jumped and hit his head on my model helicopter as he sprung to his feet, sending the model around in circles, as though the enemy had shot it down. He shouted at me, called me a ‘Stupid little shit’ and said something about being a freak for sleeping with you, before stating that he was ‘giving up’. As he slammed the door shut I chuckled and thanked you for giving me the idea.

You have never told me why you had come to be in the spot where I found you, but then I don’t know if I have asked you directly. I was just happy to have found you, mesmerised by your colour and intrigued by your name. I had been walking on the other side of the road, out of breath from the uphill climb and hungry for my dinner. The combination of maths and PE on a Thursday always made me ravenous for my dinner. I was already late but I couldn’t ignore you, I couldn’t leave you sat in the gutter surrounded by the wet autumn leaves looking cold. I was eager to cross the road, but it was gone five o’clock and workers were pouring out the city in a steady flow. I panicked that you might decide move on and not wait for me, so I ran, as quick as I could. Horns sounded, a voice shouted and I felt scared, but only for a moment, for once I bent down and picked you up, my fingers fitting perfectly into the 3 holes on your crown, I thought of how I was rescuing you and how that made me feel proud. I felt happy for I knew that I had found a friend for life.

Ben

I wanted to take you home with me last night. You were so much bigger than last time I saw you and so much more delectable. Your cheeks full and round, your eyes beautifully blue with soft long brown lashes, which curled to frame your eyes.
You smiled at me, complete with a ga-ga soundtrack, your eyes widened and smiled. Five little fingers of strength gripped my thumb, a tight grasp - a promising handshake.
You smelled scrumptious – a soft sweet smell, the smell of tenderness and unconditional love.
I could watch you forever; watch you happy, content and smiling.

I think I feel broody.

Stolen for my blog

I go out late and come home early
I come home big though I am feeling small
I come home late and go out curly
Sometimes I never come home at all.
What in heaven's name have I done
I am breaking the speed at the sound of loneliness
Out there running, just to be on the run.

This isn't mine, it is Martyn's. I like it. I like the thought of going out curly.
I don' think there is enough curliness in the world.

Force fields of light

You are a vibrant Indian red as I travel towards you, my eyes fixed your veins as they contrast with eucalyptus green.
Stood with an elegant profoundness injecting life into the electric blue sky
The heat makes you pulse, your heart buried deep within.

As the great yellow star burns lower in the sky, your face blushes with a tinge of rose that softens your edges.
As the cyan deepens it suppresses your light, yet darkness doesn't touch you - not just yet, a magnolia and powder pink force field protects your base.

Your colour darkens yet doesn't deepen the magic around you.
Slowly you disappear. Your blanket of light not longer protects you, you are on your own in the darkness, where only the old move, streams of light inject your breath
You can't be seen, yet your presence is always felt.

Until again, the light tempts the dark and pushes it aside
Your paleness fades and your skin fills with life.
Blood orange red to citrus zest.
My eyes water, your vibrancy reaches out and once again touches the electric blue for another day.

Inspiration

I have just been uploading all my photos from Australia - I should be working but I don't want to, I want to keep looking at my photos, keep adding lines and words to my many pieces of writing. I almost have too much to say, too many ideas. I don't know how to start.

I think I might start with colours, I have this photo as my wallpaper; all I can think of is candyfloss clouds.

I am becoming impatient with my tiredness.

Drone of jet lag

I am so very tired. My body aches and my head feels fuzzy. My eyes are heavy and if I stare long enough the shutters come down.
I wonder if anyone would notice if I did have a snooze.

However tired I feel, I am so enthused and inspired. My adventure down under has given me impetus to write and paint - I have so many colours in my mind, so many words, stories and thoughts and not just of what happened on my trip but thoughts of me, what I want and what I know.
I just wish my eyes would stay open long enough and I could support my arms long enough over my keyboard to extract my expressions and impressions. I picture it like a rainbow coming out of the top of my head - full of colour and life.

Journey

My journey to you was long, across sand dunes I struggled.
A meadow of sand under the afternoon sun.
Shadows from the ripples slither underfoot.
My feet sink.
The sand soft, my legs trudge on, feeling heavy with the weight of my heart and my thoughts of you.
What have I done.
Over one last dune, I am nearly there.
I reach the top, the sand becomes harder; it supports my hope.
But only for a moment for I have a long way to go; the dunes are endless.
My journey to you is never ending.

You

As my sun sets, yours awakes.
As my day ends, yours begins
We rely on the written word
I wish you could hear my voice, I would tell you to be strong and that your heart will be whole again, that soon our million little pieces will be sculptured into a beautiful star, one that shines the brightest, one that gives hope.
The one that dreams are created and wishes made on.

Stars

We are so far away yet so close
Our thoughts connect under a star lit sky.
We are opposite sides yet they sparkle the same
Under a universe of possibilities and dreams

Leaving on a jet plane....

I am going to Australia tomorrow for 3 weeks. I am very excited.
I am hoping to learn more about myself and perhaps find out who I am. I will have plenty of time on my own, to be absorbed by thoughts and to observe the world from my little bubble.
I hope to be inspired. I am looking forward to feeling alone and overwhelmed at the thought of how far away I am from everything and everyone I currently know.

I am going to Byron Bay. I was told by a clairvoyant that it was a special place for me and that I have a soul group there. I am wondering how to announce my arrival.

I want to bring a wombat home with me - they are stupid and cute.

Hopefully I will be here as often as I can.
Be back soon with lots to write about.... hopefully.

Internal conversations

I am at work listening to the crazy man on the street below. He appears most mornings around 10 am and is always shouting whilst he walks in a circle. In the physical sense, he is always on his on but mentally I think there are always people around him - they follow him and he shouts at them.

Yesterday he was telling somebody to stop trying to psycho- analyse him, that they will never break him. He finished the conversation by calling them "the C word". I was embarrassed for the mum with her daughter in a push chair who walked past just as he shouted it.

His conversation today went something like this:

You're planning something
I know you are
You are planning something
How can you try and explain mental health when i know you are planning something.
You are. You are planing something
You can't explain mental health when you a planning. scheming.
You are giving it away. I can see it. You are planning something.
And now I am challenging it, it is more obvious.
You are planning something
I have caught you out.
You don't want them to catch you do you? you know what will happen if do.

He mentioned something about knives and then disappeared.

Half awake moments

Your arms reach for me
They find me and pull me close
You kiss my back and run your hands over my waist, hips and thighs
You tell me you love me
We are locked together; a tangle of limbs that lie comfortably entwined
Our breath becomes one
You hold me so close
Safe
Secure
Warmth
Love
Don't ever let me go. I like it here.

I am such a wild child

Last night I felt like I was small again, I had pure excitement over something I bought at the supermarket.

I only went in to buy some mushrooms and a pasta sauce. My eyes like saucers when I spotted it, my smile stretched from ear to ear. I tried to ignore it at first but the further along the isles I got, the more it's pink sparkle called me. I thought about whether I would look stupid carrying it, but as I reached the end of the store, the excitement over the possibilities and lifetime of fun took over. I raced back through the isles and grabbed the one with pink and blue sparkles and proudly handed it to the cashier. One the way home, it rode with me up front and I smiled whenever I looked across - the sun catching the sparkles and sending dazzling twinkles through the interior of my car.

When I got it home I wanted to call and tell my mum, to call and ask her 'Guess what I just bought' , but instead, I put in on the floor, stepped into the middle and pulled it up to my waist. The beads in the middle created a buzz, a drum roll ready for when I let go, swinging it to one side and wiggle like crazy to keep it going.

I had 10 minutes of excitement, giggling to myself until I got a stitch.
I love my new hula hoop.

A good read

I am reading My Friend Leonard by James Frey. It is a brilliant book and I can't put it down. I was the same with his first book - A Million Little Pieces which I have read twice because it moves me and I like the way he writes - pain, fear, anger and love - just as it is. Both stories have made me cry, laugh and feel completely overwhelmed by life.
I know someone who has felt like a million little pieces which makes the read all the more special. I feel like I am part of his story.

1. The Routine

Sunday is the day Sarah dreads the most. From the moment she wakes, a agonising sense of anxiety churns her stomach and send lightening sparks through her temples. They always start the same way - with as little noise as possible. With caution, so she doesn't wake him, she slowly and carefully lifts the eiderdown and peels herself off their double bed and walks along the landing to the bathroom avoiding the creaky floorboards - she doesn't need to look at the floor to see where to step, it is like a dance routine which has been rehearsed over and over again. Sarah longs to be able to go to places where she could dance like she used to; a place where bright lights circle on shiny wooden floors and men hold their partners close as they spin together. But for now, the stained maroon, brown and gold carpet is the only place she has.

It is almost 4 hours later when he finally rolls out of bed, his heavy steps on the stairs make Sarah's heart beat hard, her list of chores has kept her busy all morning, she straightens her dress and pulls her hair back off her face just the way he likes it. His descending steps compress the air leaving a dull, imposing and suffocating atmosphere. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen; hair greasy and limp, his eyes red and bloodshot, his enormous gut hanging over his old faded tartan boxer shorts. He doesn't say anything just shuffles past to his seat at the table which has already been laid for his breakfast. His look of disdain distorts his face. Sarah plates up his fried breakfast ensuring that there is a fried egg are on each of the two fried slices, the bacon rashers and three sausages are on the opposite side of the plate to the beans and mushrooms and that the tomatoes, which have been grilled are in the centre.
He says nothing as she places his obscenely large breakfast in front of him. His tea is poured (milk in first) into his pint sized mug. The toast popping out the toaster startles Sarah and she is quick to butter (the toast must be warm) and cut into triangles - never squares, she knows never to cut his toast into square quarters again; she had been young and foolish back then - dizzily in love. She didn't know that it had to be triangles but her lesson was soon learnt; her bruises had healed quickly that first time.

Useful tips

Last night I was reading a book called 1001 Country Household Tips by Mary Rose.
The tips made me laugh and smile; some were very useful and some were not so, for example:

Get rid of fatty hips with a rolling pin. Roll over each thigh and hip for 3 mins before a bath.

I wonder if Mary Rose discovered this. I imagine people walking round with fat knees.

Also, to make use of old dressing gowns, cut at the waist, cut and pucker the sleeves, add buttons and turn into a bed vest.
I am trying to think of a circumstance where I would wear a bed vest.

There was a lot of tips on using lemons, one being that if you want to make freckles fade you should dab lemon juice on them for a week I have a ginger friend - I think I might have some fun and try this out.

Neighbourhood Watch

My neighbour is called Les and he is shy.
He always mentions the weather when I see him through the honeysuckle which divides our gardens. He has a bald patch on his head which he feels and scratches whilst we talk.
Les lives on his own, I don't know if he has ever been married or whether he has children; I never see any visitors.
I think Les is a creature of habit. In the five years I have lived next to him, he has always worn the same bright sky blue polo shirt and blue denim jeans. He hangs his washing in the conservatory (which I can see from the bottom of my garden) and sometimes there are up to five bright sky blue polo shirts on the line. I wondered if he has a special shop from which he buys his clothes, I wonder if he buys in bulk.
At weekends he is always in his garage 'making stuff'. I think he likes steam engines.
He waters his garden at the same time each evening.
I want to know more about Les - what he eats for his dinner, what programmes he watches, who is he really?

You

You are in my house and I feel uncomfortable
I am not there, but you are
You are walking through rooms where we used to laugh
Are memories of our love, laughter in our first home flooding your thoughts?

You look into my bedroom
It was once our room
Where we slept, talked and held each other
Are memories of our love-making, nakedness and my touch reminding you of a desire?

You are in my bathroom
It isn't clean and tidy to your standard
The toilet that you fitted is broken
Are memories of your hard work and DIY filling you with a sense of lost achievement?

You are in my kitchen
The pin-board holds no notes or lists from you, no memoirs of days out
The calendar displays peoples names and events that you do not recognise
Are memories of the fun we used to have, how we were best friends evoking loss and regret?

Plan update

Last night I touched a dead slow worm in my mum's garden.
I am half-way there.

Drunken review

Last Thursday I went to see Lenny Henry perform at The Point in Eastleigh. He was ok, very funny in parts and not so funny in others. I felt sorry for Nathan; a 14 year old sat on the front row, I hope he found the constant piss-taking funny.

At the time, I thought it would be a good idea to try and write a review of the show on here, so, on a scrap piece of paper I made some notes. However, I had slightly too many glasses of wine and can't really remember the second half. I can hardly read my writing or scribbles as they look now, words are written over each other (it was dark!) and I have no idea what they mean. I thought I was amazing at the time and thought that my review would be fabulous.

This is what the note says :

Lenny Henry 5th June @ The Point

When to laugh and when not to.
Is this funny?
We love foreplay
Being too young to laugh
pissedoff.com
I laughed but.....
Too young, too fresh
Understanding

Needless to say, I wasn't very well on Friday and my review isn't fabulous.

Change

I felt like a change, I didn't like the yellow and green spots or dots so have lost them, perhaps indicating a sense of clarity. I also felt the need to change the picture; I didn't need to see it anymore. The picture is more important to someone else now - they have some searching to do.
I need to find a better picture or several but haven't the time to do it now, already spent too much of my working day on here.

Summer happiness

We picked our spot; we had walked past all the families building sandcastles and the large groups of teenagers, through the haze of sweet smelling lotions and sprays, past the sun worshipers who were basking in the heat and the little girl with the infectious laugh who was overwhelmed by the small lapping waves. We opened up my mis-shaped rug and towel and collapsed in unison. The sun tingling our skin, sending magical warming pulses through our bodies, filling our hearts with a complete sense of euphoria.
I love being at the beach with you. You don't care that the sand gets in everything, you don't complain that it is too hot, you don't mind the playful splashes.
We paddled, splashed and swam together, me in my underwear, you in your see-through-when-wet new shorts . It didn't matter what anyone thought, what mattered was that we were spending a sunny Sunday afternoon together and that we were happy.

Painting requests

I have been set a challenge to paint a snuggle.
The definition of which was given to me through a drunk text on Saturday night is:

SNUGGLE
When cuddling ones partner, you can't tell where your body ends and theirs begins, like the curves on two pieces of a jigsaw, very few have a perfect fit.

I can only paint sunsets and sunrises, which in fairness, are pretty much the same thing when I paint, but I like being able to confidently say that 'yes, what you are looking at is a beautiful sunrise'. I don't enjoy painting things that people ask me to - they never understand my interpretation of whatever they have asked.

I don't have much inspiration to paint a 'snuggle' maybe I need to go and experience one.

Poor attempt

I sit and wait.
My body vibrating to the deep dull beat of my heart.
A drum pounds in my ears
My hands shake
Anxiety pumps through my veins as I start to search.

A car passes outside
Is it you? My beat quickens
Must
Find
The
Answer

I find it. I see it, the words reverberate through my mind
The curtains go up and the motion picture begins.
Play
Rewind
Play
Rewind

I am falling, I am drowning
My heart slows
Inhale. Exhale
One deep breath, my thumb poised
I press delete.

Not so much of a conversation

It was cold where I was stood.
I was nervous to see you and I was worried conversation would be awkward.
It was.
Those moments of silence between us which used to be comfortable are now impossible.
Back to basics.
How is work? the house? your car?
Fine.
You?
Yeah. Good.
Pause.
It can never be like it was. We will never as close. I can accept and understand it.
You can't, but then this was all your doing
I am shivering, I want to go back inside but something holds me in the awkwardness.
Maybe because I have the upper-hand and because I know I am and will be ok.
Maybe because I am over you.

Lunchtime boredom

I am still trying to write the Media Pack for our cartography services. It is boring. I did actually finish it on Friday and it was good, but I saved an old version and now I have to start again.
I keep finding myself in my draft emails writing snippets of stories and thoughts so I can put something on here. I know from a conversation with a friend on Saturday that I am not the only one to do this.
It looks like I am sending lots of emails. It looks like I am very busy, which I am, I just can't be bothered to do it.
I am tired. And bored. My hectic weekend of seeing friends, travelling the country, meeting new people and having fun with someone I shouldn't has taken its toll. Too much action in a short space of time.
I have booked my flights to Australia too. That is very exciting. I want to be planning my trip, not writing about our unrivalled cartographic service.

Sunshine + Bank Holiday = Madness

I had a wander through town at lunchtime and it seems that the sunshine and impending bank holiday has had a strange affect on some people.

Today I saw a very orange woman who obviously wanted to show off her tan; the fact that it was fake and blotchy didn't seem to matter or influence her decision to wear a very short skirt.

I passed a man dressed as a Mr Whippy ice cream and a girl in a bikini handing out pots of ice cream. I am not sure who looked more ridiculous.

The hot dog seller was in a particularly jovial mood - he was singing at the top of his lungs, well not really singing - just making noise.

I tripped in front of a jam-packed bus. My recovery wasn't as graceful as it could have been. I blame the sun for being in my eyes.

The End

"I can't do this anymore" she said as her eyes fixed on the black mark on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks "you have hurt me more than I ever thought was capable." 

Silence.

Nothing.

She continued to stare at the mark imagining it as a hole; a deep chasm like the one that has been growing between them. If only that hole could suck the sharpness of the atmosphere out of the room, if only she could jump in escape the agonising pain. She looked at his eyes for the first time since he had entered the room. He had returned from work fifteen minutes ago with his head hanging low, the dark cloud still hovering closely. His eyes were empty, no longer the beautiful deep brown shiny stones which had been one of the first things she had noticed all those years ago.

"You have never even said that you are sorry"

"I am sorry" his voice a little higher than usual.

Her eyes move back to the black hole. Heart pounding, she thought about the long road she had taken to here - the point of exhaustion, the point of realisation; he didn't love her and she was no longer his first choice.  Years of hope, denial and fear - what had she become? who had she become?
It was never meant to be this way.

Positive Plans

I have a more positive outlook today and think I will hold onto it for the rest of the week - actually for as along as I can. I finally feel that i have turned a corner and that everything is ok and as it should be.
I am hoping to put a plan together with a friend of all the things we want to do and achieve over the next few months, so far my plan consists of:

1. Learn to handstand properly and be able to walk on my hands.
2. Be brave enough to hold a slow worm
3. Buy a hula hoop - a pink one - and 'hula' once a day

I have great ambition.

Urges

I have a strong urge to flick and bite someone. I know who - she is stood in front of my desk talking loudly on the phone. Her sales babble irritates me and I don't understand why she can grasp that she should answer the phone on her desk and not get up and answer the fax machine.

I wonder what she would do if I just walked over and bit her shoulder. The thought of it is making me smile and chuckle silently.

Tree swinging

Today I should feel excited and happy; we have a office team building event at Go Ape which is going to involve lots of climbing, swinging and hanging from trees. I should be looking forward to being out of the office in the fresh air and hopefully the sunshine but I feel that I would be better suited to a day under my duvet.
I don't like heights so I should see this an opportunity and a challenge to face my fear - surely if I am planning to climb the Harbour Bridge in Sydney, I can climb a few trees. I think I will probably cry at some stage, more out of frustration and anger than being scared. Being forced to have fun and be nice with someone you really don't like is hard but then this is the reason behind our team building exercise - to try and tackle the tension and have a 'nice fun day out'.
We will see. If I can work my arms after swinging for 2 hours and holding on too tight to trees, I will write about how it went. I might be surprised, I might enjoy it. If only I could smile today.

Today's list

I have given up trying to think about how to describe how I feel and why.
My emotional filing cabinet is a mess. Someone has altered the system and tampered with the process. To start again in the most simple terms, I have made a list.

Today I feel:
Alone
Lost
Relieved
Scared

Misunderstood

You will never understand or be able to empathise with me.
I am many shades of grey. You are the deepest black or the brightest white.
I feel the way I do because I have compassion and acceptance.
You may think it absurd, you make think it naive.

You may call me names and ask me to explain.
I know I never can.
Words are elusive when I try to navigate through the grey.
I may be young but you should never discount how I feel

Please do not compare your feelings of love to mine.
They will never be the same.
I am under no illusion, I hold no idealist view.
I simply know how I feel and that you will never truly understand.

Time to watch

Train stations are good place to people watch.

Early on Friday evening I watched people piling off trains, rushing to get where they are going - rushing to meet loved ones. It made me think of all the thousands of people who travel to see people for weekends.

A train from London arrived and people streamed off the platform like ants. Once outside, some continued to rush onto their destination whilst others stopped. I watched several individuals pick a space where they felt comfortable to stand and wait. Some opted for open space, others preferred to stand against a wall or lean on a post.

There was a guy who looked dismayed as he wandered the pavement. I guessed that he was waiting for his girlfriend; he looked preened, his hair carrying the weight of many minutes of styling. I could smell his aftershave. He had dressed to impress and it showed he had been looking forward to seeing her.
There were three different girls stood in a triangle at equal distance apart. I thought that they were all students returning home for the weekend. I wondered what their weekends would involve, perhaps they had come home for a special family event, a friends birthday or some peace and quiet to study.
A man was sat on the bench next to me smoking a pipe; he looked too young to smoke a pipe. It made the air smell sweet. He didn't look like he was waiting for anyone; he looked like he was still working, busily tapping away on his state of the art mobile.
A group of young boys in skinny jeans were planning where they were going to go and 'hang out'. They too had made a lot of effort on their appearance- it was Friday night after all.
A young couple with lots of bags stood kissing and embracing at the taxi rank, I wondered if their adventure had just finished or was beginning. They looked happy and in love, it made me smile.
My thoughts shifted to me. Do I look uncomfortable? Who do I look like I am waiting for.

Moments

We are strolling through Portobello Market. I am holding his hand, fingers clasped, it fits and feels better than the last hand I held.
We amble for hours, browsing antiques and stalls, salivating at the sights and smells of local produce.
Everyone is dressed in vintage clothing, eclectic styles and a sea of bright colours.
I spot a girl in red shoes and purple tights. Her shoes are gorgeous, she is beautiful.
I wish I had put something else on this morning, something bright instead of my jeans and big winter coat.
We pass a music stall, Dinah Washington sings about being Mad about a Boy. He laughs and finds it funny.
We stop and he pulls me to him and kisses me.
He tells me he loves me.
I don't know what to say back.
He smiles the warmest smile and strokes my fringe off my face.
He tells me that I mean the world to him.
I feel warm inside, I feel loved.
I can't find the words. I want to say it but I can't. I want to say that I love him too, that he gives me something that I have never had. But I am scared of giving again, trusting again. I am not sure I even trust my own feelings, so for now I give him what I can, a smile and tender loving kiss.
We are still stood with our arms around each other in the middle of the market, slightly swaying the music; the song has changed and he sings to me. He continues to sing as we head back through the vibrancy, hands still clasped, locked in a moment.

Office atmosphere

I hate days like today. They are filled with awkwardness and tension. I don't like it when it is only the two of us in the office, it puts me on edge and makes me feel miserable.
As soon as I came in I plugged in my headphones, set my ITunes to shuffle and have been typing away since. No conversation. He tried some pleasantries to which I responded as best I could. I have my music up loud so I can't hear him drumming his fingers on the table in between typing and so I can't hear him lying.
He lies an awful lot about us as a company and what we can do but also when it comes to what he should have done or should be doing. It is very easy to catch him out. He doesn't understand the implications of his lies and the effect it has on the rest of the company, the staff who have to set the record straight and muggins here who often has to go behind him clearing up his tracks. He leaves a trail like a tornado, but it isn't material things that get damaged, it is people's feelings and pride.

We have talked about how we don't get on and how we clash but we don't quite know what to do about it or why. He thinks it is because we are similar ages. I think, actually I know it is because he has no values or morals. He is disrespectful, rude and a liability. He thinks that he has the right to read all of our emails when we are out of the office, take money from petty cash, slate our work, lie and eat food that doesn't belong to him. To him, he has the right because he isn't staff he is a director. I think it is shocking behaviour.
So, for today, whilst it is just us in our office I will keep my head down, look busy and stayed tuned into my music. He will think I am am the 'Ice Queen' with an array of issues.
I think I will listen to the Beach Boys, warm sunny feelings.

Something that made me go hummm!

I recently found a tape that I have been looking for years. It was in the most obvious place, next to my Cd's (where else would a cassette tape be!) I am not sure when it appeared there, but I know that it hasn't always been sat on top 'Dance Hits of the 90's'.
I think it decided to show itself because I am at a time when I need to hear the voice that is recorded on it. The voice belongs to a clairvoyant. A women that I saw in Glastonbury a few years back. I remember that she wore black leather trousers and chewed gum incessantly, chewing and slurping because she put too much in her mouth. I think she said it helped her to 'tune in'.

At the time of seeing her, I was searching for answers from a world I didn't understand and which i thought I wanted to be involved in. I know now that it was just because of the woman that I went with and her beliefs. I don't think of that world now, I know that if I want answers then I have to make choices and that my life is molded by those decisions that I make.
I remember coming out of the 40 minutes with her and saying 'she doesn't know what she is talking about' and 'there is nothing wrong with my life and relationship'. She did know. Five years on and almost everything she said has happened. I listened to the tape in bed the other night, I was in constant goose bumps at the little things that she said that have come true; that I would have problems with my stomach, that I would receive a ruby ring and that my relationship would end but not before I have given it my all and pushed myself to exhaustion. I guess this helps me to justify those choices and decisions.
I am still quite skeptical about it but it is the details that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I am wondering now, whether I should see another to see what the next five years will bring.

Driving through daydreams

I do this a lot, mostly on the way into work. I daydream about conversations I would like to have with people where I am more confident and say exactly what I think and feel.
This morning I was daydreaming about what I might say to him and his response. But his response is not what he would actually say, it is what I want and need to hear but for this to happen it would involve a complete personality bypass, but then that is point of daydreaming, you can make the impossible happen.
I am suddenly at work, I don't recall driving. Were the traffic lights all green? What was my passenger talking about? Hope he doesn't think I am rude. It worries me that I can't remember my journey. It worries me that I have spent 20 minutes thinking of him.

Secrets

I have been thinking about how well we actually get to know friends and family. Aren't there always secrets? The unwritten rules of what is discussed and what it not, but why, to protect those closest to us, because we are embarrassed about people knowing what we really feel, or maybe because it has gone unsaid for so long that to tell and share now would be ludicrous. Keeping that little secret has become a way of life, it is now easy to keep things from those that you love, it comes naturally. Perhaps there is the worry that if people knew now, they would not forgive the years of concealment.
But what happens when you are made aware of this secret, when you are entrusted with information which is life changing for all involved. Do you bury the information and never mention it again or do you share and tell someone. Sometimes the information is too big to ignore, once it is inside your head you feel like you are going to explode. It excites yet fills you with anxiety.
I know things about people and it makes me feel sad because they can't be who they really are, not even when they are in the company of those that love them the most. Everyone knows that there is something being locked away, deep in the soul. We just accept and acknowledge that it is just the way things are, it is just the way they are.

Do you ever sit at your desk and think of me?

I think of you when I am at my desk. In between sending emails, answering the phone, making charts in spreadsheets, I always find time to think of you whether I have it or not. I imagine you sitting looking at similar charts, not really paying attention but thinking of me and better times. Or at least I hope you do.
I think about you more now than I did back then. I think about details instead of perhaps the insignificant daily routine like what you might like for dinner.
Today I am thinking of how you might be feeling, how you might be feeling about me. However insignificant, I would be comforted by the thought of you thinking of me, even if it were what I might be having for my dinner.