Category Archives: Friends and Inimies

Don’t have enemies. It’s not good for you. So, that’ll be just friends, then.

Birthdays are VERY scary…….

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……for they remind you of the years that have passed.

I remember holding A at a party and feeding her curried goat (I’m not convinced that it actually WAS goat but that’s what V’s family called the spicy hot stew) when she was a few weeks old (OK, maybe a few months). Apparently, although I don’t really recall that well, she loved it. She was in a white shawl thing. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever set my eyes upon.

Today, I spoke to her by phone. She was at home but was going in to school later because she has a Drama exam – she is taking her ‘A’ levels! She is 18 today. She has turned into a beautiful woman and still I love her as I did when she was a baby (although then she did not have a Brummie accent then). I am so proud to have known her. Another reason to be grateful to V.

Anyway, I hope you have a very Happy Birthday and I just wish that I could be there to watch you tonight in your Drama practical. I bet you will do well.

xx

The weekend goes according to plan; the weekend does not go according to plan

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Depending, of course, on the way that you look at it and your frame of mind.

The weather was good, on Sunday. Saturday night was lovely – a meal with friends – maybe a tad too much to drink but, hey, why not?

The rest of the time was looking for flats and recovering. The looking for flats made me both happy and unhappy. Happy because I can get something I can afford that is well big enough; unhappy because it will be just me and the boys.

And, at one point we (and I say ‘we’ as it was me and FfI) went from a beautifully furnished compact but nice place in not-such-a-good area to something that can only be described as a vacated drug den in a place that looked like one of the American Projects – and both for the same price.

The nice flat also had a ‘half lift’. Obviously the building was built without a lift and they managed to fit one in but it was very narrow and you could not get more than 2 people in it- so I did wonder about me and both dogs – it would be a squeeze. However, I could move in there tomorrow and, if nothing else happens this week, I might just do that.

Of course, I would prefer to be hunting with V. However, that is not to be. But, do I get something that is big enough, just in case, like before, after several months apart we just end up back together? I wonder if he thinks of that?

Of course, this time it is different and there is part of me that says that, even if we wanted to be back together, there’s no way we can be. And there’s no way that I should let it happen anyway!

But, another part of me would have it back tomorrow – no, even this moment – even knowing that so many things remain unresolved.

We did manage to communicate over the weekend, which was more than we had for about a month and a half! We spoke about the car; the furniture; flats (our current experiences, what we were looking for, etc.) – but not about the dogs; or us; or our feelings of hurt or anger or passion or, in fact, anything that really matters.

The future’s bright, the future’s what colour?; It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.

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The future. Unless you have kids and are thinking of their future, the future must, inevitably, include you. And this makes it a very fragile thing that only exists in your own head.

For, if we are not in the future, then the future that you thought in your head doesn’t and will not exist.

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Eating month-old panettone will protect your throat; More snow

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Today is the Saint’s Day for Saint Biagio. I learnt about this because, apparently, in order to protect yourself from problems with your throat, one should eat some panettone from Christmas.

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Candle burning at both ends; Rituals

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I am far too old for this. Since Wednesday, out every night and not back until 1 or 2 in the morning, or, even later. What am I thinking of? As I normally get up at 5.45, I find that I cannot really sleep in past about 7 whatever time I arrive back home the night before.

Dinners with friends; dinners at friends; parties at friends; just out with friends. And, come about 11 I get so tired. I mention that I shall go home and I get the response of – “Really?” or “Stay a little longer”.

It has to stop but not for tonight or Tuesday night and, probably not Monday night either since I need to ask someone for help.

The idea of coming home after work and just sitting down with a glass of wine and watching a film is such a pleasurable thought, almost like paradise. Not that I don’t enjoy being out with friends, of course. It is impossible to say “no” even though I should. I don’t want to disappoint friends and I enjoy their company – it is fun. And life is too short to miss out on “life”. And friends are what makes life worth living, in my opinion. The joy of being in the company of like-minded people or people who are fun and talking or laughing is what is so good.

And now the boys are pressing to be taken out. They do not see the snow that is falling (enough of winter!) nor would Dino care. So, whilst they wait, they play or, rather, Dino winds Rufus up by walking round him with the occasional lick or nudge or, worse, trying to mount him. As they are now separated when we are not here and at night (because of the barking problem) it’s the ritual they go through each morning and evening. After Dino has brought out, one by one, his toys for me to throw or, again, to try and wind Rufus up.

Then, for a short while, one of them lies on his back whilst the other attacks at the throat and, if it’s Rufus doing the “attacking”, the way that he kneels down, his paws tucked underneath him, to stop Dino going for the feet – until one of them barks or yelps too loudly and they get shouted at.

The ritual of checking who’s boss, of course. I think it’s still Rufus but Dino gets stronger and bolder and more clever every day.

So now it is a shower and out for the long walk we always have at the weekend even if we are not able to have that during the week (depending upon time).

Talking about you; Where English words come from; An open window

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The number of visitors I get for the ‘new’ (well, it’s not so new, really) blog is higher than the old one (a little). But it’s not that that is the surprise. It’s where the people come from.

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You’ve got to keep trying and be determined to suceed.

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S & I agreed last night, you’ve got to try else what is the point?

So, we are both trying. It may get worse; it may get better; it may stay the same.

For me, it seems the dogs are a bit of a problem but not insurmountable. Come the end of January, I shall ask everyone I know in case they can help me. I don’t often ask for help as I am fiercely independent ever since I first left home at 18.

Actually, that was not the first time I left home. I left home several times. I had a small suitcase, brown and battered. I don’t think I ever had it from new but I have no idea where it came from unless it had been bought new when we went to Guernsey when I was about 5. I can imagine it was bought for that trip.

Anyway, the suitcase had been well used. I packed the suitcase with important items – a pair of trousers, a jumper, some biscuits and some orange squash. After all, I didn’t know how long I would be gone and I knew I would need sustenance and a change of clothes. I packed though the tears were rolling down my face; I packed with determination; I packed with courage – and fear, of course.

I left the house without saying goodbye, more like a thief than someone who lived there. I didn’t want any hysterics at my going – they would find out soon enough. I didn’t want any tears, except my own as I was the one who was hurting, not them.

We lived in the countryside, in a small village. I walked down the driveway and onto the road, turning right. The hill seemed very steep and very long. I don’t remember looking back as I climbed that hill but I probably did, fearing that someone would come after me – hoping that someone would come after me so that I could prove to them that I did not need them.

I reached the top of the hill and must have looked back before turning the corner.

Soon after I came to the crossroads – to the left was the road to the church, the right to the main road, straight on was unknown.

Fearful of the consequences of continuing what I was doing; angry at the world for treating me like this; determined that, one day, ‘it would all be different’, I turned round and went home. I was about 7. I was quite a stubborn barsteward even then!