If we only have one turn

Eco Warrior just called. He will arrive in 20 minutes.

I'm off to soundproof the bedroom...

Tonight I heard scribbling….that old familiar sound….that beautifully fulfilling and somehow cathartic resonance of pencil, not pen, on paper. It came not from me in one of my moments of compulsive scribbling, but from my 14 year old daughter, #3 child.

She is deep in concentration, with her head tilted to one side, writing almost as fast as she types and seemingly oblivious to all around her, yet able to partake of the banter that regularly injects itself into our idyllic little cottage. She writes eloquently and freely. It is intelligent, reasoned, natural writing that regularly strikes me with its maturity.

Her 17 year old sister writes equally well and in these past 4 years or so has shown a skill and confidence in her writing that both humbles and affects. She will go far, she will influence. She will never make me anything less than proud and she will never fail to strive for higher ambition. She has proven this with her exam driven competitive edge.

I am of course proud of all of my four wonders; nothing on this earth could detract from their constant and unrelenting zest for life and knowledge. They are my influence, my compassion, my love and my reasoning.

They are my inspiration.

I will be touched
And stroked
I will be caressed
And held

I will be kissed
And embraced
I will be surrounded
And senses will engulf me

I will melt
And I will absorb
He will stroke
And I will drink in his touch

With every story, a beginning.

To whom it may concern

I write to you to enquire about your apparent new selling tactics. I must question the effectiveness of these tactics as I suspect they may be letting you down somewhat and lets face it, in these times of severe economic straits, you probably need all the trade you can muster.

These new tactics seem to consist of the usual tele sales pitch, which I received at approximately 18:05 this evening, 25th June, [insert phone number] and went thus:

Me: Hello
Operative: V?
Me: Yes
Op: Hi, this is Sky. Do you have Sky?
Me: *hang up* (I do not believe in wasting time in sales pitches but tend to aim for a firm ‘no’ and hang up, it saves time all round and allows your operative to move on to their next unsuspecting victim)

Approximately 30 seconds later:
Me: Hello
Op: Silence
Me: (exasperated) hello….
Op: *hang up*

Approximately 30 seconds later:
Me: (mildly irritated) Hello
Op: V?
Me: Yes
Op: This is Sky. Do you have Sky?
Me: No and I don’t want it, which is why I hung up on you
Op: (in hushed and vitriolic tones) Shut up, just shut the fuck up, fuck off. Bitch.

Is it just me or is this now common selling practice? And are you going to deal with it? Because had one of my 3 young teenage daughters taken this call, they being well versed in the ‘no thank you’ approach, this complaint would be quite different.

I would demand, not ask politely, that you remove my name, number and all my details from your database forthwith and do not contact me again.

Yours sincerely and intensely irritated

She created the world apparently.

Then she filled it full of beasties and bugs. This in itself isn't my issue with the Big Yin, I just wonder what sort of sicko would create the midge.

And why....I mean really, why....despite garlic being a natural deterent and my best friend that has been used in abundance this month....why would the utter bitch make me a midge magnet?

Me personally and only me!

(Lets just ignore past indiscretions, shall we?)

I'm going go Catholic to spite the cow. Forgiveness my arse!

You would think that when given a second chance and the offer of conciliatory talk, someone who wasn’t taking the piss would take up the offer.

Apparently not.

It is not me who is the fool, though I have been taken for one.

My hands are clean.

Music has always been a presiding influence in my life. I was raised without a television and continue to loathe the intrusion in my own family home. The day my last fledgling wonder leaves the nest will be the day that my television meets the Choir Eternal by means of a very large branch, Mr Fawlty style.

Music however is a life blood. I embrace the new, seek it out in fact. I love the old. I link times of my life to specific songs…lyrics…riffs. Pink Floyd’s ‘Wall’ phase was one of the happier times of my life, spent in a field in deepest Wales and free to explore. Ian Dury and his band of Blockheads accompanied me on many a 2-stroke fuelled biking adventure and was all encompassing at the TT. I distinctly remember listening to Atomic, in a sidecar, at the side of the road, en route to some field in Yorkshire, with my father drinking rum and smoking weed, thinking that this was possibly the only decent song Blondie had ever produced.

Lyrics draw me in though. With my love of words they would always be my failing. I hear them and am drawn back to times past. I associate them to things present. I wonder if they could be – or could have been - my future.

I have my favourites of course. Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Throwing Muses, Lamb & Lou Rhodes, Dylan, Van the Man (I melt frequently), a little bit of Jethro Tull is my dirty secret and classical never ceases to enthral me – except Vivaldi, he lacks in passion. An outright favourite however is Natalie Merchant and I have once again hit a ‘Nat’ phase. Now though her words provide strength where they have previously questioned.

This is undoubtedly because of my frame of mind. I have made changes, taken steps and am moving on. EW has, surreally, become a permanent fixture and one I grow increasingly close to. My children have met and adore him, they are happy for us – nothing else matters. He is good for me and I for him. I feel calm for the first time in as long as I can remember – I am no longer scared of the ‘maybes’ but willing to see where they take me. Fear will always be there, it is my nature to doubt even the closest of people, a childhood with my mother imposed that caution on me but my mind is open again.

And I feel the music throughout. Two songs stayed with me over the past year or so, both associated with Red – the first epitomised our friendship. Our willingness to give comfort and support. The second was how I felt toward the end and why I was so uncontrollably erratic in my thoughts, feelings and behaviour. They taunted and comforted in equal measure but tonight, with one of my favourite artists, I feel completely at ease.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYDClhBRfwQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBR91CoXK8Y&NR=1

This however is just beautiful:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4pE9-_gL88&feature=related

I sing. I do it loud and with conviction. Too long has my voice been silent.

Can it?

Can trust be rebuilt? Not the trust of a cheating spouse or that of an errant child but the trust that is built over time, that which is developed and nurtured, tended with care and compassion, cultivated and loved until it comes to its pinnacle - the comfort zone of free speech and honesty.

I thought I had that. It was so very cruelly taken from me in the simple act of a pair of arms around the body of another - The Squaw. She who betrayed me so indifferently - and by the will of the latest male in her world. She who has laid my world bare to all who know us…..I only thank my good sense that I did not tell her the truth about Red and I. The horror that goes with that (for him more than I) is unthinkable.

I want so much to move beyond that image. That memory of gut wrenching, all encompassing, heart breaking devastation that was presented to me at time when I probably needed it least. How do I do that? Is it possible? Can I let that image - and all that it implies - out of sight or will I be forever aware of its shadow?

I sit here on a Saturday evening awaiting a visit from the police. My 15 year old son will arrive at the same time, no doubt looking extremely sheepish and more than a little worried. He has every right to be worried since the ear bashing (verbal not literal) that he will receive on the departure of said policeman will be monumental enough to reach Richter 5.

At approximately 7:30pm this evening I received a telephone call from our local beat ’bobbie’. I’ve had dealings with him recently after my son was assaulted by a drunk 20 year old during school hours. He’s a sensible type who knows the local lads well enough and keeps a check on the ones he feels are vulnerable or just plain silly - which is why I got the call, the policeman was surprised that my son was caught out as he feels he’s ‘a good lad’. He had been caught, along with 2 of his mates, drinking in the high street of the local village. The alcohol had been disposed of and the bottles binned before a brief talking to was given and a light search of the boy’s bags. In these bags the police man found 9 bottles of Blue Wkd and a half bottle of vodka.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not opposed to my 15 year old son getting together with his mates and having a couple - a couple !! - of drinks. I believe that teaching children self restraint and sensible habits is how they learn and to be perfectly honest, knowing what I ingested at the age of 15, I think a very occasional and light drink with his mates is quite acceptable. We have always been honest about it in my house and my children have always done me proud. Nine bottles of alcopop and a half bottle of spirits however….whole different game.

Anyway, I digress…

Obviously this alcohol was confiscated and taken back to the station at which point all parents were contacted. I immediately called my son and instructed him in no uncertain terms to get himself home - not because of the drinking per se, but the drinking on a street corner like some sort of chav and the fact that they were apparently heading for a camping party 3 miles away, by the river - a fact I was wholly unaware of, being under the impression that he was staying at his mate’s house for the night.

An hour later and I still had a significant lack of child at my house. Just as I was attempting to contact him again I received another call - my son this time. He informed me that he would be home at about 10pm because he was currently two villages away in a police car. And this is where the story becomes ridiculous.

It turns out that the mother of the mate with whom he was staying tonight was the stupid cow who bought that extraordinary amount of alcohol for three boys. She did this at the shop that she works at (our local Spar) and did so within working hours. She was caught on their CCTV cameras doing this and subsequently walking out of the store to hand the alcohol over to three 15 year old boys. She returned to her work and left them to their partying. When asked later by the police where they got the alcohol the boys told him that the mother had bought it. CCTV was checked and she was spoken to about this.

She denied everything and accused the boys of stealing the alcohol from her pantry. Apparently she had asked the boys to lie for her and they felt, since they had asked her to buy the alcohol for them, that they were responsible for her getting into trouble.

A woman - albeit one I have always considered a little deficient in the intelligence stakes - in her 40’s and with a child of her own is willing to lie to the police, despite CCTV images, and accuse three 15 year old boys of stealing alcohol from her home. I not only trusted this woman with my son for the evening - being fully aware that they may have a couple of drinks - I was told that he would be staying at her home for the night playing video games and being boys.

What sort of person would show such scant disregard for the safety of not only her own child but those of others? And what in the world was she thinking of handing over that amount of alcohol to boys of that age? I am truly at a loss to understand that behaviour, let alone the subsequent lies!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zi_0k3hzNS4

"Jus a l'il Mississppi Disco"

I am mostly very tired. Mentally, emotionally, physically - just tired though, not exhausted, which is good.

Some tears were shed early this morning. Still not sure whether in disbelief, anger or upset. Probably all.

Big Bro was thinking again - probably a bit too hard - and worrying a little I suspect (my friend D, closer to me than my real brother and many others).

Was a lovely day spent looking at houses with Eco Warrior, as an extra pair of eyes only, before you get any ideas!

Lunch and gossip was had in a relaxed style and as ever it flowed seamlessly.

Delightfully luxurious hugs were shared.

He will visit my home, my bed, my every sense in the morning.

We will run - 6 for me, 2 and bike support for him.

Elsewhere, I make myself invisible until I can fade quietly away.

All debts are paid.

Always good, never to be ignored. Music is a constant, life affirming, exhilarating experience - especially when it is good music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=za48fgTR5zg

Very Sigur Ros but very lovely and they are touring! I feel a visit to Oran Mor coming on...

http://www.myspace.com/weareanimalkingdom

Gentle strokes, instinctual yet defined
A sense of calm reassurance.
Touches that I have never known
Gentle, respectful, tender caresses.

His lips on my skin, arms wrapped
My leg resting on his hip, fingers enjoying skin.
He kisses
Forehead, cheek, mouth, neck.

And I relax into him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLlYQQrHmh8

Disappointment in the behaviour of another once again pervades my mood. Communication was promised and once again not provided. I don't know why I let these things upset me but unfortunately I have not developed the skill of letting it wash over me.

I don't know why I'm surprised given my past mistakes. I clearly have a penchant for trusting the wrong people and believing too readily that human beings are honest, mature and trustworthy by default.

I need to toughen up, stop allowing these people in, stop trusting and learn once and for all that I'm better off alone.

She is the core of me. She is the residual pain. She is past, present and future.

She is my mother - so insidious in her hatred of this female being who took her husband’s devotion. The Catholic lamb who was so scared of the questioning child. The vicious drunk. The wanton whore. The mother who chose the comfort of faux middle class leaded windows over her children. The martyr.

She is my father - the child. The abandoner. The man of no remorse and no responsibility. The one who believes that he is all important and who cuts contact when told to grow up. The clown who never leaves the big top.

She is my husband - the one who loved me. The one who adored me. The one who was needy and jealous and clingy. The one who would not let me out alone. The one who would not go out because ‘you can do it better for less at home’. The one who’s control was all encompassing. The one who owned me in such violent, emotional, physical, psychological…brutal terms.

She is Red - who simply owned my soul and who took it so callously. Apparently without acceptance of the damage done.

She is the Squaw - 13 years wasted on a cold wasteland but - strangely - not a loss.

She is the legion of regret I have acquired through bad judgement.

She is the disappointed, the disparaging, the unforgiving, the judgmental. She is every ex boyfriend who couldn’t get what he wanted and branded me frigid. She is the condescending aunt who always commented on how the non eating teen was getting fat. She is the grandmother that I failed by not being more. She is the teacher who told me I would be nothing. She is the dark shadow that lives in my psyche, willing the demons to the feast of impending failure. She is the ID that claws at my soul.

She is the failure of a mother
She is a clown
She is a bullying coward
She is empty and shallow
She is disappointing
She shouts her abuse
It bounces from the wall I have built

She is losing. For now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzjmx63TqiU&feature=related

Neurotic me came out yesterday. She was lured out by the actions of another and I knew her so well. Like the draw of nails on skin or the sharp cut from years gone by, She tugged at the strings of me that break so easily, those that remind me of my worthlessness and stupidity.

She whispered in her foul hushed tones of the mistakes I have made and She questioned my decisions. She told me not to trust again, not to allow others in but to embrace the solitude and enjoy the contempt it brings. She wanted me to build the wall ever higher, making me impervious to those who would attempt to get beyond its protection. She reminded me of past experiences and dug herself ever deeper into my psyche. She knows how fragile it can be. She told me quietly…furtively… that another mistake had been made and that I deserved it. She reminded me of what a fool I am.

She who would inhabit me so maliciously.
She who pours contempt over my every thought.
She who fills me with doubt.
She who reminds me of how worthless and feeble I am.
She who would hide my despicable self away from anyone who offers themselves as friend.
She who rejects love in the name of protection.
She who reminds me just how ludicrous and gullible I am.

One day she may win. Not this time though.

The actions of another were allowed to affect me, as I allow them to so very easily. I will however fight quietly to regain me. She will not gain control, I will not allow it.

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

Sia, Breathe Me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wPo993nWGw

Why is it that whenever I start to get my life back on track, the moment I begin to believe in myself, at the first hint of normality and happiness, someone comes in from the side lines to take it out from under me.

Why?

Yet another trusted person, yet another hurtful and cowardly disappointment.

In other news, Eco Warrior gave me the sad news this evening that his marriage is over. Not unexpected but dreadfully sad all the same. I will of course support him as best I can but tough times lie ahead for him and his children. A right decision for all involved, not easy though. I feel his pain so very deeply.

One day I will have a lovely, happy, exuberant, friendly 'normal' weekend.

One day it will not be spoiled by those who would lie, abuse and sully a truthful and honest compassion.

One day I will learn, what a fool I am. .

One day soon I hope.