Let the train take the strain - I don't think so!

One dark and cold March night, well last Friday to be exact, my youngest son and his mate were standing on a desolate station in Shropshire.

                Here at home in sleepy Clunbury, the phone rang.

                ‘Hello.’

                ‘Mum,’ I recognised the voice instantly it was no 3 son, not exactly hard to deduce as no 1 and 2 were home.

                ‘Yes son.’

                ‘What time’s the train?’

                I looked at the clock on my computer, it read 19.20. ‘It will be there in a minute, well actually two, the train is due in at 19.22.’ My voice sounded confident. I had faith in National Rail, a faith borne out by someone who hasn’t used a train in years. ‘You’ll soon be back,’ I said reassuringly. ‘Talk to you soon.’

                I put the phone down. Soon they would no longer be standing on the cold platform but would be warm in the plush carriage provided by Arriva Trains Wales.

                I made a coffee. Images of a hostess trolley pushed by a kindly member of staff flashed before my eyes, ladling out national rail coffee and sandwiches complete with a national rail smile and I was content.

                In the meantime on the cold, desolate station in Shropshire 19.22 arrived heralded with a passenger train hurtling through the station at something akin to the speed of sound. My son, well lubricated by Carling’s finest, giggled ‘were we supposed to get on that?’ He asked his friend. But as the train hurtled into the darkness the answer was obvious. It was not stopping and the lack of reversing lights proved the driver was intent on continuing his journey, regardless of what any timetable said.

                Oblivious to all of this, I settled down to watch Corrie. Relieved that my son was catching a train and not a tram that would venture over the end of Coronation Street, although the slight slurring in his voice did make me think he could well have ventured into the Rovers Return.

                The adverts heralded a break from the doom and gloom of soap land just as the phone rang.

                ‘Hello.’ I said.

                ‘Mum,’ again I knew it was no 3 son seeing as no 1 and 2 hadn’t moved since the last phone call.

                ‘Yes son?’

                ‘Mum the train hasn’t arrived.’

                All the images of hostess trolleys and kindly National Rail staff faded.

                ‘’Oh!’ I said in my best concerned motherly voice.

                ‘What time did you say it was due?’

                ’19.22 but it’s now 19.45.’

                ‘Oh right,’ he said in his best bravado voice, which wasn’t nearly as convincing as my motherly tones.

                ‘I tell you what, I’ll ring National Rail and find out what’s going on.’

                He seem happy at this but I recognised that he’d inherited my naïve belief in National Rail. He voice conveyed his belief that a phone call would sort it out.

                ‘I’ll call you back darling.’

                ‘Thank you.’ The line went silent now it all rested on my shoulders.

                I dialled the number and waited. Finally a voice answered.

                ‘Good evening,’ I said. ‘I’m enquiring as to what has happened to the 19.22 service from Albrighton, Shropshire to Shrewsbury.’

                ‘Brighton!’ A harsh male voice shrilled back at me.

                ‘No!’ Instantly the confrontational little sod that lives deep within me sprung to life. ‘Albrighton. That is A L B R I G H T O N and just for good measure I reiterated Shropshire.’

                ‘And where do you want to go to Madam?’ Now one thing this confrontational little sod that lives within me hates, is being called Madam but somehow I managed to suppress its urges to yell and scream.

                ‘Shrewsbury. That is S H R E W S B U R Y again I added Shropshire, I didn’t want the guy on the other end to suddenly have to worry about cross channel ferries.

                ‘Ah the next train for Albrighton to Shrewsbury is the 20.40 which is currently running on time.’

                ‘I know what time the next train is but what I want to know is what happened to the 19.22?’

                ‘I will have a look for you Madam.’

                ‘Down confrontational little sod,’ I muttered under my breath, desperately hoping the guy on the other end didn’t hear me.

                ‘The 19.22 from Albrighton to Shrewsbury is running two minutes late.’

                Confrontational little sod is now howling with laughter as his mate hackles begins to rise.

                ‘Well it is now 19.48 and the 19.22 is running considerably later that two minutes because my son is still standing on the station waiting for the train and he was there before the train was due.’

                ‘No madam the train is just two minutes late.’

                By now confrontational little sod and his mate hackles were having a party. I could hear amongst all their jollies they chorused together ‘go for it girl.’

                I could resist their calls no longer. ‘Forgive me for asking but can you tell me where you are based?’

                ‘I’m sorry Madam?’

                Now confrontational little sod and his mate Hackles had brought in a brass band.

                ‘Which part of the world are you in? My question was asked slowly and very deliberately something that Mr, I know what time the trains are running failed to pick up on.

                ‘Oh I am in India.’

                ‘Well how the hell do you know what is happening to trains in a sleepy part of England?’

                Obviously he’d been asked this before because without even thinking about it he came straight back at me. ‘Oh all the information about trains are fed through to us. We know what is happening.’

                Well the information you have is bloody wrong. The train is not two minutes late, it is now nearly 30 minutes late.’

                ‘Oh no Madam, you are wrong.’

                All attempts at suppressing confrontational little sod and hackles had gone out of the window by this point.

                ‘My son is waiting on that bloody station and the train has not arrived. You can not tell me that the train is two minutes late from India when he is there. The information you have is incorrect, you are being fed a load of bollocks by incompetent idiots. The train has not arrived and I’m not going to waste my time trying to relay the facts to you as witnessed by someone who is actually present.’

                ‘Very good Madam, is there anything else I can help you with.’

                I put the phone down in total disgust and rang no 3. I told him what I’d been told and then said the time of the next train – which unlike the one before did actually turn up but not before he’d had a hour and twenty minutes wait on a cold, dark, desolate station in March.

                And they want us to use public transport – huh!

Scared

I've just had the fright of my life. I went to Craven Arms (den of iniquity, even Job moved out) to pick Robin up and then driving back home, along a quiet country road, a car came up behind me with headlights on full, overtook and pulled in straight in front. I jammed on my brakes and how the hell I kept the car on the road I don't know. Good news is, I did and I also got the registration number of the car that did it.

I've reported it to the police but I don't hold out much hope. It's scary though when the unpredictable happens and you have to fight for control of the situation. Thank God for ABS because I could have ended up in the hedge plus....

That's what happened with my story yesterday. I didn't intend to write it when I sat down at my computer. In  fact it's a story that I thought I could never write. But, from somewhere came the word 'obsession' and the story tumbled out. It wasn't brave or courageous of me to write it, I had no choice, it wrote itself.

I'm glad it did and I'm glad I posted it unedited because reading it again today I would have changed bits of it that revealed so much about how I feel. But that wouldn't have been honest and although what I wrote scared me it was the truth.

As I've said before, it's been a rough ride over the past few years and it's taken its toll. I start counselling on April 1st, yeah all fool's day, but I'm looking forward to it. I know there is so much stuff in my head that needs sorting and to be given the chance to do that is fantastic. It's going to be hard, I know that talking it through, sorting it all out, I hope will give me my life back.

And you know something else - I don't hurt so much either, in fact I feel so much better and even the pain isn't so intense.

Oh and the weather, isn't it gorgeous! And you know the best time to see the daffodils, is in the half light as night begins to fall. They shine like beacons, promises of summer and good times.

Unanswered Questions

I admit it. I’m obsessed with you. I want to know everything you do. I want to know everywhere you go. I need to know everyone you see.  I watch you from a distance, even though you don’t see me, I am there watching you, waiting and when you least expect it I will appear and then you will know exactly how I feel.

                Lifetimes ago, I thought we were happy. I was. Do you remember when the children were small? The holidays, the fun, the laughter, the caring, sharing times we had.

                You were perfect, as perfect as I could ever hope for but it was all a lie, pretence, false, fake because unknown to me, you had an ulterior motive. We’re you aware of it? Was it a conscious decision to change or was it, is it part of your make up? I’d love to know, maybe then I could understand, just a little. Who am I kidding? I will never understand. No, I can never understand the depravity of your sick mind.

                Looking back I know now when it changed. It changed when my two eldest boys started to grow up. The older they got the worse the beating were. At first it was a slap, then it went to slaps around the head, then your fists were pummelled into them. But you were clever, you hid a lot from me and you told them not to say anything. They didn’t because although you weren’t their biological father you were their Dad and they loved you.

                You’d take their belongings and hide them and when they took them back, you’d beat them again and again. You’d ridicule and mock them and tried to take every bit of self confidence they had, fortunately you didn’t manage that, not quite but recovery for them has been long and slow.

                And all the time I asked myself why?

                I thought you were jealous of their youth but that didn’t make sense. You hated them and took every opportunity to let them know, without actually saying it.

                In the meantime you showered my youngest with love, gifts and your time. I remember the Christmas you wouldn’t take me out. I couldn’t go out on my own because of the cursed wheelchair and you did the Christmas shopping. It was pathetic what you bought for the eldest two and yet the youngest, he had it all. Your excuse, they’re not children any longer.

                Should I have known then?

                I didn’t understand.

                I understood even less when you changed towards the little one. The change was gradual, you’d play good guy, bad guy until none of us knew what was going on, we were scared of your mood changes and my little one remained silent.

                He was ten years old when you slapped him around the head, causing him to cry and when he cried, you punched him the stomach. For God’s sake, he was a child and you a grown man. Yet you felt no remorse, you hated him too.

                Why, why, why? I asked myself. I asked you too. You blamed him, you said he was naughty. He deserved it. He made you do it.

                How can a child make you hit them, I asked? But you never replied because to me there wasn’t a reason and I said so. You retaliated by giving me the silent treatment and punishing the boys even more.

                Then you decided to get rid of them. On the first of January you wrote my eldest son and eviction notice ordering him to get out of the house. He didn’t. I stopped it and your response was to make life even more unbearable for him, for all of us. He moved out a few months later, happy to go but frightened to leave us with you.

                Unsurprisingly you turned your attention to my second son. There was no letter this time, you told him to his face and he too had no choice but to go. Again, scared for his mother and little brother’s safety. I tried to reassure them both that we’d be all right but how could they believe me when I didn’t quite believe it myself.

                Foolishly I thought that was it. But no, my youngest, my little boy had to go too. Eleven years old and he was packed off to boarding school. I didn’t want him to go but he did. At the time it hurt but now I know why.

                I remember watching him as we dropped him off, running free towards his boarding house. Running free was what went through my mind as the tears brimmed at my eyes threatening to tumble down my cheeks but I knew they couldn’t, he would never have stood for that.

                The silence was unbearable. I longed for a Friday when my little one came home. I’d pick him on a Friday afternoon, rush home and we’d watch The Simpsons together, his head tucked under my arm and I’d kiss and hug him, constantly whispering I love you.

                But you hated that, you hated that time we had together. You’d yell at him to get changed, to put his bags upstairs, to sort his laundry out anything but to have a cuddle with his Mum. I thought you were jealous, were you? If so why? God how stupid was I?

                I hated Sunday evenings when he had to go back. I hoped he’d turn around and say he didn’t want to go but he never did. He was happy to go back to school, eventually he told me why. He wanted to get away from you.

                At the time, I thought understood why but I didn’t.

                I’d also spend time with my two eldest sons. I missed the sound of their voices, their laughter, their presence. I wanted them to come back too but they were so much happier than they’d been at home and who was I to take that away from them?

                They did visit but when they came, there was little laughter. You didn’t want them there and if they stayed for a meal, you stab them with your fork, if you cut the meat up you’d give them the fat and the gristle and then tell them to piss off. They’d go but not before giving me a hug and telling me they loved me and to be careful.

                But our time was running out although you, in your arrogance didn’t realise it.

                It took one too many clenched fists against my little one’s face on evening and I called the police. Oh and how you ran. You didn’t appear until the next day and when you came back you were full of bravado. I’m going to, you shouted and then the lies started. You’d never done that, I was lying, the boys were lying, you were a good, honest, upright citizen and we were making it all up.

                Your lies scared me. How competent you were at it and yet all the things you claimed not to have done, we bore the scars, some physical the rest leaving indelible marks on our minds, our pasts and who we are now.

                The beatings stopped but the mind games reached a new intensity. You weren’t content with driving my children away, you now wanted rid of us. We lived in constant fear until eventually it could go on no longer, both the police, my solicitor and friends were begging us to go for our own safety and we went.

                Do you know but in a very silly way I tried to kill you or rather as a result of my actions I hoped you’d die but you didn’t. However, it did make people laugh and yes the police knew what I was doing. Every night before I went to bed, I’d clean the toilet with your toothbrush, sometimes I’d use bleach and then I’d put it back but you probably never used that toothbrush when you deigned to spend the night in the house you claimed to the courts you had live at when in reality that again was part of your sick, pathetic games.

                In fact that was last thing I did before I closed the door on our home for fourteen years, your toothbrush went round the toilet bowl for the last time and then we vanished.

                Oh God, it was funny how you tried to find us. You did ask but I wouldn’t tell you. You even asked others but they wouldn’t say either. You found out we were living in Mid Wales but that was as far as it got. We finally had peace, or so I thought and my sons were back home.

                Four years past and then you reappeared, not as a threatening monster, which at first I thought, but as a rat trying to slink in the back door. You were a coward, you didn’t even put your name to the magazine subscription you sent but we all knew it from you. Why was what we didn’t understand, at least not all of us.

                I reported it the police who as usual, couldn’t do anything unless you did it again              but then, three months later all the unanswered questions of many years were answered.

                It was fairly typical, quiet Sunday evening shattered by two of sons squaring up to each other, tears running down their faces yelling, ‘fucking tell her.’

                ‘Tell me what?’ Three simple words that changed everything for ever.

                I watched as tall, beautiful youngest son, no longer a child but a man, crumpled before me and cried ‘he abused me Mum, he sexually abused me.’

                I wish you’d been there because I would have killed you. I still want to kill you. He was nine years old when you ruthlessly took his childhood with your own bare hands to satisfy your own perverse cravings. He was little more than a baby when you touched him and forced him to touch you, when you forced him to know things which at the time he didn’t need to know.

                When you killed the little boy in him!

                You may have thought you got away with it. Insufficient evidence the Crown Prosecution Service said as they let another paedophile go free.

                But you haven’t and you never will because as long as I hate myself for not protecting him, I shall hate you and I can never forgive myself. Payback day will come, as I said, I admit it. I’m obsessed by you and I’m watching you and God help you if I hear you’ve touched another child.

                Then I will kill you.

               

                

Catch up and it's only lunchtime

Where have I been? Not hiding but reading and sleeping, well at night anyway. I've rediscovered the joys of a comfy bed and a good book, or not as the case is at the moment.

I'm trying to read something different from what I normally read. I finished Lynda La Plante's Silent Scream which I thoroughly enjoyed, except for all the names beginning with A that I've moaned about before. It was an easy read and had a satisfactory conclusion but I did feel a bit that she waffled on at the end - but hey that's only what I think.

At the moment I'm trying to read Harlan Coben's Hold Tight and it's a struggle. He's a best selling American author who doesn't write in English, well not the English I speak anyway and he also jumps about too much. I'll persevere for a bit longer but it does look like one of those books I won't finish - life's too short.

Right now what I've been upto. Thursday night was Ludlow Writers. Loosely described as a writers' group (lol) we rock the foundations of Ludlow library with laughter but we also do write, well some of the time anyway. The homework for the last week was a 'restaurant review'. It was lovely, within the space of a hour and a half we literally travelled the world. Helen took us to China, Sally to France, Ann stayed at home, Simon took us up a mountain and me, well I made up a place but it was fun.

Saturday was Wrekin Writers and a fantastic workshop led by Julie Phillips she took us back to our childhood by providing us with games and activities and allowed us to play for half a hour. Memories of Di Perry, Bryan and Joel playing 'twister' will stay with me for a long time. The purpose for the workshop though was to use your senses, to reconnect with childhood memories (well that's what I did) and to use different experiences for inspiration. Julie was absolutely brilliant, I haven't laughed so much in ages.

Following the workshop Simon Whaley, Mike White, his wife Susan and me all went for lunch in Ironbridge. I missed last month's meeting so it was good to catch up with friends again and to have lunch out. Got home finally and was shattered, so spent a quiet Sunday, if by quiet with Chris and his sax.

And today, the weather is absolutely glorious. Warm and sunny, even this morning when I went to the car the sun was shining - bless it. Hmmmm, it reflected my face in the window of my car and somehow managed to highlight every grey hair I have -  a gentle reminder that though spring is here I ain't no chicken.

Do you remember the snow and the cold before Christmas?

I do. There was one morning I took the lads to work and the outside temperature gauge in the car didn't read above -15. That is cold but it was beautiful morning, clear, crisp and when I got home, the house was warm and I switched the kettle on and it worked. A hot cup of coffee soon wiped away the bitter winter chill.

But did you see the snow today? No not here but in Japan. Those people picking through the remains of their homes, while the snow fell. There was little shelter for them. They couldn't close the door, put the kettle on and feel the warmth of a hot drink.

I know what's happened has been wall to wall news since Friday but it seems each day it is getting worse for some many and it's not just today and tomorrow they're affected but for months and years to come. I know how desperate I felt when we lost our home in the floods of 2007 but that was nothing, nothing to what these people are going through and yet they remain dignified, respectful and so gracious - they're helping each other out on a scale we can't imagine.

Tonight I caught the tail end of a piece from Japan which showed a young father with his children living in a car garage, the kids all wrapped up and there was a photograph of Mummy, who they haven't seen since Friday. They are still looking for her - I really hope they do find her alive but as time goes on the chances of that happenning are lessening by the the hour but the kids still believed she would come back to them. One snapshot of one family of the thousands that have been affected.

Yes muddled post tonight but what I'm trying to say is 'count your blessings' but also 'there but for the grace of God.'

Tonight my thoughts and prayers are with those who are suffering - I hope in time they find peace.

Woo-hoo or how a wee can help

For the first time in I don't know how long I've written a story! That's the woo-hoo bit. I woke up this morning with an idea on the topic for Ludlow Writers on Thursday, half wrote it, wasn't happy about it but plowed on and then....

This is the bit where a wee helped. Mother nature called so while answering her call and churning the story around in my head, I suddenly realised where I was going wrong. I was writing the story back to front. What I was doing, was starting it at the beginning, whereas the story actually starts at the end and sort of ends at the beginning.

I know that probably doesn't make much sense but it was a different way of looking at things which made the impact (well I think it does) that I wanted to make.

So a tip - look at things differently and ask yourself, will it work better that way? And if inspiration is found in the smallest room, go for it, or something like that.

I didn't post last night because I went to bed with my book, which incidentally is getting very close to the end and I am thoroughly enjoying it (more about that when I've finished it). But yesterday I had a very strange experience - aren't I the lucky one?

Tuffins in Craven Arms (my local supermarket) is little more than a shack with no air, no window and full of bright, un natural light. However, it does come in useful and yesterday was no exception. I only wanted some crisps. So there was I standing there contemplating whether or not I was going to pay their ridiculous prices when all of a sudden the lights went out and I was plunged into darkness. There was nothing, no light, no sound and for two seconds it was perfectly still. There wasn't even time to panic before the lights came back on again but the funny thing was, everything instantly returned to normal. The gentle sound of people talking, the bright lights it was as if nothing had happened. I didn't even hear anyone mention it. I did ask the woman on the tills if it had affected the tills but no it hadn't and I think the only reason I asked was just to confirm that yes it did actually happen.

Very, very weird.

Oh and the latest on the Saab liveth - it doesn't. Head Gasket gone, so it's going to the big open roads in the sky. Anyone want a Saab turbo, engine, gearbox etc....

Loneliness

Depression is isolating, seemingly self imposed but it stops you reaching out but in time it becomes your own little cocoon, you're safe in your isolation but it's so destructive. It takes the energy out you, it sucks life away until you become almost nothing. You don't care, what is the point because because no matter how try, others' laughter can only makes your misery even worse.

Yes you smile but that smile never reaches your eyes. You laugh but to your own ears the laughter is hollow. You do go out, you socialise and then run for home, back to your safety.

You don't live. You exist.

And you know even writing this I'm hiding. Why? Because it's written in the third person. I'm cheating what I should have done is every you, your should read I feel.....

But this afternoon I read an blog post by Sally Zigmond which made me feel not alone. I'm not the only one who feels the way I feel. And to Sally, thank you.

Jeremy Clarkson has moved out

Oh you can never understand how happy I am that Jeremy Clarkson has moved out from his abode behind the fireplace. Okay I'll explain, I haven't totally lost it but having 'petrol heads' in the family and Dave as one of our Sky options Mr Clarkson rapidly became a permanent resident. In from work 'Top Gear' nothing to do 'Top Gear, morning noon and night 'Top Gear'. And why was he living behind the fireplace, telly is on the wall above the fire. Got it now?

But I changed the Sky package and oh bliss, well at least once they got over the moaning stage. Tonight, according to my sons, there was nothing on the bloody telly so one went out and the other two went to their rooms leaving me, yes me with the remote and what a lovely evening I've had.

Melvyn Bragg what a man, what a broadcaster! I love the way he has of putting things over in a simple but exciting manner. How the Bible has influenced modern language. How it brought people together or in cases tore them apart. His love and understanding of the English language thrills me.

Then I had Dylan Thomas, a genius but what a troubled soul he was. Yes it was a bit sensationalism (I think) with his anything in a skirt was fair game and not a lot of his poetry but it was interesting to watch.

And then I had the Tudors, well okay it was in many ways pretty naff and very much an 'up to date' version but I enjoyed it.

So Mr Clarkson, farewell, au revoir and adieu - I really don't miss you.

Tonight

My family is safe and for that I thank God.

The Book of Common Prayer says 'in the midst of life we are in death' and following the terrible events in Japan so many have found that to be true. Hold your loved ones close and never take anyone you care for, for granted.


This poem was sent to me by someone who I love and care for very much following the dreadful events of 9/11

Read it and remember it words.

IF I KNEW
If I knew it would be the last time
That I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly
and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.


If I knew it would be the last time
that I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss
and call you back for one more.


If I knew it would be the last time
I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would video tape each action and word,
so I could play them back day after day.


If I knew it would be the last time,
I could spare an extra minute
to stop and say "I love you,"
instead of assuming you would KNOW I do
.
If I knew it would be the last time
I would be there to share your day,
Well I'm sure you'll have so many more,
so I can let just this one slip away.


For surely there's always tomorrow
to make up for an oversight,
and we always get a second chance
to make everything just right.


There will always be another day
to say "I love you,"
And certainly there's another chance
to say our "Anything I can do?"


But just in case I might be wrong,
and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you
and I hope we never forget.


Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance
you get to hold your loved one tight.


So if you're waiting for tomorrow,
why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes,
you'll surely regret the day,

That you didn't take that extra time
for a smile, a hug, or a kiss
and you were too busy to grant someone,
what turned out to be their one last wish.


So hold your loved ones close today,
and whisper in their ear,
Tell them how much you love them
and that you'll always hold them dear


Take time to say "I'm sorry,"
"Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay."
And if tomorrow never comes,
you'll have no regrets about today.

Va Va Vroom

The Saab liveth again! It took guts, tenacity and a lot of bad language but Dan, with two days help from his friend Jason has replaced the engine in the car and today, with a mixture of fear and excitement and me hiding under the table almost, he turned the key and she fired up.

Bless him, he came running up the garden path shouting 'Mum, Mum, listen to that,' with a great big grin on his oil blackened face. Okay there's a few things left to do before he can actually drive it but it works! No longer will we be a one car family, which might sound pretentious but out here you really do need two cars when people always end up going in opposite directions but also the strain is taking off me to take everyone everywhere.

You know I'm so proud of him. Yes he's taken engines out before but mainly Landrovers which he tells me are easy to do and yes he's a mechanic but this was something else, however he gritted his teeth, went out and did it. Good on you son and his comment when he stopped grinning 'never again,' but he will..

Just for a laugh

My last school photograph which highly amuses Chris (no 1 son) so much so that he put it on his phone and showed the girls at work today. Most thought it was him, he too has long hair but one made a comment which I thought was quite odd but in some sense maybe not. What do you think?

The comment was 'as long as you're alive (Chris) your Mum will never be dead.' Yes I know what she meant it was just an interesting way of saying it.

And today I was reminded yet again how beautiful it is in this part of the world. I took Dan (no 2 son) through to Church Stretton and there is one bit on the A49 which is my favourite view of the Longmynd. Today it looked almost threatening with the dark shadows of the clouds resting on its sides and grey heavy sky behind it. It was a wonderful sight that changes every time I drive down there. I would photograph it but it's not the best place to stop and stand in the middle of the road. But yes I am lucky.

Right I'm not staying and chatting tonight, I'm going to go and try and sort out Amanda, Andrea (who now is in serious trouble) and poor Anna who still has a thing for her boss.

So I'll say Goodnight and hope you have an amazing day tomorrow.

Shrove Tuesday

Or bloody pancake day as I call it. I'm not a great fan of pancakes and have successfully managed to avoid it for the past couple of years but not this year. I did try I cooked dinner but no, the shouts for pancakes eventually got to me. So I dragged myself away from the sofa and went into the kitchen to make the batter.

But after that, it always goes wrong. I'm one of those people that when I was at school and we had to make a souffle I would've been better off making pancakes and if I had of done, I would have got top marks for my souffle.

I know what I do wrong, the pan isn't hot enough but I've got be careful because the kitchen gets smoked out and sets the smoke alarms off. So I have a not hot enough pan and then I ladle in the batter by the bucketful and watch in amazement at how something made from plain flour (not designed to rise) rises with such vigor. I daren't toss the damn thing just in case I miss and knock myself out, so using two hands with the fish slice I turn it over and marvel at how many pieces it can break into. After that it's a quick cook it on the other side and try and pretty it up on the plate, smother it in syrup, sugar and lemon juice and shout 'come and get it.' They must have been in a good mood tonight because I didn't get any complaints but was reminded that I had another 364 days to practice.

It does tickle me though that the whole idea of Shrove Tuesday is to clear the cupboard before the onset of Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. I had to go shopping for stuff for pancakes, seeing as baked beans, tomatoes and the stuff I had in the cupboard didn't go well with pancakes. I did have some plain flour. I've been known to make cakes when the sun and the moon are in the right position and there were no weavels in it and it was still in the sell by date. I had eggs, milk, sugar but had run out of lemon juice and had no syrup so off to Tuffins I went. Somehow it seemed to defeat the whole purpose of pancake day.

Today has been a funny day. I haven't been down or anything I just feel very tired, despite so much sleep recently it's ridiculous and a bit sort of lost. Sounds daft really but I can't describe it any other way. Perhaps it was something to do with yesterday when I was looking for something on my computer, which has just been 'fixed' and couldn't find it and then looking further a lot of my photographs were missing. I asked Dan where they were and it's okay, they're safe but they're on another hard drive that I couldn't access. I was relieved they were safe but I felt sad that I couldn't just look at them. But, bless them, they've sorted that for me tonight and we've all had a look at some of them and laughed. Although a lot of the past is very painful, it's still good to look at it and remember the good times, despite the recent contamination of it.

But today I also visited the past in another way - pancakes. When I had mine they tasted just like my Mum used to make when we were kids - gorgeous.

PS Just in case you are wondering, no the photograph is not of my pancakes - I nicked the piccy.

Did you get yours today?

Census form I mean. Mine came crashing through the door this morning and I'm sure it cracked the quarry tiles because of the weight of it. I opened, read through the questions, which took me some considerable time and wondered exactly how relevant the information they were asking for was to anyone.

Do I care for someone and if so how many hours a week? Is this so the government can tot up exactly how many millions they are saving with unpaid carers?

How would I describe my national identity? I had a Geordie mother, I have a Cockney father, I was born in Singapore, my brother was born in Wales, two of my lads were born in Shrewsbury and my youngest was born in Birmingham. Am I English, Welsh, Scottish, Northern Irish, British or other.... might have to think about that one.

And question 17 is brilliant. 'This question is intentionally left blank - Go to 18.' WHY? What happened to question 17 couldn't someone come up with anything for that and why question 17, why not 18 or 19 or leave out 20? Perhaps they're trying to catch us out.

34 asks what is(was) your full and specific job title? They give examples so you could write District Nurse (example given) and in 37, which asks 'at your workplace, what is (was) the main activity of your employer or business' you could reply computer sevicing (example given) and you probably wouldn't be far wrong.

And 41 is lovely, 'how do you usually travel to work?' Flying carpet isn't mentioned but just about everything else is, including 'on foot.'

By the time I've finished filling it out for four of us, I won't be able to hold a pen for a week.

What I do find interesting though is how things on the census have changed. As someone who finds their dead relatives a lot less hassle than their living ones, I've spent hours peering at census reports looking for my ancestors. In 1841 my ancestor Benjamin Horder didn't have a great big booklet with guidence notes come crashing through his door, instead someone who could read and write knocked at his door and asked him his name, his age (which incidentally is incorrect), his occupation and was he born in the county. The man then asked about his wife Sarah and finally his son John, then he probably bade him a good evening and moved onto the next house.

However by 1851 things moved on a bit and they wanted to know a little more but accuracy was obviously not an issue because according to the 1851 census my ancestor was called Benjamin Hardon. But they did want to know his name, his age, relationship to the head of the family, his condition (as to marriage), his occupation, where he was born and whether or not he was blind or deaf and dumb.

Was this the conception of 'big brother?'

Benjamin died in 1853 so he doesn't appear again but I looked at another ancestor, John Starling, from Worstead in Norfolk and found that the questions in the 1861 census were the same as the 1851 census but what is fascinating for me is it was John Starling (pictured left)  who actually did the knocking on the door and writing on the census forms.

1871 however, one question in particular has changed. Instead of asking whether or not people were blind or deaf and dumb they probe a little deeper and not only ask about blindness and deaf and dumb but they ask if the person is an imbecile or an idiot or whether or not they're a lunatic. Wouldn't that be interesting on today's census form?

By 1891 the powers that be wanted to know a little more. They wanted to know if the person was an employer, an employee or a person working on their own account as well as whether or not they were an idiot, imbecile or a lunatic.

And 1901 they wanted to know if you worked from and included in the list of disabilities 'feeble minded.' I wonder how many wives wished they'd answered the door that night. Again though accuracy was not an issue or the man taking the information was a little deaf. I looked at my great grandfather and found that his name was written down as James Masington Starling and not James Massingham Starling. It also made me smile because whoever took the census that night had an ink stamp with Newcastle upon Tyne on it which he used for everyone born in Newcastle but because James Starling was born in Norfolk, he had to hand write Norfolk.

The 1911 census many more questions were asked, particularly regarding the family. They wanted to know how long the current marriage had lasted. How many children had been born alive, how many children were still living and just to make sure the numbers added up the wanted to know how many children had died. Personally I think that is a very intrusive question and I'm grateful it's not on today's census.

However, there was another interesting addition which shows that world was beginning to shrink. Under birthplace they specifically ask whether or not the person was born in the United Kingdom, the British Empire, a foreign country or at sea. They also wanted to know whether or not they were a visitor or a resident and in the case of those born in a foreign country whether or not they were a British subject by parentage, a naturalised British subject and year of naturalisation or if a foreign subject what nationality they were.

But they didn't forget about the blind, deaf and dumb or the lunatics, imbeciles and feebleminded, they added 'at what age did they become afflicted?' But there was good news for the idiots - they no longer had to declare it.

All census records from 1841 to 1911 can be viewed on line. The law currently states that census records must be kept for a hundred years before they're released but with increasing pressure from genealogists that law may be changed. In America the law is different and there are more up to date records available, I wonder if in my lifetime I'll be able to read the 1971 census that my Mum completed all those years ago.

And remember when you fill yours in - your descendents will be able to find out a hell of a lot about you. Perhaps next time, we'll be asked to supply photographs, oh and our inside leg measurements.

Yes Mike, another red top day today

Well to be honest it was blue but it felt like a red top day and what a stunningly beautiful day - a real promise of spring. It can hard living out here in the valley, especially when there's thick snow on the ground and the temperatures plummet to minus, what feels like a hundred, million degrees but days like this are compensation for the cruelity of the winter, the sun has shone, the trees have reached for the skies to embrace its rays and the daffodils are one, maybe two steps nearer bursting into flower.

Okay Sue, never mind waxing lyrical how has it been? Seriously a good day and I didn't miss the morning either. Today has shown me that despite everything we do have friends. A few weeks ago Dan (no 2 son) bought a car off ebay. He went up to South Shields to pick up, drove it home and two a half miles from home the engine went pop or rather bang. He got another engine for it but today his mate, who lives in Bristol, left home at 7 to come and help him put it in. Okay, him and his girlfriend are staying tonight, so the car, hopefully can finished off tomorrow but Jason didn't have to do that, he came up to help because he wanted too and that's special, he came up because Dan's a mate. It's easy to take friends for granted but we should never underestimate their worth - they're there because of choice not duty.

And writing - well Lynda LaPlante! I know who the hell am I to criticise the great author but you know I have a serious issue with her in her book 'Silent Scream'. It's a novel right, and I like to read novels at night, you know the thing, kick the cat out, go to the loo, clean your teeth, get ready for bed, climb under the quilt and pick up your book for a good read before putting the light out. Basically what I'm saying is reading your book is what you do when you're absolutely knackered and you want a little light relief before the sandman comes.

Okay with Lynda you have a murder or two that's fine. I really don't mind beautiful young actresses meeting a grissly end before I sleep, it doesn't give me nightmares. But what does give me nightmares is the fact that in this book three of the female leading characters all have names beginning with A. You've got Amanda, aforementioned beautiful young actress who meets a grissly end but who's name obviously is mentioned throughout the book. Then you have Andrea who was her theatrical agent, again who's name keeps coming up but if that isn't confusing enough you have Anna Travis the detective working on the murder case.

Tired, exhausted the whole damn thing gets confusing. For God's sake hasn't Ms La Plante learned that there are other letters in the alphabet and thousands of other names that won't confuse the reader. How many times have, as writers, we've been told not to use the same initial for our characters? If Ms La Plante had chosen different names, beginning with different letters for her leading ladies, it would be that little easier to read when you're tired, exhausted or just plain bloody knackered instead of having to think who she's talking about. So hint - when plucking a name out of thin air, just give it a second thought, will it confuse my readers or failing that will it confuse Sue, because if it does - she'll moan about it on her blog.

Moan over. I'm going to hit the sack and wonder yet again, why the victim is investigating the case and why the theatrical agent is lying on the bed murdered and yet planning nasty things with the gorgeous Andrew Smith- Barker.

Red top day and the benefits of a good night's sleep

You can't beat it can you? A good night's sleep. Okay it was about two this morning I went to bed but I didn't have to get up to take the lads to work so that was fine. The alarm went off, despite the fact I'm sure I switched it off, so I did, then turned over, snuggled down and went out like a light. Finally I did wake up, went to the loo, fell down the stairs and managing to keep the momentum going switched the kettle on and then I turned and looked at the kitchen clock.

Oh my God! It was eleven thirty five! Immediately my body went into catatonic sleep mode as I collapsed at the kitchen table, my brain fought to bring me back to reality and when it had achieved that started laying all the guilt that it possibly could on me.

'How could you Sue?' Well it was quite easy really I just did.

'You should be ashamed of yourself,' I must admit for nearly a split second I agreed with it and then thought sod it, I needed the sleep, I didn't really have anything to get up for and besides the weather looked pretty crap outside, so bed was the best place.

But you know, I actually felt good this morning. I was well rested, I wasn't in that much pain and I could walk hence the red top day. I only wear red when I'm feel happy or when I need cheering up but today it was definitely a happy day.

Why am I writing about a happy day? Those of you who know me, know that over the past few years life has thrown rather a lot of nasty things at me (understatement) and it's worn me down and at times nearly destroyed mne. Fortunately I have friends that care and one dear friend took the time to sit down and talk with me. It was a painful conversation for me because I admitted exactly how I felt, I don't think it was easy for my friend either but the result was I went to see to see the doctor who wasn't surprised to see me but confirmed despression, gave me tablets and is arranging for me to have councelling. I need to get control of my life, my feelings and learn how to put the past behind me so I can look forward to the future, whatever that might be.

I also need to get back to my writing, hence this post and the ones that will follow. I'm going to be selfish and use this blog as my journal. I'm going to write all sorts of things, some good, some bad, probably most of them will be boring but it's my way of coping and sharing this journey that I'm beginning, the journey back to me.