London – second strike

on Friday morning, I decided to go to London. the uk aids quilt (which I’ve never seen) was being displayed at Tate Modern, in the turbine hall, which is free and the London gay men’s chorus were singing at 12.45pm. I was bloody knackered but I know someone in the chorus (at least I think he’s still in the chorus), I knew they’d sound amazing in that space and after looking up to see how often the quilt was on display and finding out “not very often” I decided to go.

got to the station and when I went to show the ticket bloke my railcard, it showed me the one that expired in august last year! I’ve been using my railcard so I knew I hadn’t fucked up. he told me to go outside and try refreshing (I got the sense this wasn’t the first time this had happened) so I did. still showed me last year. then it showed me both at once, then only this year’s (expires in December, which I knew). went back with only a few minutes before the train and a tall foreign bloke is now there, he’d left something on the Hastings train which had his wallet in so ticket bloke was now trying to call Hastings. as each minute went by I reminded myself it was no big deal, if the train arrived I could just get a ticket onboard instead but got my ticket with a minute to spare.

got on a lovely empty carriage. I think that lasted for one or two stops then four large women, one child and one baby in a pram, with four huge suitcases and one dog got on. they took up eight seats, put their feet up on the seats AND THE TABLE and then started eating their lunches, while shouting at each across the way. I think the women (three sisters and maybe one wife) had all overdone it the night before and had also got themselves thoroughly burned. I was prepared to forgive all of this because they had a dog and I still had a seat to myself, plus the back of my seat was protecting me from food spray.

the conductor came down to check tickets and I thought he’d have a word but no.

several stops later, a LOT of people got on. two of the sisters sat together and sure enough, one had left a banquet of crumbs all over the seat. a bunch of youngish posh types got on (must’ve been tunbridge wells) they were all going to twickenham for the day and had made a good start on their ready mixed passionfruit gin cocktails in a can. one of the girls sat beside me and because she was talking to someone in the aisle (the train had got really busy and pretty warm) her very long hair kept brushing my bare arm. I’m sure it was clean but that gives me The Ick. they started talking about royal ascot and I marvelled at the social tiers contained in that one carriage, the people immediately behind me were bridging the gap. I was also grateful that I was getting off at London Bridge and not Charing Cross as usual.

I’ve mentioned that the carriage was overly warm and crowded, right? as we were coming into London proper, but not yet at London Bridge, the dog shat on the floor.

and it wasn’t very solid.

(in all the time I’ve been train travelling, I have never experienced this before.)

the poshers scarpered to another carriage and I watched, vaguely stunned as the owner used tissues to try and clean it up. “does she not have fucking poo bags?” I asked myself. turned out she did but went through a bunch of tissues, wiping it into the carpet, before she remembered that. she’s yelling “sorry everyone” and I felt really sorry for the dog because I think it didn’t like being on the train and it must’ve been desperate to go for a poo like that.

got off the train and felt oh so smug because I’d managed to get the carriage door right by the escalators (complete fluke). went towards the exits then realised it was actually just a glass wall. retraced my steps, found the exits, went outside.

now, I knew which way I had to go. I WANTED to go along the thames because I love that walk but citymapper insisted I should go via southwark and as it was only 11 minutes and I didn’t want to miss the chorus I decided to go with that.

however.

London bridge, much like – is it old street that has a zillion exits? – always confuses me now. it doesn’t seem to matter which way I go, I end up using the wrong exit and yesterday was no different. I’d walked for a few minutes before I realised I was going in completely the wrong direction. it was a nuisance but not really a problem, still lots of time.

it looked like it wanted me to go back into the station and cut through to the other side, so I did but actually, it didn’t and all I’d done was add another 10 minutes onto my journey. that was now cutting it fine for me to get there in time and of course, what I’d forgotten to factor in, was that I was in London on a saturday which makes fast walking almost impossible.

I was cursing my idiocy but following the map quite happily and then, with a sinking heart, I realised where it was taking me.

bloody. borough. market.

now, the last time I was there was years ago and it was busy. it’s now impassable. literally, three lines of people trying to go in one direction, the occasional person making it through the opposite direction and everyone getting frazzled and fucked off.

at this point there was still a possibility I’d make it but it was getting smaller by the moment, I was hot, sweaty and irritated and annoyed at myself for not just going to the thames in the first place.

things didn’t improve and I finally admitted that I wasn’t going to hear the chorus so I should just enjoy the moment and take everything in and make the best of it. but of course I couldn’t do that could I? no, I kept walking, fast as possible, trying to get to TM and bloody googlemaps (which I’d switched to rather than citymapper) kept turning itself off because it thought I was close enough now not to bother.

I was sooooo frustrated and also sooooo disappointed because I’d loved the fact that I’d decided to make the journey at all and now it felt like I should’ve stayed home and tidied my room and blah blah BLAH.

anyway, I saw the huge tower and headed for that and realised it was bringing me round to the back entrance. got in, made my way to the turbine hall and thought, yes! I could hear singing! I scuttled to where the voices were coming from and realised the chorus was at the opposite end from me and between me and them were a LOT of people. so I became that arsehole who pushes right through from the back to the front, excusing herself the whole way and made it three people from the front row just in time to hear the last few words.

(I’d also been wrong about the sound, I thought it would bellow and fill the hall, the hall swallowed it up.)

lots of people were emotional and I was miserable. rather than be able to give the quilt the respect and time it warranted, I’d rushed alongside huge chunks of it, trying to see the chorus, fucking that up, maybe pissing other people off and now I felt awful and alone and in tears.

I know how to deal with this though: find some space, a glass of wine and take a breath.

I asked an attendant if there was anywhere in the building I could get a glass of wine if I wasn’t a member and she pointed me in the direction of the corner bar. which I have to say, I really liked. I got a glass of shiraz, found a table and let myself have a mild emotional collapse. it was absolutely fine, so many people were there with red eyes or swollen faces, they weren’t to know that my reasoning was different but it made me a lot less conspicuous.

I got in touch with K to let her know and she let me know that we were both meant to be in London that day for a friend’s birthday! we’d both mucked it up, I thought the birthday was July but the point is, his husband was the friend I thought was in the chorus so I wouldn’t have seen him anyway! they were in bloody TOOTING!

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to “walk the quilt” after all, there were too many people and too much emotion in the air so I decided to go look at it from above, in its entirety and be happy with that. then I would get myself to the thames and walk back to Charing Cross, taking my time.

when I saw the quilt I got overwhelmed again but it wasn’t as scary this time because I knew where I was and how to get out of there. I looked for a friend who had been working there the day before but couldn’t see her, probably just as well because if I’d seen a familiar face at that point I think I would’ve completely dissolved. I’m still not sure why it was all too much but it was my second, consecutive trip to London that had gone wrong and I normally love a mini adventure.

upon leaving I realised that what I should really do was go to the garden space in front of the building and stand on the grass in bare feet, so I did. if anyone tells you that grounding yourself is bullshit, ignore them. making that contact with the earth via your skin really, really works. I stood there for a little while then felt ok to move on.

it was completely different heading towards Charing Cross, I knew exactly where I was, I was in no rush, the weather was beautiful and I had the headspace to take in what had changed around me, etc. then I had the brainwave of seeing if retro was open. it’s one of my happy places, tons of good memories made there and it’s where K and I met in person for the first time.

opted to walk across Waterloo bridge, I haven’t done that in years and that was ‘my’ bridge when we lived in south east London. even that felt different, they’ve got the cycle paths on both sides now and the barriers to stop cars driving into people. you wouldn’t think twice about them if you were a visitor but if you know why they’re there it’s, dark.

happily, retro was indeed open and blissfully cool and quiet. I had a Malbec there and then left to go catch my train home. other than being REALLY, BLOODY, SLOW it was an uneventful journey back. I decided to go to the royal when I got to st Leonards, partly because I needed a pee, partly because I still felt emotional and needed a bit more me time and partly because I was desperate for a dog cuddle and the royal is a good bet for that (had a super one from a labradoodle!)

saw several friends both there and walking home but it wasn’t intrusive, it was nice, it was comfortable and reassuring and once again I was so grateful to be able to call this town home.

if London fails me a third time, I may just cancel all my gallery memberships and never go back.

(yeah yeah.)

London – January – part 2

no hangover!! unbelievable! must’ve been the graze nut mix.

check out wasn’t till 11am and I’d managed to sleep in, I think the alarm going off for me to take my hrt woke me up. still really, really tired but had a shower and spent forever trying to work out whether to walk to R’s (no, an hour and forty seven minute walk was a step too far), walk from highbury and islington to R’s (no, still nearly an hour and we might be walking a lot later), I think partly because I was starting to feel anxious about being on the underground again – even though you can now use your mobiles on there, etc – and definitely regretting not bringing any anxiety meds with me. also, I’m really out of practice at overnight stays, I’d remembered a toothbrush and paste but not a comb or moisturiser and my skin felt really dry. the bathroom mirror was Astoundingly Unflattering and really highlighted my rosacea so, yay for that.

plus I really needed some proper food (I always have a small tub of peanuts with me and I had a banana too but I wanted to sit down and have coffee and eggs of some description). in the end, I decided to go with public transport straight to his place and see if I could find some food at the other end. both parts of the journey were only three tube stops and it shouldn’t be too busy as I’d miss rush hour.

walking up the ramp at hackney central I saw two foxes, completely unbothered by the proximity of people, trains, etc, just playing in a garden. I probably see foxes more in st Leonards now but I was the only person remotely interested in these two, I know it gave me away as ‘not a local’ but foxes!

still, retracing my steps to the platform I was feeling really unsettled. I could hardly remember arriving this way from the day before, even though I’d been completely sober. by the time I got to where I should be, anxiety was really kicking in and I was cursing not bringing anything to take when, A BIT OF REAL MCCOY MAGIC HAPPENED!

I looked along the platform and at the far end, I could see a bum wiggle. A BUM WIGGLE!! STAFFIE!! I went straight down and asked if I could say hello and I had the best cuddles! she was a small black and very affectionate. the train arrived and as we waited for people to get off, another dog appeared and then when I got on, a daschund was there, wanting to say hello! two stops down, TWO dogs got on, one a staffie cross! I do not remember London being this dog friendly before but it absolutely sorted me out.

when I got to Warren Street, I felt actual joy at being somewhere I recognised and went into lidl to see if there was anything I could eat. I’d worked out at this point that a fresh juice would be good and found one that had apple, mango, avocado and spinach! sounded like one of mine so got that plus a tub of face cream with Manuka honey in (for aging skin, rude but undeniable) but no comb. in fact! NO MIDDLE AISLE!

this lidl is huge, twice the size of ours if not more but there is only ONE aisle that isn’t food in the whole place and even that one is cleaning, health, hygiene, etc. poor city centre Londoners! the one in Peckham had two good nonsense aisles, we’ve got two, I thought it was lidl policy.

got to R’s and was hugely impressed with his flat. it had a full makeover last year and feels so much bigger than it was, really comfortable and looks beautiful. also, what used to be a demolition site outside is now a glass building with lots of garden spaces so he has a view.

we shared the juice (very good) and then set off. we’d decided to go to Whitechapel gallery as a mutual friend, D, had said she was gutted to be missing the exhibition there (she’s in nz and it was the final weekend). it was the Peter kennard and while I didn’t know his name, I recognised some of his work (political), I thought it was beautifully put together and took a few photos to show D online later. it wasn’t a huge show, some of the pieces needed space to be viewed properly and there were three different people, all standing in front of different pieces, not looking at it, just typing away on their mobiles. I did discover that when I got close enough they would melt away so I could actually see but it wasn’t to be polite, it was to get away from another human I think.

after that I really needed a coffee and we’d decided to walk down to the water and then along the thames to the NPAG for the Francis bacon, also in its final weekend.

however, we certainly did a roundabout trip, I haven’t looked at google yet to see where we went but when R suggested we cross the millennium bridge and stop at Tate modern for coffee and a comfort break I was very, very happy. I haven’t walked that far in a really long time. I loved it though, too many runners, especially on the embankment bits but I’m normally on the opposite side of the water and saw lots that was new to me. i did give in and eat my banana on the way as I had the ‘battery is low’ feeling which had an immediate effect and of course, by this stage I hadn’t had a proper meal in 24 hours, really unusual for me.

and then we got to the bridge. I have problems crossing this bridge (I get vertigo) but i’d managed it on my own (nearly cried mind you) the last time so I thought it would be ok with R. and it was, to start with, when I started to feel wavy I focused on the sign on the gallery and just kept one foot in front of the other but then a school party came towards me and one girl came really close and I lost it. it’s right out in the middle where it happens, everything is too white and open and I stopped and said “give me your arm!!” to R, who was just behind and he did immediately and it was instant, as soon as I had him to hold onto, I was back. isn’t it weird? it was also very lovely because we’re not a touchy family, maybe a goodbye and hello hug but that’s it, but he grounded me and I was sooooo grateful. I hung onto him for dear life until we got nearly to the end and then the pathway has a change of colour which meant I could let go.

but oh my, then another wonderful thing! the display in the turbine hall! I’ve seen pictures on Facebook and I thought it looked interesting but it’s so much more than interesting it’s hideous and creepy and beautiful! it’s on for a while yet and I’m going to go back and have another look. I wish I’d seen it at the very beginning because one part of it would have been completely different then and I like seeing the changes.

the newer members room was shut so we went to the old one and had a coffee and a sit down. thought about going to electric dreams but I only had one more exhibition in me and ED is on till June so we stuck with the original plan. we stayed on that side of the thames for the remainder of the journey and R pointed out little bits and bobs that had significance to him. walked across – I can never remember the name of the bridge – it’s not Waterloo, it’s the one that takes you to Charing Cross – I want to do that thing where you walk across each of the bridges in a single session and I also want to learn the history of the bridges, there are so many, so close together and when they were built, there can’t have been so much congestion that all those different ones were needed so yes, must google at some point. anyway, I was ok on that bridge and I’m sure it’s because one side has the train rails and it’s much darker, I still wouldn’t fancy walking on the open, water side but it’s ok.

got to NPAG and I am very pleased to say that the staff checking bags at the door were polite and smiley this time (I left some strong feedback after my last visit) and then we went into the exhibition. now, I’m not a fan of his but I thought that maybe, similarly to the David Hockney, there would be lots to learn and different phases to see (I really only knew Hockney’s photo collages before then). there wasn’t. at least, not for me, maybe other people would feel differently. I’m still not a fan though I did like his choice of colours, especially greens, the photographs and I found the explanations really interesting. but it all felt a bit nightmarish and started to make me feel nauseous and I could hear my mum saying “why can’t he just paint the faces?!”. it was also really busy and all the seats were taken so when I found R again and he said he was also ready to go I was very relieved. I am not art-educated and people will probably think me a philistine now but never mind.

instead, we went to the members bar and talked spreadsheets.

(he uses them for words, I use them for numbers but he’s going to help me with some calculations which is bloody BRILLIANT!!)

(note: I’ve been to the members bar twice now and they don’t ask to see your membership card so I now think that anyone can go in but you have to show your card to get discount on anything, which I keep forgetting to do. also, I think, from what it says on the members page, that you have a special area you can go into at certain times of the day so you can discuss how much you still don’t like Francis bacon without being bothered by the common person.)

then we went to the shop because I was meant to bring an example of watercolour painting I like to my course on saturday but I realised as I was telling R that what I like the most are flowers, we were incredibly unlikely to find an example of that in a portrait gallery.

*blush*

after that it was time to go so we said goodbye and I went for the train. and M&S is temporarily closed! I rely on them for ham, cheese, bread and wine and after a long day of no proper food (again) I decided fuck it and bought a ham and cheese baguette from la delifrance. these are the very things that I’ve missed the most since realising gluten was bad for my insides but I figured if it did make me unwell, all I had to do was sit on a train and then go to bed when I got home. when the choice is no food and feel rubbish with hunger or eat gluten, I’m going for gluten. I discovered that on plane journeys, for me, something is better than nothing.

and oh, my, GOD it tasted good!! it was wondrous! and the only side effect was impressive bloating!

got home to a warm living room, a lovely wife, Chinese take out and my big chair. absolute bliss.

London – January – part 1

at some point last year I realised that making memories and having new/good/great experiences was more important to me than getting more ‘stuff’. this might be connected to me wanting to downsize the VERY LARGE AMOUNT OF POSSESSIONS I have and that might be because it’s very unlikely that when we make our final move (closer to the sea/flat land, with a garden, doesn’t need to be big but must have real grass so a dog can use it) we will end up in a house the size of this one. we both want another house, after the neighbours in London it’s been blissful having no one above us here but, well, we shall see. maybe we end up with a house after all and I don’t need to downsize. but I want to really, there’s too much stuff and when things are lying about because they don’t have a home, it becomes an issue for me.

an-y-way, I am also at the point where I’m really enjoying London again. wouldn’t want to live there, ever, but it’s lovely going for a short visit and coming back home. so I renewed my network rail card, rejoined the V&A and decided that once a month, I’m going. I’ve already got my NPAG membership and those two are the ones I like the most, besides, R has a Tate modern membership so we’re well covered.

I don’t work on Fridays and hotwax were having their latest single release party at a queer venue in London on a Thursday night so K and I decided we’d go and I intended to stay over at R’s and take him gallery trawling the next day. K got sick and couldn’t go and I’d worked late all week and was So Bloody Tired by Wednesday night that I was considering not going either. but, we’d got the very last two tickets to the gig and that had to be respected. Friends were also going (driving down but no room in the car) so there would be familiar faces at the other end and I really do love hotwax. R didn’t want to go so I sold the other ticket to C and decided – this was SUCH A GOOD IDEA!! – that if I could find a cheap hotel within walking distance of the venue, i’d go on my own. I really needed time to not talk to anyone and the train journey and hotel would both help.

and I did! and will be using them again if I need to, it was great! kip hotel, somewhere between a hostel and a hotel, no frills but a clean room, good shower, tv, free wifi, really comfy bed, good temperature, I was really impressed.

decided against taking any anxiety stuff on the trip with me, mainly because I was trying to travel very light and partly because I felt like I didn’t need it (idiot) and set off. got very excited about it all on the train to London, especially as there were chargers and I could keep checking my journey to make sure I knew where i was going when I got there. (considering I lived there for so long and visited many areas of London, often on foot, I feel blank when I go back about how to get where) but got to the hotel no bother. well a bit of bother, I couldn’t find it because I was standing in front of it and didn’t turn around (true story). couldn’t understand a word the receptionist said and was feeling a bit weird (anxiety) but got to my room and seriously considered not going out at all because the bed was sooooo comfy and I was soooooo tired (anxiety) but I wanted cheesy chips and to not give in to my brain quite so easily.

it was much warmer than I’d anticipated so left the coat at home and set off. and I really liked that bit. I love walking and I love having a mobile ‘phone so I can keep checking I’m going in the right direction. the majority of the walk was on main streets so well lit and I didn’t feel remotely unsafe. but could I find cheesy chips anywhere? could I fuck. found a lovely place that did toasties (full of gluten) and alcohol, right across from the venue that I really liked but in the end, went to the co op and got a bag of graze nuts, flavoured with lime and chilli I think it was. hardly the dinner of champions I’d been envisaging.

went to the venue – divine – that’s the name, not my opinion – very friendly, really liked it, reminded me of places I would go to when I was going to gigs A LOT. went downstairs and the very first person I saw (other than the bar staff, who approved of my meal choice) was a frocker! I didn’t know him but recognised him from the group so went up and said hello, took a selfie of us for the motherfrockers and when I realised my glass of wine had cost me £12, bought the bottle.

(at that point I thought I might not be drinking it alone but it was definitely the much cheaper option and they gave it to me with the cap so I could take it home anyway.)

then I waited for my lot to show up and happily ate my graze nut mix and drank my Malbec.

but they didn’t. I thought I saw Ra’s red hair at the entrance at one point but no, it was a bloke. I definitely saw band members but was too shy to say hello. I would have been absolutely fine watching the band on my own but was starting to angst. I’d rescheduled my counselling appointment so I could get to London in time for the gig but it had been unnecessary, I would’ve made it with time to spare and then some. it was now well over an hour after they thought they would arrive and Ra wasn’t responding to any of my messages. had they crashed on the motorway, had they broken down, was everyone dead and their own daughter, who was in the band, didn’t know? (anxiety.)

(they were upstairs having a drink, not checking their phones.)

anyway, gig was bloody awesome, I drank all the Malbec, ate all the graze mix and walked back to the hotel taking the weirdest photos! I deleted loads because

a) I couldn’t tell what I’d been taking photos OF

b) I couldn’t sit still while the music was on so those ones were crazy blurred

c) several were the inside of my jeans pocket

absolutely crashed when I went to bed. really heavy sleep. so, so, so good.

a good day!!

it really has been a lovely, lovely day.

had so many plans for yesterday (productive and social) blew them all out for being lazy and playing games on the iPad. have noticed that I really do spend a LOT of time doing exactly that and while it makes me happy, it also stops me doing other stuff. when my friend D got cancer she said she was going to stop online games as it took up too much time. I didn’t know about the cancer till much later, I definitely didn’t realise she was short on life time, I thought she just had other stuff to do and while I don’t have cancer or any other life shortening illness that I know of, I do know that playing online games is stopping me doing a lot of other stuff.

also, I do work very hard and the whole bit, I’m not judging myself for flipping off my friday to relax, I’m saying there are other ways I like to relax that I’m ignoring in favour of something that really doesn’t bring me anything other than a high score and smug.

AN-Y-WAY.

I promised myself that today I would get up and start being productive from the off.

AND I BLOODY WELL WAS!

I set timers for everything I was doing (I pretty much had to, I was baking a lot of shit) and I allowed myself gaming time in-between but then had to do the next thing. I covered:

lidl trip
gardening (this deserves a lot more than one word, a LOT was involved, indoors and out)
clearing the windows (they’re going to be used in coastal currents, did you know?!)
unloading/loading the dishwasher #2
tidying the boudoir
making granola, seed snacks AND bread
helping return a cute frenchie to its owner
dogsitting the podenkos
reading (OMIGOD! the bloody book I’ve been looking for for weeks was in the window! WHY DO I NEVER REMEMBER TO CHECK THE WINDOW?!!)
watching films
gardening (I have to repeat it , there is a LOT of work involved)

anyway, all of that was smug-inducing and satisfying but the lovely bits were:
a couple knocked on our door with a gorgeous wee frenchie called, as it turned out, Bella. they saw her running across our road, in front of traffic and were trying to find her home. her home turned out to be in the street at the back of our house and no one realised she’d gone (back gate was open while work’s being done). lots of neighbours meeting each other and lots of snuggles for Bella.

our other neighbours had dropped off some home grown tomatoes the day before and I made the bread specifically so I could have tomato on toast. as it turned out, I had tomato on bread with brie, serrano ham and basil and then later, I had sliced tomatoes with freshly ground black pepper, a drizzle of garlic oil, more fresh basil and grated mozzarella, heated up. on my freakin’ god…

I was going to stay home and read while K dog sat but she pointed out I could sit and read there and I felt so happy walking with her to do exactly that. besides, three freaking’ dogs to give you kisses!

but I did need to come home and have a nap and then got back up to watch ‘the nanny diaries’ (better than expected).

film14 showed an ad on ‘stop the hate’.

I think that’s where I’m going with this, that IS where I’m going with this.

I had planned on attending the anti-fascist protests on wednesday (the actual street I work on was targeted) but at 5.30pm I felt so anxious I decided to go home instead. I’m not giving myself a hard time over this, it was what I needed to do. some people feel you should ALWAYS step up and usually, I would agree but you can fuck off if you think I should have stayed. 600 fans of peace showed up and yes, that would have been a ginormous hug but I’ve been fighting the bad thoughts for a few weeks now and I did what was right for ME. I’m gladdened and warmed that hastings and st leonards showed up and I will be there another time, like I’ve been there before.

I think, for me, it was really, really SPECIAL that for once my facebook bubble of decent people was reflected in the whole of the town I live in.

because the number of votes reform got in the last election was telling…

but there are strangers saving dogs from the road.
there are neighbours bringing you home-grown tomatoes.
there are hundreds of people ready to say NO to scum.
there are dogs ready to give you kisses.

it’s not so bad.

tiresome brain

do you know I blog so infrequently now that it takes me forever just to find the bit where I can start writing.

anyway, tiresome brain. tiresome, tiresome brain.

I’ve chucked everything to the kerb this weekend in favour of playing games on the iPad, housework, washing my hair (bliss! clean hair bliss!) and being very quiet and very solitary. well as solitary as you can be when you’re married. a hay fever sufferer knows when to steer clear of ‘those’ trees, I know when to steer clear of people.

you wouldn’t know I was using coping mechanisms if you saw me though, I’m quite cheerful, I’m not in bed, I’ve done the Sunday chores, I HAVE CLEAN HAIR, I don’t overly hate anyone, I’m eating normally, I just can’t be around people right now.

and oh my, what a weekend I’ve missed.

(most weekends here are wonderful, always stuff to do, I haven’t been out of the uk since January 2019 and it’s not a problem, I LOVE living here)

Friday night I should’ve been singing at the electric palace with HPC, didn’t go.

Friday night afterwards I should’ve been going to a private view in west st Leonards. didn’t go.

or the vinyl night at the Jenny with HPC, obviously, didn’t go.

Friday day I DID go out for a drink and early dinner with R and K and that was truly lovely, then we came home and after some more food I went to bed. a short-for-me social but quite enough.

saturday day I was meant to be going to the beacon, to the others market, to sing with HPC. didn’t go.

now, I opted not to because I had tickets for KK at the piper that night and knew it was highly unlikely I’d do both. but I didn’t go to that either.

Sunday I was meant to be going on an arts trip – some local stuff in a garden up the road, the exhibition I’d missed on Friday, maybe the de la Warr, then a lovely party at L’s.

didn’t do any of it.

here I am, sitting with a glass of ok red wine, typing away because I feel obliged too.

while I was not going to anything, I mean during the actual “I have not gone, I have stayed home. again” it was absolutely the right thing to do but of course, when I hear/see how good and fantabulous it all was I get belated FOMO. I KNOW not going was the right move but I’m approaching 59, while there’s a very good chance I’ve got another 30 plus years in me time feels more precious and yes yes, if I need the alone time and shit, then that’s great but OH the things I miss! loads of my choir chums were at KK and some went for a night swim afterwards, A NIGHT SWIM IN THE SEA ON A HOT EVENING!

and I’m going to stop buying tickets for stuff. only I probably won’t. I spend so much money on things and then don’t go. I console myself with the fact that I’m supporting the artist financially even if I stay home but what a waste of cash. but, I always feel so bloody optimistic that I WILL go, that this time I really won’t miss it.

and I do go out you know. I get very excited and very happy when I’m out, especially if it involves being outdoors and friends and music and sea and the occasional burst of sunshine – oh and DOGS – but having a good time one day probably means nothing for the next three.

so, trying to do stuff to balance it out.

I’ve given up my role as trustee for HC. I’m still one on paper for now, I’m still available for legal requirements but no more time given in person. I’m considering whether I have to give up my role as treasurer for BATTS too. I really enjoy that but I don’t live there, I don’t drive and it limits what I can contribute. I want to contribute a LOT but it’s completely impractical.

and of course the work situation. still the same. still covering two other people’s jobs. there’s a faint light now, the ceo job has been advertised so I would hope that within three months we have one, they can then hire an administrator and after a few more weeks of supporting them both till they’re comfortable, I can finally return to proper part time hours and coming home in time to cook dinner.

just a few more months…

…I feel like all I do is bleat about depression and exhaustion lately.

I’m going to go play another round of rooms and exits – I’ve got right into escape room games lately – I always have to cheat but I’m getting better. I usually know what to do just not how. and anything that tests my brain is good. I also focus on it completely so no negative wormholes.

what I should REALLY be doing though is reading a good book and if I could find our copy of Richard Osman’s third one I bloody well would. oh – PSA: ‘the truants’, can’t remember the author, English female I think, but very good. reminded me of donna tart’s first one.

god, my lovely clean hair is now dealing with a sweaty neck and scalp.

bleat bleat moan moan must start socialising before I’m 60 yadda yadda fuck it.

fake dacey

yesterday started well. I left on time, remembered that I was going to the other office first and it wasn’t raining.

on the way I saw two blokes with a dog on ellenslea road. I was on chapel park and they turned onto it too. something made me turn around and look at the dog again and sure enough, it was a staffie. I kept walking then looked round again and stared, she looked a lot like dacey. the guys saw me staring and I told them it was the dog and asked if I could say hello.

my god. it could’ve been her younger sister. she was excited to see me and we looked each other right in the face and smiled and had cuddles and I swear it was like looking at dacey. slightly smaller, definitely younger (she was 11, dacey would’ve been 15 in january) but even up close, it was her face. had a chat with the guys who were already well on the way with their morning drink and went on to work, smiling.

for about seven seconds then the pain hit. the loss I should say. the both.

(crying again now, god I miss our girl.)

went on to the other office, saw SEVEN more dogs on the way but no staffies so I was safe and had a cry with my colleagues when I got there. I couldn’t believe how much it got to me but that’s the first time I’ve seen a staffie that was remotely like dacey, let alone a younger version of her.

finished my stuff there then got back out into the bright day and walked along the beach. as soon as I was on my own the sadness came back so I focused on the big waves (who doesn’t love a big wave?) and the noise they made.

ran into inge-from-choir on claremont and she urged me to come and sing tonight at the pig because her daughter would be there (I love meeting people’s family but I’d already said on the whatsapp that things had escalated at work and coming to sing was either a brilliant or terrible idea, I couldn’t work out which and would decide closer to the time) and trying to talk made me cry again and she grabbed my hand and then I went on to work.

decided to have water, rather than coffee

(IKR?!!)

as there wasn’t long before I had to leave again to get to electric palace for the morning movie and ended up doing a bunch of stuff for the other other office and decided to take it over there on my way to the film. I could have a coffee at the film and another one if I needed it when I got back. had forgotten to grab some oatcakes from the house as well so could get some of those on the way back too.

anyway, time was running out and then a colleague came into the room. they needed help with something, it wasn’t something I could help them with and that did not go down well. nothing I could do to change the situation, I am not, in fact, god. that is all I shall say on the matter.

sent an email to the big boss in case they could help where I couldn’t and said I’d be back at 1.30pm at the latest (I’m normally back by about 1 but I do like a contingency).

left to take the stuff to the other other office, saw K, she could see something was up, asked me if I’d been crying and took me outside to talk but then a delivery arrived and neither of us had time so I said I’d explain later.

walked to the film and realised along the way I’d forgotten to check the film’s running time, bloody 2.45 minutes!! texted the big boss to say I’d be back by 2 at the latest and realised I’d forgotten to eat my banana

(n.a.e.)

so stopped in at hanushka and got myself a lovely big slice of GF carrot cake. thank god for hanushka. THANK GOD FOR HANUSHKA!!

saw fee-from-choir on high street, had to yell at her five times before she turned around (punk choir hazard deafness) and off to EP we went.

asked for a toilet break during the movie, like we got during ‘oppenheimer’, freaked gareth out as that wasn’t in the book, asked chris-from-choir-who-also-volunteers-at-EP for a toilet break during the movie, he was alright about it. saw michele-from-choir, got a selfie because it’s obligatory and ate my cake. god it was good! I haven’t had carrot cake in years! made sure fee (who was sitting beside me) knew how good it was and told her she couldn’t have any.

the film was ‘anatomy of a fall’ and I was very excited to have my brain taken somewhere else so my heart could have a break. and it was and it did.

(have already changed my mind several times about who did what, which I really like. a film should keep you thinking long after you’ve seen it. a good film, I mean.)

had to leave the others to get back to work asap so did that and ended up working till 7.30pm.

(I’m meant to finish at 3.15pm but things are different at work just now and I’ve been dealing with it since the start of the year. I am tired.)

(and I forgot the oatcakes. turns out I like apple and brie without oatcakes just as much.)

REALLY felt like going to the pub but not one that was on the way home, I wanted to go to the tower and meet K there but when I got out of the office, there was steph and eddie! and they gave me a lift to lidl to get tinned sweetcorn! and then I walked home feeling absolutely fine! even though there were no flowers left to buy and we had a vase of dead tulips at home!

got in and K was in the bath, I knew that I wasn’t going to the tower after all, I’d stay in and have a drink at home and needed to tell K about my day and when I was doing that, I started to cry about dacey AGAIN.

(I mean, even today, nearly 24 hours after meeting fake-dacey, talking about it makes me cry.)

anyway, it was lovely to be home, I had approximately one large glass of wine (split over three tiny glasses) and went to bed at 9pm. feeling ok. and I slept better.

…sunday morning I’m going to see ‘tokyo story’ which I’ve never seen and just the trailer made me emotional so that’s going to be a bundle of fucking joy innit?

when will I drink wine… a-gaaiiinn?

CHAPTER ONE.

Over two weeks ago, no, this is important

On Thursday 14 March I took a bad fall while walking home from my “I’ve finished work for the week so I’m going to have a glass of wine” drink. A woman saw it happen (I don’t know where but I suspect the top of Magdalen Road or not long after crossing to Bohemia Road) and she got me home. I have one memory of her asking me “is it much further?” and me pointing to my house and then again, looking for my key and she just said “no” and rang the doorbell, K answered. That is it.

(I have no clue who she was, no memory of her face, nothing but I am so grateful and I really hope one day she sees me and tells me who she is.)

K said that I was talking absolute nonsense, that the first thing I said (wailed) was that I’d lost my glasses (which, weirdly, I’d lost-and-refound twice in the weeks before that, completely sober) (maybe they just wanted to go) and it seems as though I’d been hallucinating (I was insisting we go straight back out and collect all the stuff outside our door, there was of course, nothing outside our door). I don’t really remember any of that.

The next thing I do remember is sitting on the loo, staring at the floor which was literally a sea of red. I think I remember thinking “it’s ok to puke on the floor, it’s easy clean” and I do know I couldn’t move myself even to throw up in the bath. Honestly, the floor was liquid.

K tells me I said I couldn’t cope with it and she cleaned the whole lot, put me in the bath and showered me off. Then she put me to bed upstairs (we’d been sleeping separately as she had a lurgy) with a bucket beside me. I don’t remember any of that.

The next day, I went downstairs for a cuddle and K told me she couldn’t keep dealing with this (me). I told her not to worry, I didn’t understand what was happening and was putting myself on the wagon till I knew more.

This was the third time (but by FAR the worst) in four weeks that I’d gone out for a drink and come home absolutely fucked. It made no sense, I wasn’t drinking a lot but it was hitting me like poison. The first time I’d had either three or four drinks plus two shots and we put it down to that. I CANNOT HANDLE HARD LIQUOR! The second time there were no shots and on this occasion, I’d only had three drinks at the pub!

The only thing I could think of was that I’m under a huge amount of pressure at work, I’ve been holding the fort all year while staff are absent and while I’m coping, I’m very tired and constantly stressed.

K went to work, I announced to Facebook that I was on the wagon and when I started wandering around the house, feeling surprisingly ok to start with, I realised that I’d broken both my front teeth. My chin showed no damage but underneath was very sore to the touch so I’d clearly hit my chin, my lower jaw had gone up and into my upper jaw. So that might explain the hallucinations if I hit my head.

I’d also landed on my bad elbow but thank GOD it wasn’t the same amount of damage as when I initially hurt it, over twenty years ago, just bruised and to be left alone.

(The next day other bruises started appearing, on my knees and I mused on how when I was in my late teens/early twenties, I always landed on my hands but when I got older it was always my poor knees. There’s a research grant in there somewhere.)

Friends started responding on Facebook and several friends said the magic word: keto.

I’d been eating keto 95% of the time for the last four weeks. No carbs to soak up booze so the wine just flooded my system. It had never occurred to me but it made perfect sense and was something I could understand. I still felt like an idiot but at least it was something I could manage.

I called the dentist and managed to get a cancellation appointment that same day. THANK YOU UNIVERSE! I looked up how much it might be and said goodbye to the last of my savings.

I called the opticians and discovered that my frames were no longer available so made an appointment to come in and choose new ones the following week. I gulped at the price but of course, I already knew what to expect.

On the way to the dentist, I retraced my steps but no glasses, then after my appointment, walked back to the pub in case they were still there (they were not) and then retraced the rest of the journey. Still no glasses. I’d already put a post on Facebook in case anyone had picked them up, no joy there either but I made people laugh, so that’s something.

Actually, I cried in the dentist chair. I felt so ashamed. I’m 58 years old and I got so drunk I did this to myself. They were bloody lovely to me. I’ve got wet eye now remembering how I felt.

I was incredibly shaky on the walk there and back, not steady on my feet at all but put that down to a hangover. On the way home, I was trying very, very hard to find the positives. The teeth were going to cost way less than I thought as I was getting veneers and I was on the payment plan so I was getting a discount. I was going to see if I could get cheaper frames for my glasses and I did have the funds to pay for it all, it just meant I wouldn’t have an art fund anymore and coastal currents would be a lot less exciting this year. I could save up again for 2025.

By the time I got home I could pretend that actually this was A GOOD THING in a sense, that being sober while the pressure was on at work could only be A GOOD THING and I prepared to look forward to more energy, better sleep, seeing my art fund rebuild, etc etc.

I booked a three month payment holiday from nakedwines and decided to see how I felt when that was up.

However.

CHAPTER TWO.

I looked at my bank account. I’d had four glasses, not three. I had NO memory of that fourth glass.

I looked at my photos (embarrassing). There was a third person in them I had no memory of meeting.

(I’d been sitting on my own like normal. The music on the system was great so I decided to stay for another one. Then I liked the conversation I could hear between two guys at the bar so joined them and had a third. Then I went home. I thought.)

I didn’t remember taking any of those photos.

This does not happen. I do lose memory, but only when I hit the outside air. Before that, it’s all there. Always.

K had already mentioned the possibility of me being spiked because I was so out of it but when we realised I’d hit my head, we thought that was the reason.

Four days later I was still feeling off.

It’s now been over two weeks and, trust me, I’m not looking for excuses, drinking on keto is clearly not a brilliant idea but I’m no longer sure that’s the reason.

CHAPTER THREE

So I’ve still not had a drink since. I’m now reaching the point where I’m getting pissed off at not drinking.

When I was a LOT younger I stopped drinking twice, it was spirits in those days (Oh! I wonder if that’s why I can’t handle them now?), I didn’t like wine at ALL.

(I know! Amazing!)

I stopped because I didn’t want to reach the point where I couldn’t have a drink.

K says I don’t have to stop altogether, just make sure I always have food first or with it. I’m not sure that will work but I can certainly try. Right now though, I want to keep off it. I really like the keto

(This system does NOT like the word “keto”. the first autocorrect is “kept”, then it’s “veto”, oooooh! opposites!)

diet, it’s fast, easy and I’m feeling better digestive-wise so I’d prefer to stick with that than have a wine.

Finishing work on Thursday is now different. Last week I decided to have a new routine, a cake or a dessert somewhere to celebrate the start of my weekend but easier said than done. Cafes are shut, restaurants are not yet open, the in-betweens don’t always cater for gluten free, so that went tits up and I went home annoyed.

This week I worked really late because there was some stuff I really wanted to get done before stopping for easter, then went to the light show at bottle alley and then got caught in the pissing rain YET AGAIN on the way home. I arrived knackered, hangry and really, REALLY wanted a glass of wine. Didn’t have one. That annoyed me too.

Ate chocolate instead. A fuckload.

Dear oh dear…

But I’m a bit scared now. Last night I chose not to go to a quiz night I’d been looking forward to because I didn’t want to be in a pub on a Friday night and I didn’t think I would hold out on not drinking (and I also had a bitch of a headache and felt queasy)

(I’d eaten more chocolate)

(But I blame all the damn water I’ve been drinking. It’s full of shit. Yes.)

But mainly, I’m scared that I will drink again and that I discover it’s not that I was spiked it’s that I can’t drink anymore. At all. Ever. No more relaxing glass when I get home from work. No more sharing a beautiful bottle of red over Sunday lunch with a friend who loves it like I do. No more happy grin when treating myself to a floral white to celebrate something.

Some people may think “so what?” but for me, a lovely wine is a joy. I’m not ready to give it up. It was hard enough when I had to stop the white, that’s been approaching two years and I only get it as a treat and always shared with someone else these days.

Anyway I don’t want to discover this while I’m in public.

And of course I could stop eating keto and that might sort it.

Or I could try having a glass of wine with food and see what happens.

But right now, I’m fixated on the money that I’m not spending on it and wondering how long I will last.

grief/love/hope

Yesterday I went to see a film. I go to a film at the Electric Palace every Thursday at 11am unless:
– there isn’t one
– I’ve seen it already (money is tight)
– it’s a documentary (I’ve seen brilliant documentaries there but my Thursday film is really important for my head and I prefer stories)
but I usually go and I’ve only seen one duff movie in this whole time (most of the world disagrees with me on this movie but they also think wolf hall is an excellent book)

yesterday’s film was by ken loach, I’ve missed a lot of his films and still need to see “I, Daniel Blake” and that reminds me, I need to see the post office thing too, anyway, very excited to see this film and the place was full.

I had tears in my eyes almost from the off, kindness makes me well up and there was a LOT, there was a lot of hate too, which doesn’t make me well up at all, there was a lot of everything really. and there was a dog. called Marra. what a gorgeous wee thing! like a little black fox! of course I can’t see a dog without thinking of dacey and I think I think about dacey all the time whether I realise or not. I swear I wake up every day and I feel like I’ve just seen her so she must be visiting my dreams. every day. and it’s nice, not sad.

so it’s a bloody good film, should be shown in schools, hard to watch at times but terrific, highly recommended. one scene in it though, hit me right in the gut. I was already tearful but this really set me off, the gasping breath, the lot. Michele, sitting beside me reached out and stroked my arm but I shook my head. I was absolutely horrified at what I’d seen and it unlocked something.

for the rest of the film I kept trying to wear my glasses (it’s ok if there are no subtitles really but it’s nicer to see the details) but the heat coming from my heart kept steaming them up so no go.

at the end I was desperate for the decompression chamber I’ve suggested before (somewhere to go and just be for a little while before hitting the high street again) but had to get back to work.

couldn’t talk to anyone without bawling again, could hardly say words, I just needed the office and my spreadsheets to work their usual, calming magic (which they did, I ended up working till 4.30pm rather than my 3.15 finish) then I set off for my ‘I’ve finished work for the week’ glass of wine somewhere.

actually saw the sun set on my way, crazy beautiful! it moved so fast! and then, just as I came out of bottle alley, I saw three dogs on the beach. one was a staffie and I can NOT ignore a staffie. his human saw me grinning at him and called out that his name was Fergus. he was just shy of 14 weeks old, a brown and white, beautiful, happy little boy! we had the best cuddles and he was so well behaved already, his mum, Nelly I think it was, was there too, holding a bloody big stone in her mouth. honestly, staffies, I love them SO BLOODY MUCH! but I could hardly talk because the emotions were coming back up, cuddling that puppy and seeing his joy at making friends.

decided to go to the forbidden fruit for my wine but there were already people sitting at the table I like and I really didn’t want to talk to anyone so, even though I love the st Leonard, I ended up at reel. I haven’t been in since Bertie left but I was fairly sure I could have a drink to myself there. and my goodness, I’d forgotten how lovely their house red is!

I was reading the Hastings independent and the emotions were still all there with me and then started coming out of my eyes. now, years ago this would’ve been bad news, I would panic at the thought of crying in public but now, I really don’t give a shit. things happen to people and they’re upsetting and you cry. and if you cry at weird or unexpected moments, who really cares? it has to come out and it will.

so I’m sitting there, tears rolling down my face, reading the paper and it reminded me of when my first serious relationship ended and I was at work, the tron theatre it was, photocopying something, with tears rolling down my cheeks and wondering at how I could be there, coping with my job, with such a wet face – because it’s silent grief – it’s not the gasping I had in the cinema – it’s just this constant eye leakage, but it’s like the more it goes on, the calmer my insides feel. so I got another glass.

(it really is very good)

then as it STILL hadn’t stopped, I messaged K and Morgan to explain my predicament and did they fancy meeting me at the tower? I didn’t want to go home, it felt like that would stop it prematurely whereas I wanted it OUT and also, that would curtail my Thursday night adventure which I cherish. it’s some of my me time, this wine crawl home.

K said yes, just give her a five minute warning (the tower is our local) so we met there and I talked. I really, really miss our girl but work is having some issues as well at the moment, there’s just general stuff going on and for the first time since leaving London, I feel under too much pressure. on the plus side, it’s not making me want to crawl into bed like it would’ve done back then but I haven’t figured out how I deal with it yet. I may need to make a life change.

but not get another dog, we both want one but not till we live somewhere with an actual patch of grass she can pee on and one of us is home most of the time. and then we’d quite like to get a pair of bonded, senior, girls. staffies of course.

the reason I’m writing all this down though is I saw myself in the mirror first thing this morning and my god, the state of my eyes! and the grey! I love my grey but I swear it’s increased since dacey died. I took a photo. it’s not pretty but it’s a document and documents are important.

so I guess I should really go see the documentaries on Thursday mornings too.

coping not coping

remember when facebook only let you use so many words in a status? that’s why I started blogging, I needed WAY more words. these days, you can write as much as you want in one post but I’m already fighting with myself over being honest on there and not clogging up the feed with misery, ESPECIALLY at this time of year.

when I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety allllllll those years ago and initially signed off work till the meds kicked in, one of the things the doctor told me was that I had to try really hard to get out of the house once a day, be nice to myself, sure, but get out the fucking house! get some AIR! once the pills started to work, that’s what I did, walked a bit, took photos, posted happy shit. it was for me, I was finding tiny bits of happiness for me.

I found out that a colleague at the time (a facebook friend) was spouting off about how I wasn’t really sick because I was doing this, I can’t remember now if anyone challenged them on that but when it was brought to my attention I made damn sure ev-er-y-bo-dy knew I was following doctors orders and that behind the scenes I was still ill, I just wasn’t shouting about it. the irony in this being that that colleague had an appalling work ethic and no idea that most people started work at 9am, not strolling in past 11.30am, then having lunch and reading the paper and only then switching their computer on. they came in as late as 2pm once!

(I can thank them for deciding not to have work colleagues as facebook friends unless they were also people I classed as offline friends and who weren’t so fucking ignorant)

anyway.

I’m doing the same thing and yet not doing the same thing while I’m grieving.

I can laugh at stuff, I can smile at other dogs, I can still see things I want to take photos of, I’m taking the photos but I’m fighting social fear and feeling like I need air a lot, even outside.

yesterday I went on a mission (very successful btw, till I got home and was in the bath and realised [because she told me] that I was still missing a present for K for Christmas)

(honestly, BRAIN! WHERE ARE YOU?!!)

and despite everything, I was filling up with christmas spirit. a lot of the shop people I said merry christmas to lit up when I said it, twice it looked like they’d forgotten what week it was and that was really nice, it was a reminder that it wasn’t just about crowds, queues, questions, impatience.

I saw some people I love (hard not to living here), I supported several local shops, I found K’s birthday present and my non-birthday present (we give each other a gift on our birthdays), I took loads of photos, so many people make beautiful wreaths and every time I see a clearly home-made one, it lifts me a bit. but I also felt like I was in a bubble a few times when I was indoors and that if I didn’t get back outside bloody soon, I would pass out. I REALLY wanted to try the boozy hot chocolate at on the rocks but saw the people ahead of me on the street and decided no, I’d literally gone far enough that day.

so I headed home, I didn’t even walk past the sea, just straight up the hill, the boring way.

I emptied the window, ready to do a christmas one today, sat down, had a couple of small red wines and put a film on.

I’d been looking forward to going out that evening, I’d wanted to go to silver dream machine at the piper and have a dance, dancing always helps but I couldn’t. happily, we’d made lasagne the day before

(we really do make it together, I make the bolognese, K makes the white sauce, I put it together)

so there was normal, healthy food to eat and once I’d had that I knew I was staying home.

when people come over, I’m hiding in bed, I just don’t want to see anyone, or maybe it’s that I don’t want to see them here, where dacey isn’t. I’m ok with outside (though I’ve ducked inside my coat hood to avoid being seen twice when I knew I couldn’t fake happy) (and I know I don’t need to fake happy, I know people honestly wouldn’t mind if I started bawling in the street but I DON’T WANT TO! IT’S FUCKING EXHAUSTING!)

I’m still looking forward to tomorrow, m is coming over, he’s cooking, later on we’re going to l’s, boxing day we’re going to c&d’s, nye tons of the choir are going to the tower, I’m looking forward to ALL of it, so it must be the unexpected I can’t deal with right now.

oh, I started this post to say I don’t want to fill up my facebook feed with misery but a huge part of me is miserable so don’t be fooled. like that bitchy ex-colleague.

also, if anyone needs cellophane, the cards direct shop in priory meadow, everywhere else is sold out.

dacey

I don’t know if everyone knows how we met dacey. it was really all trudie’s fault. she saw a gorgeous male staffie on a rescue site and sent me the link. we weren’t looking for a dog at that time, we were in the middle of building work on the house, K was in a field helping teresa at a festival and I was on my own, completely unaware of how life was about to change.

sent the link to K, she said yes, I contacted the rescue and they said that they’d decided he wasn’t ready to be let loose with humans yet but they did have this other dog, molly. well, she wasn’t as cute but we thought that was a bit shit of us so agreed to have a home visit. that happened the very next day. I sat there and got interviewed, on my own, at the kitchen table and the next day got told we were welcome to meet molly!

the day came, hottest day of the year, my 31st anniversary of arriving in the uk I think it was (I may work with charity finances but my brain can’t do the easy stuff) and we agreed to meet at sevenoaks train station, halfway between us and the rescue. we were going to have a good hour with her, take her for a walk in a local park, etc. I was nervous AS, trying to buy tickets for the pixies at the DLWP and getting thoroughly fucked off at their website, the heat was ridiculous and no molly. for ages. frantic texting between the rescue, the daughter of the people who were bringing her, etc. eventually, over an hour late, they arrived. we got in the car and molly was in her crate in the back. we sat down, took one look at her, looked at each other and grinned.

she, was, GORGEOUS!

and well fucked off.

those people had been driving round in that heat for four fucking HOURS and had to get back. rather than an hour and space, all we got was a short walk down a street with a patch of grass at the end. we sat down and she glared at us with tail and ears down.

until! K let her lick her and she came alive! I did the same and we saw right then it would work.

back to the seaside, told the rescue we would like to foster with a view to adopting (view my arse, we had no intention of giving her up) and went back with morgan and rosie to get her a bit later. changed her name to dacey (her initial name had been stacey [hard no], then molly, then a brief stint as peg and rosie suggested daisy but as we have a friend with that name we decided on dacey, tried it out and she responded so that was that.

for the first six months she was sooooo well behaved and then when she decided that she might stay with us after all, the naughty came out. we were so chuffed! it meant she was relaxing and happy with us. I can’t remember when she first barked but we nearly fell down! the whole time we had her she wasn’t a barker, there were a couple of occasions when she was being insistent about something, probably food.

just like a small child, we panicked at every first thing and then got crazy blasé about her various maladies and moods. then covid. K’s mum was in hospice in london and K was staying at her dad’s so for five weeks, dacey and I were on our own. I managed to teach her some stuff without trying that hard so she definitely had some training from her previous life

(we don’t know much about it, other than she escaped from her home four times and on the fourth time the owner said to put her down, so we figure she was running away rather than going for a wander. she was very anxious around other dogs initially so we also wonder if something bad had happened there)

but my god, the day K came back from london you’d think dacey had been living in a dickens novel in a coal cellar. five weeks of my care and nurture forgotten!

anyway, I don’t think I want to write much more about our lives together. everyone who knows us knows how much we were loved/loved her. there’s plenty of photographic evidence on facebook.

what I want to say is that I didn’t realise it would hurt so much.

it really, really hurts.

so I’m going to make a list of things we can do now that she’s decided to go leaping over that rainbow bridge:

go out and stay out, together, at the same time, whenever we like.
have a holiday.
not have to get up on shitty weather mornings to take her for ablutions.
not have to clear up pee from the carpet (why so often the carpet? we have floors too, easy to clean floors)
not be held to emotional ransom when trying to go to work to get the money to buy HER snacks.
not spend a fucking fortune on insurance, dog food, medications, chews, etc.
get a reasonable share of the bed each.
not have to sort out her frozen food each night before bed.
…I thought there would be tons of things.

there are not tons of things.

I’m already looking for her, I already miss her, she’s not going to be here greeting me with joy when I get home from work and then driving me nuts by whinging for her dinner an hour early, she’s not going to be in our bed warming our feet and making those snuggly little noises in her sleep, she’s not going to dance with the couch blankets anymore and end up looking like she’s auditioning for mary, mother of jesus (she’d get the part, too); no more zoomies, no more sitting like an old tart, no more single barks when I take too long to give her sprats, no more no more no more dacey.

broken.