When the black dog is looming on the horizon, it can take great strength to try to steer away from it. To succumb would mean accepting the darkness, wrapping yourself in it like a blanket and shrinking away from life. To fight it, to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach, to suppress the deep dread washing through you is incredibly hard. It’s like walking a tightrope between black and white.

Where does it come from? Is it something which lurks within us all? I’m wondering, no convinced, it’s to go with the modern world. So fast paced, demanding and full of expectations, that the constant pressure to live a good life can mean that it loses its lustre. This in conjunction with worries about family and friends, plus managing a busy life, is quite simply a recipe for mental health disaster. You see, quite frankly I need a break.

I’m currently teetering on a very thin line. All my self taught coping mechanisms are keeping me going but I feel like I’m heading for a fall. All the stuff I do to make myself feel better I am struggling to do. When even the thought of changing my bed sheets overwhelms me (yesterday). When I see a beautiful sunny autumn day and feel upset because I want to skulk into depression under the blanket on my sofa (this morning). And when I realise that the constant sickness and tension within my body is my default setting (all the time), I know I need to do something.

That’s what I’m now doing. My first answer is to write it down and commit it to the electronic screen. The second will to be to talk to someone. I will tell them that this has been building for about five months. I will tell them I have started to tell people bits, however, no one knows the full story. But, this is the big problem – where do you start and who would you want to dump hours of your depressing talk onto? (Even writing it bores me).

That’s the thing though: it bores me. I categorically hate the way my body and brain are currently working against the inner optimist within me. My metaphorical mantra of ‘build and they will come’ has pushed me through many a trying time. In the way that if the task ahead felt unattainable and hugely daunting, I’d push myself forward with a steely determination where I would allow anything other than a win to happen. Only now, at a time where I am searching for a new sign, one that reassures me and gives me hope, is nowhere to be seen. Instead my gut is telling me something is wrong. This I hate. Even more so my body is telling me enough is enough. I seem to be developing psoriasis on my scalp again, spots and I have a mouth full of ulcers (all signs of stress). I want out and I want to be able to sleep again.

I’m almost sure I’m not alone in any of this. One of my reasons for writing it down for others to read is because keeping stuff locked up inside can destroy the soul. By sharing it can lessen the load. Also, if you too have bouts of deep loathing, wanting to hide, feeling stressed and worry, I know it can feel very lonely. It’s like being the only person on a wild and windy precipice, with angry waves lashing against the jagged rocks; teetering only metres from death. Vulnerable and fighting for survival – the gale force winds pushing you towards the edge. All you want is someone to come along with a thick blanket, flask of tea and to whisk you away into a bear hug of safety. If that describes you then I want you to know that I want to be the flask carrying hugger in your life.

You see, I much rather fancy the role of rescuer than being the rescued. I despise the maudlin nature which lurks like a bad smell within my being at the moment. I want to be upbeat and happy. I’m sick of those black clouds hovering; threatening to spoil my life. Yes I have worries (there’s a truckload at the minute) and yes I don’t know how to fix things but I’m not going to let it beat me. I have lots to be thankful for and that’s more than some can say. So (brushing oneself down) I’m going to retrain my brain into thinking that ‘nothing bad will happen and it’s ok’ from the ‘I feel panicky, sick and tearful as I think the whole world hates me’ feeling. It’s going to be tough but with Him, them and Rosie Dog to hold my hand (with a soundtrack playing optimistically in my head). I shall aim for that sunset happily ever after I know we all actually deserve – that’s both you and I. After all, my story isn’t unique, it’s a symptom of modern life. I’m painting my smile on and working on the inner self.

Happy Sunday love to you all.

‘How did you enjoy your extra hour in bed mum?’
Well pretty good thank you. Wrapped up like a sausage roll, nice and warm and the luxury of knowing there’s no pressure to get out. A whole hour! All those times I’ve prayed and begged for more time and what do I do? That’s right ‘wasting it’ by spending it in bed (My 14 year old self can hear my mum’s words echoing in my ears).
‘What about you Ezra?’ She agreed that the sleep was awesome. However, what I didn’t explain to Little E was the prelude to my waking. A dream which panicked and upset me in equal measure – the late for work and nothing goes right dream.

Probably inspired by another long daunting term. One which, however prepared I am, feels like a mountain of planning, marking, meetings and (worst of all) long dark winter days punctuated by s few hours of daylight only to be seen from my classroom window. This nightmare meant I was wearing a ripped silk nightdress, back to front, which, couldn’t be removed as I was too fat to get it off. Stuck in this, what I can only describe as greying parachute silk (think silly knickers gone in the wrong wash) I began to have a panic attack. The clock was ticking and Hjm ripped it over my head. Only to realise both my knickers – red, lacy, fluffy and full of holes, weren’t suitable either (I do not actually possess any of these items). Not only I was having a pants problem but also a tights one too. It seemed that every time put my leg in it came out of a hole! Clock still ticking my hair was wet, my skin was breaking out and I felt sick…scene change (that happens doesn’t it?) and I am at work, dressed and doing fine.

So what was the message? I’d like to think it was a reminder that it’ll all be alright, rather than an ominous tale of things to come…

I’ve spent the last 20 years trying to make time work for me. And, although I’d like to think that I’m in control of running our lives (on a military mother type way) I can’t help feeling that one day I’ll slip back into old ways, you know, in a John Cleese ‘Clockwise’ type scenario. (Who, ironically, is also a teacher.). When I think back over the last 30something (I can hear the coughs from here thank you) I am faced with a lifetime of lost time and opportunities; most of which were spent doing nothing. Now as relaxing as doing nothing is, it’s neither exciting nor productive. It leaves you with no sense of satisfaction or happiness. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not putting sunbathing, spa days or resting into this category. All of which would be accompanied by something interesting to read or good company to spend it with. I’m talking about my wasted youth – in my bed. The unproductiveness of my time, where I couldn’t be even bothered to do the pots, tidy up or get up more than 20 minutes before I was due at work. I think that I was possibly ‘lazy’ (I’m cringing saying this). Everything beyond work and play (I was very good at both, so much so my mother would often use a phrase incorporating ‘candle’ and ‘both ends’) was (in my older childrens’ words) ‘effort’. Latterly, o feel I’ve wasted opportunities. Times I’ve procrastinated rather than actually doing. My most niggling example is the book which I began writing eight years ago. Pure laziness has stopped me pushing forward with it. It’s as simple as this: I’ve not been disciplined enough.

But, in true Swan style ‘I’m on it!’ Once a problem is recognised I’m all about the solution.

NB. There’s many things on my mind which I cannot solve but where’s there’s a will, there’s a way. If it’s in my control I can overcome.

The solution is very simple as I woke up yesterday morning and realised that I finally had more time on my hands. For nearly a year we’ve lived through the stress of moving, renovating a house and living like paupers to achieve big goals. At times I’ve wondered if we’d survive. I’ve had sleepless nights counting the jobs and cost of it all. We’ve all made sacrifices; austerity hit quite hard at times, but we seem to finished all of phase one!! Apart from a couple of things which can wait, our home is now a home! Also, in all this time I’ve managed to maintain my work, reading books and articles of interest and this blog! Which, the catharsis of writing has helped me through some very trying times. Now, 2018 is almost certainly ‘the year of the saving’ with phases two and three to be started (this I can deal with, due to the fact we now have our own spaces). What comes with austerity (you learn a lot about waste when you are saving) you find comes a time to embrace the abstract. That means thinking smart and focussing on what we really want and ‘need’. With this in mind I’m intending to take my literary creativity by the horns and steer it into those wide open plains of story telling. The eight year book has been shelved (along with two others) for a time which I want those stories to be told. Instead I have had a narrative weaving its way around my head since April. It’s a story I want to tell and for you to enjoy…you see the time is now.

Whether I make it or not, I’m not going to know if I don’t try. I want my regrets to be few and far between when I reach my life’s winter days. But I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t something I’d like to be successful at. When, in a year or twos time, you will find me on a Sri Lankan beach. Floating like driftwood on the shoreline, with only the sounds of the waves and my family’s laughter and bickering (nothing’s perfect) to listen to, Etta James will be my inner soundtrack ‘At Last’

There’s a reason I’ve wasted time, procrastinated and done things in the order I have. If I hadn’t have lived my life the way I have I wouldn’t be who I am today. If I hadn’t have made mistakes and missed opportunities, I wouldn’t value and cherish what I have. If I’d have finished any of the books I’ve started writing, I’d have been laughed out of the doors of Penguin House. With time comes confidence and also knowledge. Every new day brings new revelations and experiences. I thought I knew it all at 16, 17, 18…turns out I still only know half of it now. After all, it’s taken me this long to embrace time and use it kindly and carefully.

I love a good tune. In fact my desert island essentials would have to include a solar powered radio. I can practically listen to anything (I believe this is a result of my dancing/piano playing formative years). If (when) I reach into the higher echelons of society (just remember I have my eye on a Dame hood) and am invited onto Desert Island Discs, my dithering will derail any potential list and I will be the first person to ever be ‘kicked off’ the Radio Four evergreen, for my indecision. Therefore, I believe a radio is Simply the Best piece of kit any of us could possibly posses. It has music for the eclectic music lover and chat for someone who likes to hide (less ‘like’ more ‘hastily retreat’) from the outside world, it provides interest and hilarity in equal measure. It’s a win/win and it’s all down to the Marconi, who, by my standards, is the greatest inventor ever to grace this earth. Forget Baird (in my opinion the transmitted waves wipe all intelligence from the brain) and Bell (hate the phone as it means people can find you) and all hail the man who succeeded in bringing entertainment and companionship to the masses.

So where am I going with this? I have often pondered the question ‘What is the soundtrack of my life?’ If (when) my life becomes monumentous enough for someone to biography, and subsequently to be turned into a film, it is not the leading lady I am bothered about but the music accompanying my mad story. Music sets the tone, creates a mood and puts a spring into the mundane step. So it needs to be right.  And so for that matter does the life.

Now don’t get me wrong, so far I’ve not really had a life to rival a Hollywood starlet, or compared to a survivor from World War II. However, I have (as I’m sure you all have) seen unbelievable things; overcome extreme hurdles; met some interesting people, and experienced the unforgettable. Just like me, I bet we all try to, in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s famous words: ‘to live a life you’re proud of’ (it’s true as this is documented by 80% of Facebook users for everyone to see). So with this in mind it begs the question what would you believe appropriate for my life?

And this is where it becomes interesting… The haters (examples to follow) might choose ‘Love Yourself’ or ‘You Know I’m No Good’. The lovelier of you might say ‘Paoerback Writer’ (wishes one day…) or ‘Say a Little Prayer’.
And the ask yourself why you’ve made your choices? What information have you actually used? it comes down to the question ‘What do we really know about each other?’ We take people on face value, most of the time. However, many make their own inferences from more subtle behaviours and hearsay. People like to take more stock from gossip than from actual truth.
Did you hear about…?
(chances are I haven’t (maybe it’s my can’t he arsed face) Maybe you haven’t either. Maybe you have and don’t believe it. Or maybe you know all about it (rightly or wrongly). However, the gossip train appears to rock on by me with only a cursory nod and sly wink in my direction.

Now, I need to clarify that, as far as I’m aware, there are no rumours circulating about me ATM. What has piqued this particular rambling are recent events in both the media and personally. The former that I inadvertently began a rumour, albeit in Chinese whisper style, where I read a headline where ‘Daisy made me feel sexy’ by Louise Rednapp. This I translated at 6.30am, through bleary eyes and via text to my friend, as meaning that Lowe and Napp had begun a wonderful love affair. Appears not! (Disappointing as I love s happy love story) The latter is a result of my mother’s anxiety at being approached by some woman who claimed to be able to help dad ‘if he needs chemo. It it’s leukaemia’ All sparked by him having a couple of days in hospital through an infection…she was trying to help but…

All in all a juicy rumour would certainly spice up my Hollywood script. IF (I am saying if) the following HAD actually ever happened, I’d be very screen worthy and the album would require a disc two (in not even sure if this is a thing any longer). This is where the haters come in: Although I don’t like paying lip service to scurrilous lies and loathe, I say loathe, the idiom ‘there’s no smoke without fire’. I shall tell you my most horrendous ever are (these really show the depths of how low people can stoop): ‘That baby she’s carrying can’t be her husband’s as they’ve been told they can’t have children’ (yes one person told me everyone was saying it, unbeknown to me as my friends were very excited and saw it as a sign Him wouldn’t get ill again). The time I was informed ‘he’ll be dead by Christmas’. This was the announcement, by one low life, who told everyone (after spreading lies that there was nothing wrong with Him and that he was wagging it on the sick) who would listen that Him was a gonner. Now that was 15 years ago this week and his bravery and strength has meant He is here. I’ve no idea where She is.

So, sacking off the haters, what’s my point? It’s back to the soundtrack. When real life happens like the aforementioned challenging and emotional episode, negativity and vitriol was snuffed and instead comfort and strength was aided and abetted by a good solid soundtrack. Think telly ad for ‘Life Story’ soundtrack...Every time I walked to the chemo ward the song ‘Wires’ played out in my head. The falling snow to ‘Driving Home Gor Christmas’ gave me hope. And ‘Silent Night’ sang on Christmas Eve, with my newborn in my arms, in the sanitary of the church by the light of a single candle, promised a better future.
As months turned into years we carefully chose our wedding song ‘Lets Stay Together’, drank in the gondolier ‘O Sole Mio’ on our honeymoon and all learnt the ‘American Boy’ rap as little E was born. You see, the soundtrack to my life is my life (feel good moment).

I, who have already chosen my funeral songs (you’ll all be there a while) always holds a song in my head to accompany every occasion. If you see me sitting quietly it’s because there’s a something strumming away in my head. My favourite time is when I leave work accompanied by an uplifting movie soundtrack playing brilliantly and silently, to boost my jaded mood. You see, it’s like there’s a constant radio show playing in my head. I listen, comment and play the tunes whilst people fill in the segways with chatter and items of interest. ‘All the world’s a stage and the men and women are merely players’. For a bloke who wrote those words over 500 years ago, Shakespeare was certainly very perceptive.

Careless Chinese whispers are what’s coined as human nature. People only hear what they want to hear. My advice is that you’ve bold and shape your own life story by doing what makes YOU happy and don’t just life a life you’re proud of but set it to a soundtrack that moves and shakes you. Makes you laugh, cry and love. Let it wrap around you and keep you warm. You’re the presenter. DJ and producer. Grab hold and make it a BAFTA worthy tale.

High lunge, low lunge (slight wobble). High lunge, rear leg lift, pump it, control. Tone those quads. Don’t wobble. Core strength…and into attitude. Don’t move. Hold it, breathe (Woooh…argh…keep breathing). That’s it, keep holding, we’re building the core muscles and down. Front balance plie…’

And here we go again, back to balancing whilst trying to do a million other things. Balance and control – a bit like life really. You see as soothing as the Piyo is, it’s a total balancing act. If you fail to cut it on the yoga mat, you can become frustrated and unfulfilled. Get it right – juggling all the moves, stretching completely and topping it off with a perfect balance – all after a ridiculous day at work, you feel like you’re actually winning at life!

And it’s that work/life balance, which for me (and I suspect most of you) is so difficult to get right. Friends, family, chores, work, relax lalalaing…it’s just so full on and crammed chock full of agendas to wade through and weekly mountains to climb. Sometimes it feels like I’m trekking the Sahara in flip flops with a camel on my back (I’d prefer that but on the back of the camel and dressed like an extra in Arabian Nights). Oh, we start every week with the best intentions: a cooked dinner, a run, children organised – all after a jam packed day at work. Then ‘bam’ mid week hits and the best you can do is freezer surprise, a quick dog walk to the shop and back, bedtime cuddle with the children and sleep. It’s relentless being a mum and having a career and sometimes I wonder what I’m doing?

NB this is not a moan. Read on and it all shall become clear.

You’d think such busy days would help me sleep? No, my insomnia reigns at the minute. This makes my brain hurt and my eyes sore. Woe me (I’m not looking for sympathy). However, I, in true modern independent Beyoncé woman fashion, have begun to turn that terse and tense energy into something more positive. I’m using it to fight back!

So how to balance, enjoy, attain work targets, all on little sleep? It’s a tricky one but something, like the Piyo, I’m persevering with. Firstly, it’s the lists I write. I like to write War and Peace lengthy lists. Unruly tomes which cover all aspects of daily life. Too aspirational? No, they aspire for success! Now don’t get me wrong, an empty list can mean a lighter load on the subsequent day but I don’t sweat if not all daily goals are set, I just shift them over. No problem; no one died and my family and I are all safe and warm. There’s no drama and guess what? The world still turns.

Also, when the 5 am dawn awakens me what do I do? My tired mind in jumbles about all the stacks of stuff to do; I slap on my cooling eye mask (this is a recent revelation and one I am singing and dancing about – check out your Christmas stockings this year!). One hour laid listening to happy and relaxing music, accompanied by a cool eye mask and I’m fighting to meet the world!! Eyes are less sore, mind feels brighter and the haggard look I seem to be endlessly wearing, seems to be somewhat diminished.

But what about the big stuff? Quick daily fixes help but life gets too much and we just want to sack it off don’t we? Well, I’ve started pursuing other avenues. Searching out stuff which can distract me – selfishly or not (I’m not so bothered, as, for one, I’m preserving my mental health). The thought process goes: My children need to healthy mother. Therefore, current life goals are to free up space (yes I said free up space, of which I have none) and insert new, exciting and adventurous activities into said slots. This is easier said than done but sacking off boring shite and cutting the odd corner here and there seems to be working.

Exhibit A:
This last month has been utterly horrendous – workload wise. A hardcore job plus a lack of cleaner (There is currently a position vacant), and add on my constant cold (I intend to go to the doctors this week I promise) children and a needy dog with separation anxiety and it’s been a perilous journey. However, instead of focussing on these silly details I’ve powered on through. I’ve been out for dinner, had daily runs/classes, read some lovely books, spent time with some of my favourite people, cooked and eaten some fabulous food and this weekend I went to a spa! Yes, that’s right, I fitted in a trip to the spa (now the latter was no mean feat and involved an early rise, cramming in a quick run and some early morning lesson planning). All normal things yes? You’d think so but for me it’s been a miraculous victory. Like mastering a perfect warrior into a half moon balance, I’m managing – on a good day.

This kind of plate spinning is no doubt unsustainable. This I know can’t continue. So what do I do? With the next few months set to become busier and no sign of that lotto win, I think it might be time to reevaluate. But whilst doing so I’ve found, and this is the revelation, I don’t hate it! My life (although highly exhausting and sleep deprived) is exciting (with or without that much desired sabbatical to South America), vibrant, interesting and fulfilling – in short, there’s never a dull moment. There’s not an ounce of ennui permeating the air. There’s also not a hint of misery. I feel lucky and although I don’t always think it, wouldn’t have it any other way. Although, there’s only one thing I’d change; to make this balancing act less stressful and to give us all a fighting chance I’d introduce a four day week. With that extra day imagine what we’d achieve! Yes, that’s right, we’d fill our extra day off with more stuff to exhaust us…

And breathe. Child’s pose and when ready come up to seated position for your final stretch…
You see, like my Piyo class, life can be hard work, challenging and frustrating when you try to get the tricky bits right. It is also rewarding, energising and full of mini victories that make you feel good inside (you’ve got to for a healthy mind). It’s full on but you have moments to breathe and relax, luxuriating in knowing you have done your best and for that you get a rewarding stretch and moment of quiet.

So next time you feel like it’s getting too much, full on, unmanageable…throw off the guilty shackles (no one actually cares) and find some inspiration and time to recover some inner peace. After all, we all deserve some peace.

Communication is the name of the game. It’s good to talk, they say. However, with life’s fast pace and technology overload, it’s sometimes difficult to do the one thing we are inherently programmed to do. Although I have always prided myself on daily conversations with my loved ones, just lately, well…

I say pride as all too often, in my job, I see and hear about children and adults failing to talk. Young adults (and older ones) who spend more time on a screen than in the real world. Kids who seem to know more about the life and times of Youtubers such as Jake Paul, than their parent/siblings day.

So I say pride…Unfortunately, just recently, I’m as bad as the YouTube generation. Just lately I’ve begun to lose, not only touch with friends, but my really best ones. Life has taken a hold and it’s crushing every bit of time from me. So, I made a decision – I pulling it back! But it’s bloody tiring…

Starting with the best place: The Family Table.
This week was bookended with family meals. Opportunities to enjoy good food and conversation with the ones I love. An assortment of available members meeting, eating and conversing around one table. However, in deepest darkest mid week trench warfare of life it was grab what you can, meet who you can and on Thursday and Friday I was brought to you by the power of maomn (not my finest moment). Last night I cooked an Indian feast and right now the meat is marinating for the Sunday roast. At some point I will drag the children into it. I shall get them making yorkie puds and dessert. I’ll text any missing members to tell them the nights menu. And it’s exhausting and it takes it all my free time. But, this is the crafty bit: not only do I distract them from antisocial behaviour, I too get to spend quality time with them. Whether it’s the process of creating a tasty meal or enticing them to the main event with the promise of sumptuous flavoursome food, it doesn’t matter, the ritual of preparing, cooking and consuming brings people together and with it brings talk.

Our family table has and will always be the heart of our home. Even as a child we’d sit, chat, eat and enjoy the camaraderie around the table. Whether at home or at Nana’s we’d just embrace the gathering. Sometimes, especially a Sunday, it would be the only time we would actually sit and eat together. This is something I’ve tried to embed into our home life over the years. It’s an unwritten rule that phones, tablets and even the television aren’t to be consumed at the dinner table (pet hate and adults are as bad as kids). The food is to be enjoyed and (mostly) it has been cooked with love and happiness.

The only thing we do allow is music. This is one of the other aspects of igniting discussion. It can trigger memories, create debate on culture and diversity (if I ever mentioned this they’d say ‘god mum stop trying to educate us and roll their eyes – crafty you see). It’s about teaching them to converse, socialise in a healthy manner, being able to hold an interesting conversation (this is something I struggle with in a social situation as a) I get embarrassed, and b) I think people wouldn’t want to listen to me as I’m boring, and c) just think I’m disliked in general so don’t go anywhere ‘The Fear’). To feel confident in discussing their theories and ideas in a safe environment. And you know what? I’ve some very intelligent and clever girls (not that they’d allow this to be actually seen by their friends as that’s not cool). The musicality is also good for a sing or rap (the girls are very good in a rap battle). All this enriches their knowledge banks and (hopefully) gives them aspirations for the future. A future they have to navigate in a difficult, technological and complex world.

Now, as antisocial phones at a table are, it does allow us to communicate in other ways. I text people messages of love, support and although I know I’m a shit friend, I try to let people know I do think about them. I send people articles I think they might like, tag them in stuff they might find cute and interesting. That’s the beauty of the technology we are now able to share something with our best friends immediately – instant reaffirmation how special they are to us. My current personal target is to make sure I communicate more this way. Although I hide my phone (this is so I can connect with the real world as much as possible) when at home, I have begun to allow myself some time to message and talk to my friends online. Therefore, when I’ve finished this, and whilst the children are quiet, I’m going to catch up with some correspondence. This whole thought makes me feel both nostalgic and slightly sad for times past. At one time I’d I have sat down with my writing set , a la Elizabeth Bennet, and started penning letters (my favourite pastime) to all sorts of interesting people I’ve met over the years. I had friends I wrote to in Iceland. Italy, France and Malta. Now? Just a message on Facebook. Oh how I wish I could reconnect with those I lost touch with.

Speaking of which, Rosie Dog is also suffering from my recent shoddiness regarding time and communication. For a rather large white and black liver faced dog, she certainly is very needy. GSPs suffer from separation anxiety and need constant love and attention. Her sad little face by Wednesday says it all ‘have you forgotten about me and the promises you made?’ It asks. But, and this is another sneaky secret, what none of them realise is, that needy doggy enables us quality time together on a daily basis. Whether it’s shared cuddles or walks, she gives us time to chat and think – keeping those lines open.

On that note, I’ve quite a bit to do…happy Sunday xx

It was the first of October and I awoke to the sound,
Of rain hitting the windows and pattering softly on the ground.
Upon opening the windows and surveying the bleak morning view,
I was met by a spectrum of russet tones, lifting my mood.
Golds, browns and oranges scattered; creating an artists palette of hues.
A kaleidoscopic carpet shimmered in the rain soaked dew.

Yes, it’s autumn. Mixed emotions about this one. Many of you will hate the end of the summer. Many of you will embrace the cosy nights. It’s a time where we dig out our fluffy bed socks and feel the need to wrap ourselves in a warm blanket. We all start to shut down and go into hibernation mode. I for one have never had a pantry and freezer so full (squirrel nutkins has nothing on me!), all I’m missing are some nuts and pickles in my well stocked winter larder.

I used to hate autumn. I have memories of coming home from school: a nip in the air, empty fields, farmers burning their waste and the dark nights drawing in like a blanket putting out the roaring summer fire. It was so depressing. There was never anything to do. With four channels on the telly and no one playing out, as it was ‘too cold and dark’ (we were wusses) the only thing to look forward to was the church harvest festival; bidding for a jar of homemade jam and guessing the weight of an oversized pumpkin was as exciting as it got.

Also, darker days meant cold nights. Growing up in an old and draughty 18th century farmhouse could be very challenging at times; especially as we had no central heating. Blustery October (remember the hurricane on 87?) nearly killed me with nightmares of our roof being ripped off, or worse, one of the horse chestnuts crashing down into the house (yes, dramatic as a child too). But autumn days also brought with them the fear of the frost. October was the prelude to the main event. It seemed to me that as soon as the high winds had stopped stripping the trees, the pumpkins had become surplus to requirements, and sunlight barely made an appearance, that Jack Frost starting haunting my childhood dreams. Deicing my bedroom windows from the inside was never pleasant on a school morning (I had a Dickensian childhood) The only thing that got me out of bed from October until March was to put on the calor gas fire in my room. Problem was if I fell asleep with it on, or left it too long, I’d develop a headache and a very sore throat…I’m sure they’d be a health warning now!

So west changed? Why now do I embrace autumn? It might have something to do with (what the 16th century Danes coined) getting on my ‘Hygge’. Or, what I term ‘getting cosy’

Rule one is ‘Mood Lighting’. You have to have lots of lights and candles lit, at all times, all over the house – inside and out. Lighting up is one of the most comforting and mood boosting things you can do. Not though putting the Big light on – it’s traumatising, as by doing this you can reverse all the calm, cosy and happy feeling generated by: lamps, coloured bulbs (not red ones as people will gossip – not that I care) fairy lights, light boxes and candles. My current aim in to put more lighting on my decking area and also at the front of the house. This will certainly involve seasonal inspiration: pumpkins followed by some Christmas extravaganza (not tacky as that’s not hygge). Additionally, lights stop SAD. Note that I have discovered two ways to treat this: one is buy a really expensive light box. Two is set a timer on your bedside lamp (cheaper alternative). There is a third option, to stay in bed until it gets light. But unless you are retired, have no children at home, unemployed or have a seasonal job, this isn’t an option.

Next thing I’ve done is wash all our blankets. We have (at last stock take) 6 fluffy throws. This means even Rosie Dog has one (if she starts to develop SAD). It’s imperative these are a) fluffy, and b) well maintained, as a scratchy smelly blanket is neither comforting nor cosy. This mindset also needs to be applied when dressing. Soft knitwear (no rash inducing wool allowed), fur lined boots, capes and scarves all the way! If you don’t (or your nearest and dearest) feel or look like you’ve stepped out of the Next autumn book then you turn back round and root through your wardrobe until you do (excuse to shop). No one wants to cuddle a cold and scaly fish (on that note – make sure you moisturise as the following will cause scaling issues)

Keep warm, keep dry. Now then, the males in my family being Yorkshiremen, all sing from the same hymn sheet ‘thou shall wear coat indoors if cold’. This is interesting logic when you look at the rise in energy costing. However, as Him and I work more hours a week than is allowed by laws of humanity, I simply refuse to live in a cold house. Moreover, when it is super cold, I have fragrant (essential mood lifting oils) hot baths, cover myself in warm fuzzy felt pyjamas and roll myself up like a sausage roll in one of previously mentioned blankets. This is usually avec child or dog or both. The only time a coat is worn indoors is when sitting at the back door working and Rosie Dog is doing circuits. Therefore, hang the expense: washing, heating, nice smelling products and bathing are all on the ‘hygge’
NB as mentioned a good moisturiser is key and if you can get a massage. This boosts the circulation and lymphatic drainage making you feel more alive and relaxed than ever.

Now the good bit for all you food fans (I love talking about and eating food). As I previously mentioned food needs to be in ready supply. You need extra fat on your bones to keep out the cold. That means you are allowed to eat that pie and mash. You are allowed that calorific curry and you can have large plate at the Sunday carvery. It’s all acceptable as you need to keep warm and well. And, if you want a tot of brandy in your nighttime cuppa, tell anyone who challenges you that I said it’s Swan’s law. Food and drink are essential to fuel the body’s winter fire. If not you will shut down like a tortoise and you’ll never last the winter.

Talking of hibernation. I particularly like the autumn as it gives me an excuse to hide. As someone who suffers from ‘The Fear’ it means I can stay in and not have to worry about feeling stupid in social situations. It means I can curl up in the knowledge I shouldn’t be doing something sociable as ‘it’s too dark and cold’. I’m allowed to hibernate. I’m allowed to light my burner, carve my pumpkins, cook Greek lamb stew for my beautiful ones and wrap fairy lights around my whole house. I’m allowed to do all these things cos’ it’s ‘hygge’

Happy October. Get your hygge on! I’m going to light my candles.

Imagine living in a world where you are trapped within long ago forgotten memories. Imagine the dynamics of a room suddenly shifting, leaving you with a feeling of unknowing how you got there. That sick feeling in your stomach you get, when you feel you’ve forgotten something really important. Imagine forgetting how to make something as simple as a cup of tea. Scary thoughts? They’re my biggest fears. It is thought that as many as 50 million people worldwide are living with the life stealing dementia. This figure is predicted to double by 2030. Scientists believe that this exponential increase is down to life expectancy gradually increasing.

Our Nan is one of those unlucky people. It’s not something we dwell on and we certainly don’t allow it to affect our time with her, but it’s a tricky one. Mainly because we tend to have to find ways to stop the anxiety and anger which simmers away on the back burner. Talking to a friend of mine recently contextualised all this – made me feel reassured that as tough as it can be that we are not alone. And, it was this thought that made me think about the loneliness of living with dementia. What do we do?

You see, it can be so isolating; not only for them but for their loved ones too. When we first noticed the early signs it was tricky to understand. You, when seeing someone you love flailing, want to protect and control to a certain point. However, it’s not that easy. Your ill fated attempts can hamper and anger them. You become upset and make excuses for them and that can trigger resentment and tears. So what do you do? Ignore the signs? Pretend they’re not burning the dinner on the hob and bury your head in the sand when you spot the lost look on their face when you talk about a shared memory?

When Nan first started to show signs it was quite traumatic for all. She’d go into a spin and want to go all 100 miles home from the restaurant we’d be eating in – and right that minute!! Now, I say traumatic, but to be honest it wasn’t the fear of why she was reacting in this kind way, it was more the fact she was behaving in such a demanding and agitated manner. There would be no negotiating. Off she’d go and leave the remaining family members in floods of tears. After this occurring on many occasions I decided that, as I always do when faced with adversity, to arm myself with facts and try to understand how she felt.

After reading lots online and arranging a meeting with a brilliant advisor at Age UK, I finally came across a book called ‘Elizabeth is Missing which was the ironically ‘missing’ piece of the jigsaw; filling me with guilt and understanding in equal measures. You see, to be able to cope with such a scary journey I needed to understand. What it did for me was open up a capacity for compassionate feelings I never knew I had. What I’d selfishly done was look at the whole situation through the family’s eyes – needs even, rather that viewing it from her perspective. This left me feeling utterly ashamed that I had tried to make her do on numerous occasions. When, in actual fact, she was just scared. She just needed reassurance.

That was then and this is now. Four years later and happily she still knows who Him and I are. Not so good is the list of stuff she doesn’t know; most heartbreakingly, the children. So, how do we get over that fact when we visit her? Him’s inspired move is to get
Nan’s box of photos, letters and pictures out and get her to talk about what she sees. What this does is help prompt lots of happy memories and stop her dwelling on sad memories which seem to linger in her mind. Dementia kills off the short term memory so it’s the stuff of your longer life that seems to stay with you. Sadly, most of us have times in our lives we’d rather forget and the bastard dementia can’t help but bring it all back. What is hard is to pull her back from these stories but the box does help.

What also helps are the amount of pictures and gifts she has displayed all over her house. One such photo is of Him and Nan on our wedding day. She looks radiant in a beautiful pink hat – grinning next to her precious grandson, after she’d just finished dancing with the singer of the jazz band. That image, to me the person who didn’t want a great big fussy white wedding, is priceless. A wonderful happy memory that makes me glad we invited, what it felt like at the time the whole of Yorkshire (to please Nan. Long story short. Us: Nan we’re inviting so and so to the night do. Nan: they won’t come all that way for a chicken leg. Suffice to say chickenleggate took the numbers up significantly) to our big fat wedding. How glad am I we put her first? Immensely.

Sadly, part of this illness has confined her to her home. She is nervous to go out alone – we think she’s got lost in the past, and now the outside world scares her. This can make it difficult for her to visit. We’ve been limited for a while, to going over at weekends and holidays, whenever possible. However, we’ve recently had a bit of a breakthrough. We’ve realised that making new memories and going to places that hold no real meaning have given her a new lease of life. She loves coming to the new house and she loves Rosie Dog; having a mutual calming effect on each other.

This all ties in with recent advice and research that suggests we keep not only ourselves fit and healthy but our brains too. The usual stuff of: alcohol consumption, diet, exercise, smoking etc. sits alongside advice to read, do puzzles – give your brain a daily workout. It seems that to fight it you have to keep challenging your thought patterns and allow your brain the experience of learning new stuff. I’d say the old adage ‘you’re never too old to learn’, couldn’t be more true. The brain and body needs to keep active to stop it all shutting down. On that note going to spend time with my beauties, walk my doggie, cook a lovely Sunday lunch, read my book and try to forget the amount of wine I drank last night (oops).

This weekend heralds for many households containing 18 year olds, the beginnings of freedom and (hopefully) some academia. Cue thousands of freshers going wild after living in the house of mum and dad for their whole lives. Down with oppressive rule! Up cheap booze! Throw in a lecture or two and there’s the first year done – oh with some ridiculous flirting added too. This new found independence makes and can break many. Off they go into the wide world of house sharing and labelling milk; but within days parents experience tearful phone calls, pleas of help of a hasty bank transfer and bags of washing on each visit.

All this is of little comfort when the once full nest is starting to empty. We spend our entire parenthood guiding them for their turning 18. We secretly tick off the days that we can break free from the shackles of such responsibility. Freedom for both parties it would seem, with the knowledge that stresses of school runs, clubs, hobbies, work, teenage antics etc. become a thing of the past. Their jam packed and crazy childhoods are something to wistfully look back upon and reminisce through rose coloured glasses. Choosing instead to remember the glorious weather on that day the Big One’s team won the hockey tournament. How you’d sat with other parents on the grass, enjoying the warmth of a midsummer June day and luxuriating in the knowledge that a family fun filled summer was now here. Forgetting that only three months before you stood in the wind and hail cursing the school and your child for being picked. Wishing for the day they were too old to be picked for the hockey team and you could be at home with a cup of tea in the warm. That’s right, pleasing yourself.

Oh how we long to finally please ourselves. Long to get up when we like, to be free of feeds, nappies, 5.30am breakfast calls and unbroken sleep. Those early days; the ones where you become overwhelmed by the huge responsibility for the next 18 years, are there to shape your life as a parent.

At this point I need to stress that I love being a mummy. If I take you back to being first handed the first norm my words were ‘I’ve no idea who to thank for a gift so precious’ (yes, very fluffy but true). However, this piece of writing is a reassurance piece so read on and you will see…

So, we try to cherish every moment and savour the good bits. Trying not to wish time away whilst wishing time away – speeding it up for the good stuff. However, very soon the day comes when they want to leave you and nothing prepares you for that. Gut wrenching and agonising cries, hearts breaking…

Now, I’m not going to go over the emotions felt as I want this to have a cheerful slant. I want instead to focus on what can be done to stop the tears. I’m not going to discuss how I’m fed up of cooking huge dinners only as little as three of us sometimes eat. I’m not going to go on about how quiet the house is and I’m not going to tell you how empty I’ve felt since the Big One went…Instead I’m going to equip you with some stuff I’ve learnt along the way.

Firstly, although recent family conversations have turned to me ‘having another baby’ as ‘mum has cute babies and we can help look after it’, I am adamant that having my eldest at 19, that I’m not prepared to go back and do it all again. Now, as lovely as new babies are (truly love them) I think three children are enough. Therefore, we bought the Rosie Dog. Best decision of our lives ever! She is so loving and never answers back. Dogs really do make the best and most loyal companions. To day she has enriched our lives is an understatement; she filled a hole I never knew existed. I’m not saying everyone should run out and get a dog but a pet is a good way for you to channel all that parental energy.

Next thing is that you are going to have a bit more money in your household budget. No more banquets and rolling buffets to cater for; this means you can please yourself. Can’t be bothered to cook? Have beans on toast – no one to complain. Or, go out for dinner as a) you don’t have to be in early as there’s no threat of ‘school night’, and b) the bill will be a great deal cheaper. Also, whilst your apron is gathering a layer of dust, you start gaining time. And this is the best bit!

You may be now thinking ‘but I don’t want empty hours after having a busy life’. Well, you’re wrong! Give it six weeks and you will have settled quite nicely into the new routine. Evening will be a revelation as you will be able to relax, unwind without waiting for a call to be picked up or for them to come in before you can go to bed. Your washing machine gains a new lease of life. You can do all that stuff you’ve been putting off for years. You can (and this is the best bit) go to the loo without someone wanting to either come with you or hold s conversation through the door. You’ll be able to take your coat and shoes off without fear of having to run out to get them again (I’ve one friend who used to sit the night out in her coat as ‘there’s no point in taking it off’). Your house will be tidier. It will be in good order. You will be able to watch whatever you want and listen to whatever music you like without being made to feel like a out of touch weirdo who apparently ‘knows nothing’. You can go out as much as you like and stay out in a Saturday night without worrying about having to get them somewhere early Sunday morning. You can book a holiday on a whim – freedom!

But spare a thought for those who’ve flown. Whilst you’re relishing your new found freedom they are too, but in different ways…eating pasta with cheese/tuna every night cos they’ve spent all the budget on student night. Only money for one drink on Saturday night? What, no Sky Plus? And they’re wondering where the maid service and buffet are in halls?!?! And no, don’t feel guilty and show no mercy for them living in such austere times; they’ll be home before you know it ruining your new found equilibrium and sanity. And if you are sitting there saying ‘well I can’t wait’, I’ll give it 48 hours of their return and you’ll be back to wishing the time away and striking lines on your wall for your bid for freedom!

Good luck to you all: SF,, PKF, LC et al. to name just a few xxx

Infidelity, what causes it? Many perpetrators will tell you it’s not personal, they don’t actually want to hurt their partners. There is, apparently, a deep seated issue, a trigger, one that ignites a much deeper motivation than pure attraction. With divorce rates high and single parent families outnumbering the traditional unit, it’s worth questioning the root cause. What is it we envisage when we enter and commit to a relationship? Do we model our ideals on messed up Disney fantasies (or in my case Johnny and Baby)? All happy unions ending in a white fairytale wedding and happy ever after. Speaking of which…

Rooney has messed up again. I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking that this was inevitable? Seriously, the guy has unhappiness written all over him. And, maybe you have no sympathy for the overpaid ballboy but, I think it’s worth considering his misery.

Scouted when they were a teenage couple who probably shared a bottle of White Lightning and a quick snog in the local park, Wayne and Coleen were plucked from obscurity and transformed into a fairy tale to rival Shrek. Both became famous – him for his skills on the pitch and her for dressing well. Propelling them from working class Liverpool to between the pages of ‘Hello’ quicker than you can say ‘Football transfer’. Whilst Him and I battled through being young parents to three, we looked on in wonder at this lucky pair. My goodness, I thought, how canny of Coleen to pick the right boy when playing truth or dare! How could she have known, well either of them really, where their joined lives would take them? Within months of being 18 he was playing for England and then Man Utd. With success came pressure for children, marriage, responsibility, hair transplants…and this is where it gets messy. Instead of them being another working class statistic: becoming joined from an early age through teenage pregnancy and circumstance; working together to build a life through grit and determination; living on the breadline and juggling shifts and childcare; they got ‘lucky’. They had fame and fortune. However, be careful what you wish for…instead of happiness, it could be argued they became trapped by the glossy confines of our mighty media. Their whole relationship bought and scrutinised – two kids making mistakes and growing together, all in the spotlight. Outwardly wonderful and sparkling lives for us to envy. Every girl wanted to bag a footballer when they saw her ‘living the dream’. One minute Coleen was strutting down the town with her mates, in jeans and a bomber jacket and the next she’s gracing London Fashion Week with Victoria Beckham, Talk about rags to riches! What worries me though is, when did they get chance to grow up? Were they forced together by the lure of celebrity and bright lights? What is it they actually wanted? Was it each other?

Now don’t get me wrong, I am in no way comparing their plight to that of people trapped through consequence. They had it all – the perfect start in life. How I wish my girls could start their adult journey with love and security. Also, if it all went wrong, either of them could get out anytime they tried (by now both could have good careers and live well separately). Instead, they decided (for better or for worse) to work through the highs and lows and have it all documented by the gutter press – can you imagine? My god, I wouldn’t fancy having my picture taken and being speculated about, after having an argument with Him! (Now I live in a small town and gossip is bad enough…)

What I do believe is that like any relationship, it is undoubtedly deeply flawed, complex and contains long lasting love and companionship. They’ve grown together, worked through infidelity and living in the glare of the media. Two families melded through circumstance have done what we all do when we marry and grown to love and support each other. We know this through the charity work they have both done for her brother. We also know both families are well looked after. They have supported and no doubt made sure, that financially, their nearest and dearest are well looked after and provided for. Massive responsibility on their shoulders from a young age. This said, you might think ‘so what!’ We all have times that we have to battle through life. We also all have times when we lean on each other when that black cloud hovers ever so slightly in the peripherals (we don’t expect sympathy though) Finally, admit it, we all make mistakes – we are only human. But where’s the cameras and reporters publicly announcing it? Now unless you want to wash your dirty linen (as my mum would say) in public and splash it all over Facebook, you’re probably safe from the media. They aren’t so lucky. Also, all our anxieties tend to be set to the added worry of money – how will we survive? We think when wanting to jack it all in, or faced with long term illness etc. We worry about providing for our children, putting food on the table, paying the mortgage…Statistics show that of people stay together because they can’t afford to separate. This fact not only reflects a sign of the financial times but also makes me reflect on the sanctity of marriage. It asks the question ‘how much importance do people place on their marriage vows?’ (Now, at this point I don’t want to get all sanctimonious but this was something I took, and still do, very seriously…). So, how when they are worth an estimated £124 million, do they have the right to feel stressed, depressed and require the need to escape? Is the reason they’re still together because they believe in their vows? Or has the fame and luxury trapped them in the same way a baby at sixteen could have?

Empathy. Ask yourself this: what did you dream of as a child? I wanted to be rich, successful and famous (plus mansion in Hollywood Hills and a fur stoal al la Rita Hayworth). Mostly though I wanted to be happy and live a worry free life. Even at the age of ten, i knew I wanted to live stress free in a grand house, somewhere fabulous and with someone wonderful to hold my hand. The happy ever after (I blame all those black and white flicks the nana made me watch). The main factor, I shrewdly realised at that young age, was money; to have copious funds to support this lifestyle would undoubtedly gain me life long happiness. And that’s the thing kids think (and some adults) – money solves everything. Wrong! It can solve some problems and opens doors but it doesn’t make us better people and certainly doesn’t enrich our relationships. Many of us believe that if money was no issue that life would be a breeze. Be honest, you do don’t you? Imagine not worrying about bills, putting food on the table and how you are going to pay for Christmas. Pure bliss yeah? Lottery win anyone – no me neither! You see what motivates us to get out of bed is just that; the bare bones of the shit o clock alarm there is only one thing that pulls us out of bed: money. Not in mercenary sense where we are only motivated by the pound sign but by the knowledge that if you don’t move that foot out of the bed your children will lose the roof from over their heads and there will be no food in their mouths. Now I don’t want to sound dramatic (I know I do) but that’s it. Given the chance I would always work, however, not for the amount of hours a week I do currently. Ideally, I’d like a balance between work and being a mum – maybe have a life for once which enabled me some freedom. I’d like to have time to follow my dreams. But what I’ve realised is, is that this utopian state does not exist, instead we take our joy from what we can grab at. We snatch at quick gains and embrace and cherish the sweet and glorious moments we are presented with (right now Sunday morning cuppa in bed). We capture memories and hold them close…and it is easy to think a couple like the Rooneys don’t need to do this. Surely, in a life full of opulence their lives are full of untainted memories which have no tinge of worry behind them. For example: I bet when Kai’s birthday is coming up, they aren’t hastily counting the entire cost and budgeting in advance for party, gift, family meal, new outfit etc. But this is my point: has their life spoilt them? Do they turn to each other with their worries? What keeps them united? Has the fairytale become jaded? Is it flawed? How could two teenagers live happily ever after, when, as we all know as paid up adults, it doesn’t exist. Life evolves and we work at it. How can they possibly realise how lucky they are when they haven’t worked through the same worries we have to get to this point? Was it (in the words of the Specials) too much too young?

Therefore, whilst a pregnant Coleen, avec kids, relaxes in Spain, Wayne is back at work in England. Rattling round the mansion after a morning’s training – no longer the youngest kid on the block. No doubt starting to feel old and inadequate alongside the sharp skilled youths. Ego diving and he’s back to being 14 on the council estate. He’s fighting for his place in the team and wanting to be noticed. He’s probably wondering what to do next. He’s got years stretched out in front of him and the prospect of not playing anymore must be petrifying; does he speak to his wife, tell her his fears? Or, does he bury his head in the sand and seek solace wherever he can? Drink, women, gambling…anything to reach those natural highs he felt in his hey day (it’s that old stereotypical problem). Yes, he’s got form: Eileen. But that’s the thing, it’s a repeating pattern. When he’s scared, desperate and depressed he makes stupid choices. I personally think he needs to speak to his wife.

Sadly, the fairy tale does not exist: even for Fiona and Shrek. It’s unobtainable and life will never be – even if you chuck money it, easy. However, what does exist is love, respect and companionship. They all make us far wealthier than Rooney, Bale and Ronaldinho put together. Sometimes we get lost. Sometimes we miss the point and have to remind ourselves how blinking blessed we are. I just hope that Wayne and Coleen find what’s important and get their happily ever after. I also hope you all do too xxx

Disclaimer: All details of Wayne’s career aren’t 100% accurate but I’m sure none of you care either.

With that nip in the air and Clarkes shoe boxes piled in the porch, we realise that time of year has crept up again. So with back to school upon us and the bile riding in my throat, I feel it’s time to reflect and reminisce with a summer review. In the spirit in all things educational: with the casting off of flip flops, shorts and bikini (only bikini in Greece may I add – no one needs to see that in my home town); with the alarm being turned back on (…runs to throw up at the thought…), proper grown up clothes and actual shoes being aired ready, and the donning of the teacher’s metaphorical hat, I want to understand what has been learnt this summer?

Bolt is not infallible. Winners get booed and Mo does get flustered.
The World Championships helped fill an Olympic sized hole in my summer. It also got me running every day again and subsequently gaining another hamstring injury. I learnt that, try as I might, I’m no Olympian.

Jack the Shetland pony can help people with dementia.
This is the wonderful story of how animals have been, yet again, proved to help people. I could now rhapsodise about Rosie Dog and her ability to soothe and heal. I could also go on about how our Nan is calmed by her…however, what I will say is,they need to find a cure for this horrible disease – it can’t come soon enough.

It’s 25 years since Eldorado – did anyone watch it? Nope, didn’t think so!!
This was the video which seemed to haunt the BBC News page for days. No idea why? No one watched the show and I bet even less watched to clip. It must have been a slow news week.

The media couldn’t leave Diana alone.
20 years on ft that awful day and they’re still digging. We all shed so many tears and mourned her. Surely it would have been far more fitting for the media to look back at all the good things she did? Why not let her family remember her fondly? Oh that’s right, because the likes of Paul Burrel are skint so they want to capitalise, yet again, on the poor woman’s memory!

On a more personal note I learnt that drinking one jug of iced coffee a day can send you slightly crackers and jittery…
Whilst Little E tried her hardest to learn to use the word ‘irony’ correctly, Him learnt that the A1 to Newcastle is a Very Long Road at 2 in the morning, and the middle one learnt what a streaker was at the World championships; we all learnt (my family and I) what it is to experience a 6.8 earthquake (we thought it was the wine). Seriously though, this sobering experience reminded me what a scary and wondrous world we live in.

Earthquakes, Hurricane Harvey, South Asia monsoon bringing unprecedented flooding and devastation; all natures way of keeping us on our toes. The big stuff which we can’t control. Scary isn’t it? That we live in such a brilliant, beautiful and diverse world and yet try as we might to predict and control we are no match for the elements. What we are good at though is being strong, brave and helpful. I can’t be alone noticing the apparent lack of racial segregation and hatred coming from the images and reports in Texas over the past week. Yet two weeks earlier, In Charlottesville, huge questions were being raised on Americas stance on race hate: had they digressed so far that it was now acceptable to treat fellow man in such a way – all because of the colour of their skin? America’s battle with white supremacy seemed to dissipate when the shit hit the fan. To see all men coming together regardless of who or what they are, showed the true strength of man. Reminding us all of the meaning of equality. Texas, known for being Trump’s stronghold, put two fingers up to all those that judge and came together as one. And Trump et al, unlike the Bush administration who ignored Katrina’s devastating impact on New Orleans, threw all they had at the situation. Although, I did raise my eyebrows at the First Lady turning up in ridiculously high heels – was is a faux pas to wear inappropriate foot wear when every man, his dog and even news crews were rescuing stranded citizens?

Anyway, what Trump did do during such times was focus on his country. Something which, to his credit (can’t stand him but…) he did with strength and determination. He let his mouth shut whilst N. Korea were waving their weapons around for attention again. (What was it I said about man? I’m not sure Kim Jong Un got the memo). Trump showed that deep down he was a businessman at heart and that when your business is in trouble, you send in the troops.

But, this is the thing, in learning how powerful Mother Nature is we also learnt how dangerous man is. Terror stacks were both attempted and foiled this summer. Having to explain, yet again, to my children what had happened in a place which held such happy memories for them – Barcelona. Then being awoken (again) with a BBC Breaking news (Him hadn’t muted the iPad again) informing us that N. Korea had carried out another nuclear test. And that got me thinking because although we constantly evolve, learn, understand and move forward, Kim Jong Un seems to have missed the lessons we learnt at the end of WWII. Now, as old as I may look I was not around them BUT and this is the big one – we all know that none of what happened should never happen again. The quotation goes ‘the more we learn about the past, the better we can plan for our future’.

So what did I really learn? Nothing new really but a sense that to lead a good life, one we are proud of, we need to be mindful of each other. New term, new season, new start…let’s do this!