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The Love Affair of the Grid

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Love is a beautiful thing.  However, it can also be addictive and toxic.  Therefore, the question is: what turns something great into something terrible? 

Whilst everyone is talking about phone detox, I’m well in my depths of intoxicated addiction.  In a quiet moment I can be found listing, journaling and creating files in my notes; texting friends about the things that make me smile; communicating with the serious stuff; Googling what takes my fancy; and scrolling through instagram.      Instagram – some could say – is a devils playground.  A toxic breeding ground of poor mental health and body dysmorphia.  And this I understand.  But before I get into the pitfalls of the Gram, want to talk about my fascination with the grid.  

Instagram: a rabbit hole of people, products and social politics.  A place to lose myself in the ridiculous and beautiful.  A soundtrack for the fast moving world we live in.  A place which is regularly criticised and seen as an example of our decline in society.  But for me? I love it.

It’s probably over ten years since I’ve been able to comfortably read a magazine.  Once an addict to the glossies, I used to devour J17 and More as a teenager, moving onto Red , Cosmo and Vogue as a functioning adult.  I loved the glamour, the writing, I loved the aspirational style.  With a copy of Heat thrown in here and there, I kept myself well abreast of the celebrity gossip machine.   But, along with my ability to go out at night unaided, I had my voracious ability to devour print capped.  

The Kindle solved many of my issues.  But as gleeful as I was that I was able to read properly again, I was starved of celebrity.  

I entered a grey hinterland of tumbleweed and an empty east wind.  I got my info via the television and radio.  Whole movements, trends and shenanigans passing me by.  What was I to do?  Facebook was boring.  Twitter was toxic.  But, Instagram was gloriously glossy and so far removed from the mundanity of life, that I was hooked.  

And so my journey began.  

But, like all love stories, there are always obstacles which threaten to spoil a good thing.  In this case: trolls.  

Recently, I was scrolling and came across a beautiful picture of two women.  Now, my eyes aren’t the best, but the thing that sang to me was the utter joy on their faces.  Closer inspection and a helpful caption told me that they were Julia Roberts and her niece, in e what appeared to be a card game after a family sleepover.  Happy family time.  I loved the positive energy emanating from the image.  However, it wasn’t her sharing it.  The post was by a DJ who said he felt ‘compelled’ to share Julia’s raw honesty.  What is afoot, I thought?

It turned out not everyone is a cheerleader.  I’m not sure why I’m surprised.  After sharing this personal moment she was messaged by many people telling her ‘how terrible I looked’. That ‘I’m not ageing well’ and that she was unrecognisable.

I mean.  Wow!

After some thought about this, I had two trains of thought: one, is that really what people see? And two, what type of person feels they can actively comment on another’s looks?

All I’m going to say is that it says WAY more about them than the beautiful Julia Roberts.  

Ageing, I mean, this is a whole other ramblings in the making.  So, instead I’m going to focus on why people like to deflect their own insecurities and channel them into negativity towards others.  And why they think it’s acceptable to share their toxicity on social media.

Scanning the grid it is incredibly, and sadly, too easy to find awful comments about others.  To read such negativity about young, successful women like Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez – well, it seems they can’t do anything right.  Then there’s the seasoned performers: JLo, SJP and Madonna.  All torn apart with a caustic vitriol of some keyboard warriors.  Hhhmmmm…

What makes them do it?  For want of not giving their words any page space, I think it’s worth noting that it’s symptomatic of poor mental health and insecurity.  In a BBC article it was reported that ‘Dr Mark Griffiths, Professor of Behavioural Addiction at Nottingham Trent University said: “Most people troll others for either revenge, for attention seeking, for boredom, and for personal amusement.”  He then goes in to say that it is a way for people who are unhappy to lash out and get rid of their frustrations.  Does this mean that trolls can be embittered ageing women who can’t afford a decent face cream; young people who can’t get recording deals and a celebrity partner; or, angry individuals who have failed to reach their potential?

In which case, maybe we should be extending sympathy to this group of aggressive typists.  

In the early days I used to find the escapism of instagram a luxury.  Scrolling through a myriad of holiday destinations, celebrity lives and stylish clothes and interiors, I enjoyed it.  And, I still do.  But I guess that looking at such aspirational eye candy can trigger jealousy.  After all, if somebody feels frustrated by their own trappings, trolling must be a way of releasing the pressure.  

What to do?

Personally, well, like a good face filter, I erase what I don’t want to see.  I make my own judgements, fill my feed with hilarity, and ignore the haters.  It’s what I do in life.  My advice always to never walk into a room that cloaks you in negativity.  I avoid these situations like the plague.  And do I feel jealous of the Beckhams jetting around the world and influencers on a permanent holiday? Not really.  They’re just people living their best lives.  They’ve worked hard and luck has gone their way.  Envy? Well who wouldn’t want to spend January on a deserted beach in Thailand?  But does it cause me to write nasty comments  – no! 

All it makes me do is dream…

So when you’re scrolling, try with the empathy.  For who you follow and the followers.  After all, we are all waking through something everybody knows nothing about.   Spread the love and be kind,  

https://www.bbc.co.uk/bitesize/articles/zfmkrj6#

I am Grateful for…

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 January is probably the longest month of the year.  Dark, cold, self-punishing and penniless, we tend to spend it dreaming and wishing time could speed up.  For early signs of spring, a warmer sun and lighter days.  And, as much as we know we shouldn’t rush our time away, we dream of better days.

However, I was determined to do things differently this year.  To focus on what I could change and achieve in this winter hinterland.  So, stubbornly, I’ve dug my heels in and used my creativity to expand my horizons and explore what makes me tick.  

For months now, I’ve been keeping a gratitude journal.  A monthly log of all those glimmers which give me life.  A collection of thought, feelings and moments.  A list of my hopes and dreams.  But, I get busy and sometimes I forget…

But, January has been different.  

Determined to keep strong in the darkness, I set myself targets.  Targets to help me remember and push the status quo of January blues.

I was recently introduced to the Hebrew word ‘davka’, whilst listening to one of my favourite podcasts ‘Stirring it up’ with Andi and Miquita Oliver.  I love listening to them as it’s about two of my favourite things – food, and people.  They have a plethora of interesting guests with a wealth of worldly knowledge.  Their guests often make me stop and think, so when Rob Rinder talked about davka, it made me think about applying it to my own life.  

But what is it?

Davka is about being contrary.  Which, at first would seem an awkward way to make a positive impact on your own life.  However, it’s more than that.  Essentially, it’s about writing your own journey.  Not following the one that’s been preordained.  Pushing boundaries, ripping up the rule book and doing your own thing.  To have davka is brave and exciting.  To have employed davka – you’ve done something against the odds.

I loved the way he talked about holocaust survivors.  The way they survived against the cruel odds that had been dictated to them.  The way that they were so grateful and present as they rebuilt their lives.  Contrary, brave, stubborn, living a life worth living. 

And that got me thinking about adversity and how we can all apply it to our lives.  How it is essentially about kicking back and overcoming prejudice and negativity.  

I am all over davka!

So, where have I used davka so far this year?  Well, to be honest I’ve struggled with the short days, cold and dark.  However, I’ve tried to reframe my thinking and push back against the blues.  Pushed back and ignored the hype around the negative energy January breeds.  I’ve rewritten my days by focusing on all the things I’m grateful for (and let me tell you some days I had to do some really creative thinking).  I’ve purged myself with manifestation goals, to the point of becoming incredibly specific about certain situations (when I go to Australia I’m going to rent a beach house in Manley Bay for six weeks…), and at the end of every positive monologue, I thank the universe for giving me strength, peace and love.

Namaste.

And guess what?  Something wonderful began to happen.  By being contrary and refusing to bow down to the grey January fog, I’ve kicked back and rewritten my days.  I’ve found that being grateful has allowed me to rewrite my path and this makes me feel good about my future.  

And, with February peeking at us from around the corner, and my first glimpse of snowdrops this weekend, I’m gearing up for what comes next.  I’ll continue to be grateful; continue to focus on my goals; I’ll continue to thank the world I live in.  I’m going to apply davka to my big journey and achieve the impossible…

Well, I can at least try.  As my reader, should you.  

Namaste 🙏 

I Know I’m No Good

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Once upon a time, a young woman was sitting in a meeting room.  It was her first week in the job.  The discussion around her was completely unrelated to anything she had done before.  She felt out of her depth.  She felt overwhelmed.  She was ready to bolt. Luckily, she didn’t.  

That was then.  This is now.  

Now – she runs the meetings.  

But, she still thinks she’s not good enough; full of self-doubt.  Full of anxiety.  Full of paranoia.

A familiar story?

The other day a woman was talking about all the reasons she might get the sack.  Mistakes she’s made; times she felt she could have been better; times she felt like she hadn’t measured up.  At no time did she realise and say ‘I’m good at my job because I care’. At no time did she think ‘it’s because I care that I’m still in this job’

Instead, she measured herself against self destroying goals and expectations.  

Nobody had told her she wasn’t any good.  Nobody had told her she sucked.

It was her.  All on her.

How many of you can relate?

Imposter syndrome plagues , according to research, 82% of the population.  And although my two stories focus on women, men are just as likely to suffer with this self-sabotaging issue.  

Why do we do it to ourselves?  

The sad thing is that this 82% contains a high percentage of people who have ultimately worked extremely hard to gain success, only to decide that they don’t deserve it.  Instead, they spend hours punishing themselves for all their failings.  Framing their perceptions through a negative lens and second  guessing what others think.  When, in fact, most people don’t give it a second thought.  And those that do?  Well, I think it’s a case of asking ‘do they matter?’

Ultimately, it’s about being kinder and stepping outside of ourselves.  People are flailing and we live in a naturally judgmental world.  And as difficult as it is, we need to be kinder to ourselves so we can be kinder to others.  

How do we spot it?  

In a recent article I read by Gina Balarin, entitled ‘Imposter Syndrome: The Struggle Is Real – But You Can Beat It?’  She quotes Clare Josa who says ‘There are four P indicators of imposter syndrome – perfectionism, paralysis, people-pleasing, and procrastination.’

Instantly, I could relate to all of the above.  I could also relate it to many of the people within my life.  The micro-managers who obsess over every detail; people who become unable to articulate themselves under pressure; those who go above and beyond tying themselves up in knots to please others; those who hide and avoid the big picture.  

All of the above have been me at one time or another.  I’d argue that you can also relate.  However, none of the above mean we are failing, they are what make us human.  

Historically, there has been a stigma attached to showing weakness at work.  We were trained to be resilient, loyal and selfless.  To be successful meant sacrifice with blood sweat and tears (think sackcloth and ashes).  Although, most of us are realising that this kind of thinking is a legacy of the past.  For years it was drilled into us to: work, work, work.  That to think about yourself was selfish and showed weakness.  

Self care?  We should all be doing it in spades.  

It’s now 2024 and we’ve seen and been through a global pandemic which changed our world.  We began to evaluate and value our lives; looking at what living meant through a different perspective.  People changed, people grew.  We’ve also lived through the BeKind movement where we learned to articulate ‘it’s okay to not be okay.’  And finally, there’s never been a more visible time for movement for equality within minorities within our society.  So why do we keep punishing ourselves?

Think back to those two women.  Think back to those four Ps.  Think how you could spot the signs: feel the self doubt oozing from their every pore and think about what you could do.  How could you be kind?  How could have I been kind?

Me?  I’m trying.  By actively thinking about it, I feel I might be able to help at least one person.  To hold their hand; thank them; give them a smile.  Not forced or false, just softening the edges of their day.  

82% of people are going through something.  Surely, if we all work together we can smash the sadness.  

For more information here is one of the articles I read:  

Imposter Syndrome: The Struggle Is Real – But You Can Beat It

Imposter Syndrome: The Struggle Is Real – But You Can Beat It

january Sankalpa

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It’s 2024!  A new slate.  A fresh start…many of you will be thinking:  New year, new me!

Good.

But I’m sorry, it’s not for me. Unless somebody wants to give me a three book deal, a few thousand and a trip to one of those colonic shite farms in Thailand, I can’t see The New Me happening anytime soon.  But that’s not what we mean is it?  What we really mean is that we are to list all our guilty pleasures and vow to stop them for the foreseeable.  The pressure!  

It’s not that I’m anti-change, it’s just I’m not all about making millions of promises to jump through hoops I don’t fit.  In fact, I’m not really a hoop jumper; more of a hoop swirler, thrower and general circus freak.

It’s not like I haven’t made a list.  I always do.  I used to call them resolutions.  The 2024 me calls them intentions.  Nestled next to my monthly gratitude journal, they focus on all the things that make me feel better about myself.  Positive paths I like to lead, rather than saying ‘I’m going to abstain from ANYTHING EVER AGAIN’ and that ‘I’m going to GIVE UP THE WHOLE LOT OF ANYTHING’

Not happening.

Life is too short not to have a glass of wine with dinner (it’s one glass).  I enjoy exercising but I’m never going to say ‘I’m going to work out one hour every day seven days a week’ – I mean, let’s be realistic, I’m a busy woman.  Instead, I promise myself to alter my routines for more variety.  And as for making myself miserable by owning eating a restricted diet.  Well, like I said: life is too short.

However, it’s difficult not to contemplate changing when we are currently surrounded by a media’s desire to feed us a stream of ways to refrain our thinking.  Take ‘You Are What You Earn.  The Twin Experiment’. Netflix’s latest ‘factual’ show which leads us through a thinly disguised narrative of why meat and dairy is evil and toxic, whereas, veganism is the epitome of guilt free healthy living.  A show, which was both fascinating and horrifying in equal measures. Like a film from the Saw franchise, you felt yourself uncomfortable  watching, yet compelled to watch the gruesome footage of animals living in their own shite and evidence of badly treated chickens.  

It was awful.  So awful I had to step away and think about the actual message they were trying to give:  Go vegan, lose weight, live longer and save the world!

Fabulous.  Only…

It’s never that simple is it?  Try as we might, our social consciences lead us to eat better and to consider our carbon footprint.  We think about prevention rather than cure and spend money and time trying to adopt a more holistic approach to living a better life.  But life, is that, it is to be led.  Sometimes, try as I might, I can’t live guilt free: a bit of chocolate because I need something sweet (it’s a square); a cheese sandwich because that’s all I have in (starve myself, you say?); an overflowing bin because what I’ve had to buy has ridiculous packaging (I’m thinking Christmas here!); a glass of wine on a weekend (and?); roast beef on a Sunday (organic and fresh from the farm); to name a few…

It’s all about the guilt.  It’s all why I sit here feeling terrible because I ate more cheese than was good for me yesterday and can physically feel my thighs stretching from its after effects.  

 But…eating cheese was not in my rider anyway.  

My list of intentions?  They were purposeful and positive.  Aspirational, setting my Sankalpa for how I want to think and feel.  Less of the loss of the guilty pleasures, the sackcloth and ashes routine, and more of the grounded me who takes pleasure from living a life that makes me feel happy and fulfilled (yes, I know I sound quite sickening anx Paltrow like).  I want to enjoy my life.  To wring the hell out of it: inhale every scent, see the wonderful, and absorb the beauty of what is around me.  I am desperate to experience as much as Ii can, for as long as I can.  

I didn’t always feel this way.  

I’ve decided that as my vision gets smaller, my world is getting bigger.  I spent too long feeling unworthy and sacrificial and I knew that needed to change.  I realised that it’s all about the way I frame my thinking.  I can’t change my sight-loss and I can’t change its repercussions, but I can decide how I face it.  

It’s not about what we give up, it’s about how we think about it.  

So, although I ate that cheese (my doctor will be cross), I’m not going to focus on that.  Instead, I’m going to focus on the 15000 steps I walked yesterday; the healthy dinner I cooked; the time I enjoyed with the ones o love (RosieDog featured heavily here) and most of all I’m going to keep being grateful for tbd imperfect life I lead.  

A Winter Solstice

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I always look forward to winter solstice.  It marks the beginning of the encroaching darkness receding.  It means that lighter and longer days are on the horizon.  And although it heralds the beginning of winter, it is the precursor for the beginnings of new life.  My yoga teacher recently told me that it’s about being reborn.  that instead of the reflective aspect to our practice, that we are now moving into an active time.  

Possibilities are on the horizon…

But, as I begin to focus on my intentions for 2024, there is a pesky blot on the beautiful, but stark winter landscape:

Hello anxiety, my old friend.  My nemesis; my unwanted companion; my hated dread.

For years it was my constant.  Always there, buzzing around dull and desperately in the background.  The constant fear and butterflies omnipresent.  

You see, there was a time I thought I’d cracked it.  I did, for want of a better phrase ‘done a great deal of work on myself’.  Self-help; psychoanalyst; mentoring; the drugs and such like.  I embraced it all.

Well, you do when you’re rock bottom don’t you?

Anyway, I did it all.  I wanted out of The Fear.  I wanted to escape its darkness and find light.  And, because I learned and realised that I was worth it and that I owed it to myself, rather than feeling selfish for the self-indulgence, I did the work.  And in doing so, I had found some semblance of peace.  But, like everything we don’t want reminding of, it has a way of sneaking up on you (the psychologist might have plenty to say about this but I have my own view).

As I have previously mentioned and you might have inferred from previous blogs – I am A LOT.  High maintenance if you will.  What with that annoying matter of losing my sight and having a terrible immune system, well, I come with lots of unwanted issues and a disclaimer on my bio.  Each day is a carefully orchestrated affair.  I’m terrible with surprises and live in perfect order.  I mean, don’t ever move anything or put things in the wrong place.  You see, do, and I’ll hunt you down and kill you.  This means I spend a great deal of my life within a small circle of trusted people and strict guidelines for how I live.  All part of the work I did.  The therapy.  

It means I function.  It means I live a life richer than I did.  

‘But the anxiety?’ You ask ‘Why now?’

Well, let me tell you.  

A while back I decided I needed to be braver.  Man up, as I say.  I needed to stop flopping about like a red cracker fish and develop a backbone.  You see, although I’d spent eons on all the positives and busting The Fear, I’d failed to develop balls.  I felt that minimising my life would suffice – like if I shut my eyes and curl into a ball nobody would be able to see me.

2023 has been the year of the brave.

Being brave has been both exhilarating and petrifying in equal measure.  I’ve been to places and had experiences I don’t think I’d ever have dared to 18 months ago.  I’ve navigated strange places and stepped out into a crazy busy world.  And, I’ve survived.  

But all with support and love.

The next phase has been independence.  And that’s been scary.  I’ve been places, faced challenges and agreed to things in the past month that I would have scoffed at 6 months ago.  Going places without a safety net?  Fighting the ever dread of being judged because I have a disability.  The embarrassment of me being me vibrating in the periphery.  No wonder my senses have been on red alert.  

Does being brave mean I lean into the anxiety?  

I think it does.  I think that by leaning in I’m embracing it.  Facing up to it.  By facing up to it I’m admitting to myself that it’s okay to not feel okay.  Because, I know that the moment will pass.  

So, with the passing of Winter Solstice and the beginning of a new year, the page is blank for me to write it.  A new era.  An even braver new world.  A flawed world which is fabulously imperfect like me.  And whilst January might feel empty and dark after all the hoopla of Christmas; the days will become longer; the spring will become nearer; our lives will become richer for striving to be brand new, our best selves, brave.  

Namaste 🙏 

Endings

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This last week has felt like a week of endings. of joyous journeys coming to a natural end. The past few weeks have been packed with adventures, jaunts and catching up – not just with my breath, but people, places, things. Books; Netflix series, after series; and my patience with accessibility on my laptop – have all come to their own sweet ends. Just like the endless days which now shorten to a time of encroaching darkness; greyer skies and lower temperatures – summer is on its way out and with it a new era is about to begin.

As Carrie said goodbye to her apartment, I felt envy, and somewhat empathy, for her new chapter when facing my own new one (well I did until Aiden put the five year order on her – I mean? What has happened to these icons?). My last supper was not served up by a Michelin chef, nor do I have a two storey New York apartment waiting in the wings. But, like Carrie, I feel like I am saying goodbye to something important. Something that has helped shape my journey as a person. The past months have been an eternity of golden hours; a quest for the perfect Bloody Mary (success at last) and endless long walks framed by blue skies and verdant landscapes – all spent with the best of people I know. However, with autumn around the corner, I feel some frustration at not achieving everything I set out to, and feelings of apprehension about the future.

RP does that to you…

Summer is my favourite time. For many reasons I wholeheartedly love it. Longer days give me time to breathe: enjoying a larger and brighter world. Higher temperatures mean I don’t need to wrap myself up in a million layers. School holidays mean vacation time – I get to explore and soak up sunshine and culture on some glorious island: basically, I get to live a more independent life. I get to live! my life becomes easier and I get to tick more things off my sight-loss bucket list. It leaves me lighter and with a feeling of resilience, of being able to do anything.

And…as much as I go on about me (I know, I am A Lot), there is something far more important that happens than my own private tick list of ridiculousness and frivolity – my family. Summer brings my family together. The Big E – my Dubai daughter and her family visit during the school holidays and this is a very looked forward to event. It is a time of high days and holidays. Where nobody really cares about anything other than having fun and being happy together.

But, as the tide of a new school year draws closer, all the things I had looked forward to, embraced and loved all summer, I have had to say goodbye to. Goodbye to various crappy series I’ve been addicted to streaming (why do we miss such shite worlds?). Goodbye to a plethora of worlds I’ve enjoyed via my vicarious reading habit (again, why do I feel I know these people?). Goodbye to my Greek odyssey (I will be back). And mostly goodbye to my family who are just starting their new school year 3500 miles away.

Bank Holiday Monday brought a heavy heart. Moth helped with a nice lunch and Barbie film. However, I still couldn’t help feeling cheated – that everything was ending too soon.

So, I did some soul searching. I made statements of gratitude. I listed all the reasons I felt, and continue to feel, grateful.

And I realised that I am spoilt. What right do I have to be sad? I thought. I am lucky, I am blessed, I am grateful…
So, with a renewed vigour I am taking the world on. In yoga we are told to rid ourselves of something that no longer serves us. Therefore, I have begun to physically cleanse – starting with my bedroom. I am facing what is around the corner (darker days, colder nights and a new academic year). I am reorganising my wardrobe (it is meant to be colour coded but we all know anything could have happened), I am sorting my drawers (again, I thought the white top I have been wearing for five years was pink). I made a list of anything I might need (more shopping and I am meant to be saving). And although this is just ‘sorting’ I felt it was a good step to being positive. By tackling the things I no longer need; throwing out rubbish and being strict with myself, I have achieved more productive and ready to face the journey ahead.

Once upon a time I would have allowed the darkness to descend. I would have allowed myself to crawl away and hide in its depths. The Fear would have been too deep and penetrable. I would have cowered and allowed myself to fall into an abyss. but, that was then and this is now. By facing up to things I have learnt to grow and not be afraid of the shadows. That old cliche ‘It is better to have loved than to never have loved at all’ springs to mind. As does the one about making ‘each day a new horizon’. And as sentimental as I am, my renewed strength and determination means I am starting a new tick list. I am going to embrace the honey days of autumn. I am going to warm myself in front of my fire. I am going to continue to grow.

It is not goodbye, just the turning of a page to a new chapter. Let’s hope it is even more exciting than the last…













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My Greek Odyssey

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It took Odysseus twenty years to get back to Ithaca.  Ten years fighting the Trojan  War and an epic ten trying to get back to his Penelope.  In that time he experienced the wrath of the gods, fatal storms and had to tie himself to his ship’s mast to resist the temptation of the Sirens.  

In contrast, although it’s taken me probably as many years to get there, my actual passage took an hour and a half.  And instead of being destroyed by Poseidon, I was slain by my own nemesis of gluten. 

Travelling is my passion.  I have had an intense drive to see as much of the world as possible before I lose the ability to see.  Travelling can be tricky with sight loss.  It can be daunting, overwhelming and at times confusing, when most foreign airports lack accessibility – although, not compassion.  However, the cherry on my cake is that that travelling with sight loss and a food allergy, it can be frustrating.  And this is because being me can be ‘a lot’ for some people, causing some to make snap judgements which lack understanding.  

Don’t get me wrong, most people are helpful.  Moreover, they think they are correct when they say you can eat something safely.  But, and this is not exclusive of being abroad, people don’t always understand what being a coeliac entails.  No wheat, no barley, no gluten.  This means that not only can us coeliacs not have flour products, we can’t have some pickles; beers and lagers, vodkas; grains; and even soy sauce!  This affliction and my sight issues can make me feel a right pain in everyone’s ass.  I think I appear high maintenance and miserable – like a snooty princess.  I can feel their judgement; I can sense the eye roll.  If only they knew, if only they knew…

I could kill a ham and tomato baguette and a cold beer…I’d love to find the toilet by myself, get a drink from the bar, and do bigger stuff like drive a car around the hairpin bends in the Kefalonian mountains…

But, I digress.  Back to Ithaca.  The morning we set sail, I was thirty six hours into a gluten issue.  My ‘poisoning’ – as Moth calls it – was intense and had particularly spoilt a jaunt up the coast to Sami and Fiskardo.  The homes of Captain Corelli and Tom Hanks, respectively.  Although I showed willing with my gung ho attitude of literally diving right into Mini Myrtos Bay, attempting a glorious fish lunch in a stunning Venetian harbour, and managing to sip a spritzer, I had been as sick as a dog.  So sick, that I couldn’t talk and cried myself to sleep as I wanted to go home to my own bed.  

Sometimes, I am such a baby.  

In fact, to unravel my gluten shite time further, the hotel breakfast I paid for ONLY contained gluten products.  Something, I’d previously raised with the owners via email before we arrived ‘I’m sorry, bring your own’ they said.  Instead, because I didn’t want to jam my GF bread into a toaster full of bread crumbs, I opted to pay MORE for omelettes instead.  

Do I appear cross?  I was more disappointed.  But I’m not here to moan, as kindness and compassion always finds a way and for this I am grateful…

Back to Ithaca.  After sailing the azure waters of the Ithaca Strait and winding our way around the mighty and rocky coastline, I felt like Amphitrite, waiting to be retrieved by a dolphin and loved by the powerful Poseidon.  Entranced by the translucent depths; expansive blue sky; vertiginous cliffs and the sense of Pegasus just being over the horizon, I felted more sated.  I was feeling less sick but as weak as a baby mountain goat – ready to explore but in need of sustenance.  We had just reached Gidaki Beach and the crew brought out some snacks.  I was expecting Lays in a dish.  Instead, mozzarella and tomato crostini’s were thrust our way.  They looked delicious and as I’d not touched anything since the fish lunch twenty hours previously, I was enticed by the plump tomatoes and creamy cheese. 

Dejected, I shook my head.  I had a bag of ready salted Lays to hand.  They’d have to do.  

The crew said ‘no gluten?’

I wanted to cry (again, big baby and I was feeling sorry for myself).

He disappeared into his tiny cabin and popped up again moments later with a box of GF toasts.

Elated (it’s surprising how wonderful it is when you are offered a GF solution unexpectedly) I could have kissed him.  So much for ‘you can’t get GF products on the island…

He made me GF crostini and my heart, and stomach, for the first time in hours, full.  

His kindness made my day.  He went into make me a GF lunch (in his tiny cabin) and made no fuss, eye roll, or made me feel ‘extra’ in any way.  And although I was not firing on all cylinders still, he made sailing around the stunningly mythical island more comfortable and enjoyable than I’d anticipated the night before.  

Kefalonia and Ithaca were all I dreamt of and more.  My gratefulness and gratitude for this trip are as abundant as the fish which fill the Ionian waters.  You might be reading this thinking ‘over privileged woman moaning about her awful food  experience in Greece’.  You might think there are bigger issues in the world.  You’d be right, and so evident when you look around the islands: the constant threat of fires – planes circling daily looking for signs; the intense heat even the Greeks are struggling with; the cost of living on the islands – it isn’t exclusive to the UK either; and as for living on an island where there’s a daily earthquake – with visual reminders of the earthquake which destroyed all but Fiskardo in 53.  So yes, I’m utterly fine.  More than fine! I’ve had the most amazing time exploring more of the Ionian and feel extremely lucky to have done so.  The food was the best I’ve ever had (even with poisoning) it was fresh, modern and exciting.  I’d put it on par with a trip to Venice many years ago.  We met some lovely, interesting and kind people, some of who regaled us with crazy stories about the islands intertwined with Greek mythology – it is there around every rock and in every cave.  I swam , laughed and gorged myself on cultural relics and stories.  My Greek odyssey was epic.  It was glorious and sublime.  My problems really are inconsequential really.  

That said, as much as I prefer to shove away my issues and focus on the beauty of the world, I’ve realised that this is not always healthy for any of us.  Like I previously mentioned, going away for somebody like me is tough.  Mapping somewhere new and finding your way around is a real challenge!  People don’t know you, so asking for help, advice and support is hard – it does not come naturally to most people.  After all, we like our independence – something which we find more precious post-covid.  But, it is worth pointing out that we all, at some time or another, require understanding and compassion, without you even realising it.  One person’s thoughtfulness can make another’s day.  I have many thanks to give…

Food for thought 

My sun scorched odyssey is over for this year.  A wild time of more magic than anything else.  When I travel anywhere I try and take away something from my experience.  This time I take away the joy, strength and kindness of the Kefalonians.  

SkegVegas: people need to stop talking trash!

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It was early.  All was still apart from the gentle lull of the tide reaching in and out.  Although warm for the early hour, a slight breeze was fanning my sweaty body five miles into my run.  The burning ball of sun poured molten gold into the ocean of blue.  An expanse of richness shimmered majestically on the horizon.  It was six am and as my Nikes pounded the sea wall, I thought I could be anywhere in the world: Malibu, Bondi, St Tropez, Skegness…the windmills on the horizon, definitely Skegness.

The above might read like the opening of some trashy novel, but it’s my trashy novel – it’s my trashy Skegness.  Skegvegas.  The once jewel of the east coast.  A little seaside town at the end of the line, of nowhere, where millions have flocked to for over 150 years.  Where many a memory has been made.  Where it’s clean air, flat promenade, amusements, and multitude of chippies, have enticed holiday makers, day trippers and retirees from all across Yorkshire and the Midlands.  A family favourite.  A place some have always dreamed to retire to: the quiet pace of life; living by the sea.  

Only, some people don’t agree.  Some people think my town is a shite-hole.  Think that it’s acceptable to say our sea is a toilet, that it’s scruffy and that it’s a dump.

 “Once thought of as quaint seaside town in northern England, Skegness is now a pile of dirt bordering the North Sea with a run-down amusement park idly resting on the land.”

Firstly, for those of you who don’t really know me, I’m not really a person who would be happy living in ‘a pile of dirt’.  So let’s unpick that first.  ‘A pile of dirt’ suggests Skegness is a giant dump site.  This is an insult, not to me and my fellow Skegnessians, but to unfortunate people who are forced to live in some countries in dangerous snd unsanitary conditions.  Countries like Mexico, Laos and the Philippines, where children are forced to hunt for food in amongst toxic chemicals and broken glass.  Where orphans are forced to live off the land and make shelters out of rubbish – the only place they can call home.  

Now, although I’m not blind to the fact there is rubbish in our streets (even I can see and smell the overflowing bins), I know two things: 

1. I pay council tax which pays our streets up he cleaned (I even see the trucks coming s as no going from the beachside depot on my morning walk, or run).  Therefore, it’s not it cannot be described as a ‘pile of dirt’.  

2. That the major rubbish is from the type of people who lack social manners or grace to use a bin.  The type of person – I have witnessed – who would come during Covid and not bother to put their chip wrappings in the bin and let their children poo on the beach.  Therefore, if my town is a ‘pile of dirt’ then maybe people need to start paying it some respect.

And this brings me to my second point.  Living in a seaside town; an area of social deprivation; is both enjoyable and depressing at the same time.  It’s glorious living here at times.  To be able to finish work and walk along the beach – any time of the year.  To be able to spend weekends in a space that many will drive hundred miles to have fish and chips on the sea wall and drive home again: a smile on their faces, a sense of a spring in their step.  Skegness: a sanctuary.  But like most things in life, we tend to look at things with rose tinted glasses (it’s easy to on a sunny bank holiday).  We don’t try to dwell on those winter months when it doesn’t get really light (a nightmare for a blind person).  Where the arctic wind cuts across the sands and Skegness truly lives up to its name ‘bracing’.  And where the town’s poverty is laid bare as there’s no work; no money: and where the food bank is stretched and desperate for donations.   It can be a bit grim.  

But, let me draw you to the why?  Skegness offers a piece of nostalgia.  It has a sense of good old-fashioned fun where that so called ‘run-down amusement park idly resting on the land’ is seen as a Mecca for Joe Public to escape to.  A haven of thrills.  And as for ‘run-down’ – hugely inaccurate and hugely unfair.

This latest press coverage is dangerous.  Both for our local businesses and residents.  In a town where our council fail to reinvest in our community and make us more attractive for tourists, it falls to our local businesses to keep reinvesting, to keep building.

However, the biggest issue with me is the detrimental impact this careless journalism has on the younger community in our town.  Friday’s Daily Mirror headline of ‘Brits slam seaside town’s ‘dirty streets and brown sea’ and urge tourists to ‘run away’. Is both inaccurate and damaging.  When this came up on my phone on Friday afternoon, I discussed it with my class.  Who, I am proud to say, discussed it maturely and with objectivity.  The overwhelming feeling of ‘Skegness is crap at times, but it’s our town and they have no idea’.  They laughed at the ‘dirty streets’ – that’s the visitors.  They argued about the ‘brown sea’ – it’s the mud flats.  They saw the ridiculousness in people running away ‘200,000 tourists and thousands of caravans says not.  Proud as I was of their defending of their town, it doesn’t take away the fact that they are well aware of Skegness’s downfalls, but they also understand loyalty.  

To grow up and to try and build a life here is hard enough without the snobs, critics and arrogant of our society.  When I found out that I was one day going to lose my sight I panicked.  I longed to live my life to the maximum.  I vowed to travel; see and do things that I could recall in vivid colour when I could not see anymore.  I longed for life – not in Skegness,  But life has a funny way of working out.  To some extent I have.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve plenty to still do.  There’s so much I still want to see and do, but, against all odds I’ve raised a family, built a career and had some brilliant experiences – all whilst living in a small seaside town.  But although staying in Skegness was never part of the plan; I wanted the Malibu beach house (still do) but life, circumstances and good old-fashioned loyalty have kept me firmly rooted in the town I’ve grown up in.  Sure I’ve been away, lived elsewhere and at times wanted to leave, but something more than family has kept me here – I am lucky enough to have a beach.  

Skegness might be a little tough around the edges.  It might need some investment.  But, and this is the thing, thousands visit us every year for the sea, sand and a big bag of doughnuts.  We might be tacky, but isn’t that the appeal?  Who wants to pay through the nose for a seafood cocktail in some overpriced pub on the Cornish coast when you can sit on the prom with the bracing air and a tray of cockles, mussels and a crab stick for a fiver?  Up here on the east coast people are real.  We are friendly, accommodating and understand the value of our visitors.  

Most days, when I watch the sunrise over the sea, take RosieDog for a walk across the dunes and can hear the sound crashing in my back garden, I feel so incredibly lucky.  And I know I am.  When I mention where I live, that I go on the beach most days, people are often envious and hold Skegness in high esteem.  Memories of fish and chips Sundays and being sick on the waltzers are often shared.  These are the people who should be speaking out.  These are the people whose opinions count.  These are the people who know the beauty of our little seaside town.  And, if you’ve read the shitty publicity and think we really are as bad a holiday destination at Syria, then my advice would be to listen to our many admirers.  Come visit and see for yourself!

Skegness is my trashy novel.  It’s my life.  Like anything it has its ups and downs, but there are worse places…Everyday my heart lifts when I see the beauty around me, I’m sure it would be a tonic for you too!

The following articles were used:

https://www.itv.com/news/calendar/2017-01-22/skegness-ranked-as-worlds-9th-worst-holiday-destination

https://www.mirror.co.uk/travel/uk-ireland/brits-slam-seaside-towns-dirty-298190

I Come With A Disclosure

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Before I begin, it is worth noting that I have whole days, sometimes simultaneously, where I just float through the motions.  Live on autopilot and lack acknowledgement of my RP.  And when I say ‘lack acknowledgement’ it’s not that I’m denial, more that I’m just ‘getting on with it’.  Which, you might know – those of you who observe the car crash that I am (because that’s how I often feel, that I’m watched like a car crash) – I do it in my own way.  

At times, these ways make me self conscious.  Other times, I do it unknowingly; a series of unconscious mechanisms that I have just developed through time.  It’s  during these times I don’t care, so used I am to being adaptable.  However, whatever and whenever…whether I consciously or unconsciously do any of these things, it leads me into periods of extreme exhaustion, paranoia and worry.  And I can guess, whatever somebody thinks about my capabilities. I’m thinking I’m ten times worse!

This said, I do realise I have to pack away any negativity and embrace my inner strength and tenacity.  The simple fact that I manage to well, manage, a daily life, is something more than some can do.  I’m lucky, I’m still functioning and it’s down to the way I’ve learnt to deal with ‘the daily struggle that is sight loss’.  Below, is a list of things I actively encounter daily and, this is the important bit fact fans, how I try to overcome them.  So, strap yourself in and enjoy learning about my distorted world.  

NB this is about things I have learnt to manage.  Therefore, there’s no mention of yellow wet floor signs.  Until they are fitted with audio sensors, they’ll always be my nemesis.

I Am Not A Robot

Being able to shop and work online enables a partially sighted person to live a broader life.  We can shop on our own.  We don’t have to worry about getting to and from the shops.  Plus, we can adapt many apps and sites (more on that later) meaning we can navigate our way through the computer highway, like a seasoned shopper in a mall.  However, the process of setting up accounts, passwords and particularly proving I’m human, can be headache inducing and stressful.  Finding ‘all the traffic lights’ or ‘stairways’, wouldn’t be possible for me in the real world (my blind spots would mean I could miss one) but faced with tony squares and grainy images, I feel like I’ve hit a brick wall.  The optimistic person in me means I try and fail, only to produce another grid with smaller squares.  Frustrating…so how do I cope? In these cases, I ask one of my trusty aides.  

People I know

People are always an issue.  Whether they hang about in my blind spots, or expect me to recognise them, what they need to understand is that it’s not them it’s me!  However, here’s some pointers.  Tell me you’re there.  Then I find you and I plot it into my spacial awareness (maybe I am a robot).  And secondly, tell me who you are.  Faces aren’t always an issue, but distance and tiredness sometimes means I need a little help.  Just like when you feel a bit poorly, or are having a bad day, checking in always helps.

People I Don’t Know

These are the ones that can be forgiven for the car crash face.  They don’t know me and have no idea that I manage to function on a daily basis.  Instead, they can be forgiven for thinking I’m rude, stupid, drunk and ignorant.  They say first impressions count don’t they? My chaotic entry certainly leaves on impression.  And for years I’d silently berate and punish myself in an embarrassed hole.  Metaphorically turning myself into a tiny ball.  Now?  Well, they get what they see.  I’m kind, (too) talkative (I’m known for TMI) and friendly.  Pretty soon I’ve either bulldozed them into interacting with me, or sent them running for the hills.  By then it’s got nothing to do with my blindness, it’s to do with my marmite personality.

The Dark

Winter, nighttime, nights out and dimly lit restaurants can all be a challenge.  My sight struggles to adjust to night vision and as a consequence, I am immersed into another world.  This, I think, is my most challenging hurdle.  To have – what is effectively- my arms and legs cut off, leaves me feeling trapped.  It can be isolating and leave me feeling vulnerable.  However, years of adjustment have meant that I’ve learnt to find ways to manage.  A well trained guide (Moth is great(, or a mapped out area.  But the best thing to happen to me is the iPhone – a camera, a torch and google all in one?  It’s like the Kinder Egg of the electronic world…

Black Text on White

…and speaking of my Kinder Egg of a phone, thank goodness for ‘Smart Invert’.  What the Jesus did I go before I could convert everything?  In fact, once I’d discovered the accessibility of an iPhone, I learnt about the ‘Seeing AI’ app, which, I’d argue, is not just for blind people.  Do you wear glasses? Fed up with eye strain?  Feel tired?  Dyslexic?  Well, Seeing AI, is bloody brilliant.  It reads labels, documents and even handwriting – to name a few of its functions.  On a bad day, I scan in whatever I want reading and it reads it back to me.  Genius!  It’s the thing I once dreamt about and I use it every day.

Colours 

Seeing AI can read colours to me, but that doesn’t help when shades of grey, green and brown merge into one.  Walking down the street can be a challenge at times.  Lampposts have to be mapped.  As do kerbs and pathways…For about four years now I have struggled with some colour palettes.  This was once a nightmare to me.  When I first learnt I would one day be blind, i panicked that I would end up wearing mismatched clothes of varying colours and patterns.  That my ‘hidden disability’ would be for all to see when I paraded down the high street in the lime green leopard print shirt and brown floral trousers.  Thankfully, between my phone and my crew, I am usually well dressed and bruises are at a minimum.  Any mistakes – fashion or injury wise, are entirely my own.

A Changing Landscape 

I map familiar places.  I make sure I know where things are and how to avoid hazards.  It’s not foolproof but it helps my day go smoother.  Therefore, imagine how hard it is for me when people decide to change things!  Whether it’s moving the bin, not putting away things (I’m a clean freak), or living in chaos, I just can’t cope.  Blindness, and finding ways to live a normal life’ has made me organised.  But the fact I can’t control everything I map is difficult.  

Christmas Merchandising

Well…it’s the worst.  I mean, i know they want to maximise sales but I don’t care! There are only three shops I really go in and feel comfortable in.  They think their remerchandising  is so clever.  But don’t they realise why the blind girl is lapping their store?  Luckily, most staff are very helpful (that’s why I shop there and not the busy cattle markets even though they are supposedly cheaper).  

Although, note to M&S: moving my gluten free quiche and falafel is not a clever move even if it means you can put more turkey gravy and smoked salmon out.  

Travel

But no matter how much i plot, plan and adapt, travel is probably the most daunting thing I attempt.  Trains, planes and automobiles – I’m at their mercy.  Always on other’s time and having to rely on others.  For somebody so proud and independent, I find it difficult to accept help.  Recently, however, I bit the bullet and had disabled access in Manchester Airport.  When I arrived I went to an accessibility point and they gave me a lanyard.  It meant t was given access to the ‘Assisted Travel’ lane and was fast tracked into departures.  A God send when crowded airports and the drama of all the red-tape that comes with it, can send somebody like me into a spin – no matter how much of a seasoned traveller I may be.  

Above is only a snapshot of things I have to plan and adapt for.  My head sometimes aches with it all and like I said previously, it can make me very tired.  I am a mum of three; I have a gorgeous doggie who takes up at least an hour of my daily life; I work full-time in a very demanding job; I write, read and find time to socialise…all of which need navigating.  But I am damned if I’m going to give up.  I’m alive and as long as I’m breathing I’ll fight for living the best life I can.  

My disclaimer:  I might get grumpy, tired and sometimes cross, but I’m not dead yet and will never give up.  Like I always say ‘let’s be kind’ and the world will spin a bit more happily.

Seeing AI: https://www.microsoft.com/en-us/ai/seeing-ai

Manchester Airport Assisted Travel details: https://www.manchesterairport.co.uk/help/special-assistance/

Sight-loss is my Superpower

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When you gradually lose your sight, you literally don’t see it coming.  Like the way dusk creeps around day; wrapping itself around stealthily; filling the corners, before infiltrating the periphery; total darkness.  It was light once and now dark.  And although my central vision is okay, it might be that one day it isn’t.  

Only you know how blind you are.  Nobody knows and truly understands what you can see and by extension, what you can do.  This means that the words ‘partially sighted’, ‘severely sighted’ and ‘blind’ mean a lot of people second guess you and write you off.

This is both soul destroying and difficult to navigate, in an already blurred world!  But, as you lose your sight, your confidence ebbs away and it leaves you wondering if people are right?  Should you let them right you off?

Not bloody likely!

The blind community, as well as most people living with disability and hidden illnesses, are bright and resilient.  We work really to hard to continue to live the best lives possible. We don’t think about our limitations, but rather find ways to broaden our horizons (no mean feat for somebody with peripheral vision!).  We want to experience life, be successful, and look good too!  But, behind that determination and vigour we are faced with ignorance within the world.  A world where people want to write you off and make you feel like a nuisance or burden.  Which, on a wonky day, you feel you could quite easily subscribe to and quietly crawl away from your fight…

Luckily, the last few years of my journey have taught me many things.  They’ve taught me that I’m a good person.  That I’m resilient and worth more than I ever believed.  I’ve grown in voice to articulate my ‘issues’ without feeling ashamed.  

Sadly, I didn’t feel that way five years ago.  I was dying inside and allowed negativity to breed in and around me.  But, like I said, ‘luckily…’

What has made the difference?

  1. I’m learning that it’s okay to have a voice.  To say ‘no’ and ‘wait up!’ and of course ‘I need this adapting’.  I’ve also learnt that having a voice can make others uncomfortable and challenges their preconceptions – how great is that?  Showing the world the blind community kick-ass.  
  2. I work incredibly hard to plan everything I do.  I can’t manage surprises very well (unless they are of the ‘im whisking you away to New York variety, which although would be tricky – I’d many some how!), so I write lists (on my inverted screen on my phone), plan each day, week, month to make sure my stress levels are kept low and my life calm.  In fact, my logistics are so on point, I think I could run Ukraine’s military defence.
  3. I’m kind to myself.  I used to be such a martyr and a worrier.  And although I’ve ditched the former, the latter creeps in during times of tiredness and stress.  However, being kind means I look after my mind and body because I’m worth it.  To say that to myself a few years ago would have had me running for the hills.  I’d see it as selfish.  But now?  I know that by looking after me, my family, friends, colleagues and students, get a better deal.  
  4. It’s okay to make mistakes.  Everybody struggles to say ‘well done’ and ‘you’re doing great’, but they are happy to say ‘you’ve made a mistake’. Rude feckers.  I think it’s because it makes others feel better about themselves – especially those with an ego or competitive gene.  However, my mistakes are because I’ve missed something, not because I’m stupid.  I felt stupid for a long time, but to work full time in a pressurised job, with low vision means my brains not dead yet.  
  5. Finally, I surround myself with good people.  They bring sunshine into your life and warmth to your soul.  Everything is possible when your wrapped in love.  And I am truly humbled and grateful for everyone of you.  

For many years, Living with sight-loss made me live in a perpetual state of panic.  I allowed others to make me feel shame and inadequate.  My determination not to let it define me meant that I ran from it until it crept up and got worse without me knowing.  

Four years ago, I was having a breakdown and had no idea why? I was clueless.  I honestly never realised how living constantly on the edge had tipped me over it!  I had no idea my sight had got so bad – seriously!  But now, in my calmer and freer world, I see that woman and my heart feels heavy for her.  She’d have never thought to ask for help, to take time for herself – see didn’t feel she was worth it.  

Yes, I still have hurdles to overcome.  I have many issues and situations to navigate, but I’m not afraid of the dark any more.  Being blind is my superpower and there’s a lot more to come.