Live or Let Die

I recently formed a very strong bond with a woman that I met for around 4 minutes in a lift at Kingston Hospital. I overheard her speaking about her Mother who no longer can swallow due to late stage dementia, therefore cannot eat or drink. This means you would of course die.  As with our family, this lady was given the option of a PEG tube which feeds you through a stomach.  Has medical science gone too far? Why would you keep somebody alive that cannot walk, has a heart condition and with dementia cannot do anything without the assistance of two people?  Long life is a benefit of the 21^st Century.  Soon we will all be expected to reach one hundred years.

I felt the pain that this woman is going through; saw the fear in her eyes. It’s a tough call to make. That is an understatement. It will be one of the most difficult decisions of your life. The jury is out. Live or die. Thankfully, my own mother has defied the doctors once more and miraculously has begun eating and drinking again and enjoying it too. I passed this information to my new best friend from the lift and hoped not to give her false hope. The nurses and staff looking after my Mum said she is endeared by her family; therefore not taking food for anybody in a uniform, but for us, she could eat a horse with a cherry on top.

Senior care post-millennium  has faced many people with a new dilemma. Back in the 20^th Century (boy, does that make me sound old?), you would have your kids in your 20s, they would grow up so by the time you were in your 40s, you could then stop looking after your own offspring  and start the “maternal” process again of looking after your parents. Why not? They looked after us when we were small, changed our nappies, wiped our noses, gave never ending love, kisses and cuddles. They led us during our teenage years, helped us make big decisions and regularly turned into the Bank of Mum and Dad. Only things are different now. Quite a few of us have kids in our late thirties and forties, meaning our own children are still small and need us when our parents’ health begins to decline.  At 47, I am in a full time job, doing the school run, helping with homework, maintaining a household and running a kids club in my own time. I now find myself also needing and wanting to give my heart and soul to my Mum and Dad who both need me, more than anything in the world. How can I desert them? Never in a million years. Instead I battle with keeping my life as normal as possible whilst doing daily hospital visits, spoon feeding my lovely mum, helping my dad with his stoma (if you don’t know what that is, look it up! It’s grim, but thank goodness for it as it saved my Dad’s life).

Can I scream yet? Can I wake up and have just been a bad dream? Maybe I need a stint at the Priory. I am not looking for sympathy. This is reality and it will happen to us all. I just feel eternally grateful   that I still have both of my parents. I know I am truly blessed.

One of the first things I learnt when I entered the world of Financial Services that Life is assured because death is definitely going to happen. There is no risk involved here, it is a fact.   We are all going to die. It’s just the prospect of losing my parents, even at the ripe old age of 47, is too painful to contemplate. 

Give Peace a Chance; what a horrible world

We are just across The Channel from our French Neighbours. A hop, skip and train ride away by Eurostar. Most of us have been to Paris, either just the once or over and over again. The atrocity of this weekend is absolutely appalling and has shocked and saddened all of us.

Once again, we are violated. Train journeys, bus rides, shopping trips make us nervous and on edge. The "bad guys" are winning. The threat of suicide bombers and armed extremists is real. Avoid crowds and places with limited escape routes, is what my friends in Paris were told on Friday night once the terror unfolded. This is outrageous. Why should we feel this petrified? Why should I feel scared beyond belief of my child singing in a shopping centre this Christmas? Why should the elderly be reminded of how horrible the world is at the night time of their lives, when they should be at peace? Mums and Dads should be secure in the safety of their children.

What is wrong with the world? I am not particularly religious, after all the bible is full of barbaric stories; kings killing babies, war, crucifixions, the devil - need I go on?  I am however, spiritual. I know for a fact that we should go through our lives loving, sharing, caring and being kind. These are the basic things that we teach our children to help them through their lives. Everyone in the world should respect all mankind, no matter what colour, race or religion. We all come from the same place. Killing innocent people is the lowest form.

Please somebody tell me where it all goes wrong?

RIP to all those who lost their lives. You and your friends and families are in my prayers.

What's this got to do with the menopause? Fuck all - I'm going shopping.

Let's go to The Hop....

It was the summer of 1984. A family tragedy meant that I was sad, confused and quite simply devastated. This blog is not going to be a sad one; I will address the very sad thing another time.  This one is going to be a happy one. My friend Mandy got me to persuade my Dad to let me go to the Walton Hop for the very first time. I am ashamed to say that I “milked” my sadness and got the pass I wanted. Wahoo!  The infamous Walton Hop where people traveled far and wide to be part of. A happy place for teenagers.  The entrance was £1.80 – they had a bar selling soft drinks, chocolate, crisps and cigarettes. 

I can still hear the music now to this very day. I loved the sound of the disco, Lost in Music by Sister Sledge, Trapped by Colonel Abraham – the list goes on, the lights are low, and everyone is dancing.  Guest DJs included people I had only seen on Top of the Pops. I was absolutely thrilled to be part of this.  The place was heaving with dodgy perms, a few mods and goths and generally ultra trendy people. I was in absolute awe. Yes, from the very first time I went, I was in love with the Walton Hop! The town was already famous for Sham 69, Hersham Boys and now The Hop Disco that had been running on a Saturday night since the late 1970s.

It did cheer me up and the very first time I went, I got asked to slow dance with a guy with a wedge (DA/Ducks Arse) Hair Cut – A La Andrew Ridgeley.  I don’t think we talked; we just swayed to the music and had a cheeky snog at the end. I think his name was Keith. I never saw him again even though I was then hooked on The Walton Hop and went every Saturday night for a year or so.

There was talk of fighting, but I rarely witnessed anything more than a scuffle in the car park. Various schools and districts would gang up on each other. Not like more recent times, no hoodies, no proper gangs from twee towns like Epsom.

Sometimes whilst waiting at the Bus Stop in Molesey, we would cadge a lift from total strangers; hormonal teenage boys in their Ford Capris.

If you did a mime to a song on the stage, you would get a free pass for the following week, so it was well worth the embarrassment – and brilliant fun! Going back stage and being even closer to the DJ was very exciting. I remember Jonathan King as we watched his TV show back home about travelling around the US. He barely took any notice of us girls, now we know why.  Am shocked and saddened by what he did to innocent young boys and my heart goes out to them and the suffering they have had to endure throughout their lives.  

The Hop finished at 11.30. I hated it that my Mum and Dad would pick me up at 10.30 or 11. GRRR. How annoying. If my Mum came with my Dad to pick me up, she would try and be nosy and I was absolutely mortified by this. I felt so embarrassed and would run as quickly as I could to them in the car park, before they had a chance to get out and witness anything they shouldn't have.  My daughter is embarrassed by me already and she is only 5!

Well the Walton Hop Reunion looms in March 2015. What shall I wear?  Shall I have a perm paired with a Madonna Lace Ribbon, a bright green top, bright blue skirt, matching socks and shiny brogue shoes?  I need to work on the jelly belly (yes, five years on, disgraceful).  Do I need botox? Will all the other girls, now well on the road to fifty, still look fabulous?  Will there still be a slow dance at the end?  I will see loads of old friends from Molesey and Walton and some Salesians Kids (well adults, you know what I mean). Someone posted on Facebook that if you are aged 15- 25, you won’t know what the Walton Hop is, but just ask your Mum and Dad!

For old time’s sake, do we stop off at the Off Licence on route and buy a bottle of Cider or Cinzano?  Yuk, I remember drinking the latter neat as we did not have enough money for lemonade. 

These really were such happy days. I wish they had lasted forever and I just cannot wait for the Reunion in March!  

There's no-one quite like Grandma and Grandpa too...

My two nans both passed away when they were not much older than “three score and ten”. To reach the ripe old age of 70 was a good thing back then.   I am lucky and blessed to have an amazing Dad who is 80 this month and a lovely Mum who has been with us on borrowed time for a few years. 

I lost my Granddad when I was five years old. He was a cheeky chap born within the Bow bells, so a proper cockney.  I remember picnics on the beach, walks on the South Downs and him feeding me my cereal and saying “bombs away” and “cow’s milk” as he lifted the spoon up high. He fought in the war, it must have been WW1 and I remember stories of him coming home and eating a tube of toothpaste as he had not been able to brush his teeth for a very long time.  My Mum was heavily pregnant when he died. Bowell cancer. Ignored symptoms. It is sad that he did not get to meet my lovely sister.

Nan Head died when I was nine. She lived next door so we were very close. I naturally bonded with this lady and still feel her presence now. She was a red head and would be totally made up knowing she has a granddaughter that has inherited this Irish beauty. She died in our house. The nuns came round to pray with us. They prayed that her soul be taken into heaven peacefully. I just wanted them to pray that she did not die. My Dad stood at the top of the stairs with his head down, thinking, for a very long time. He was an only child. He still visits her grave with flowers most weeks.

Nan Bass, Ollie, was a real character! Some may say a bit of a floozy. She loved a man in uniform, especially a police man and after Grand Dad died had a “friend” called Robin from the Metropolitan Police Band.  I kept in touch with him years later at the Arsenal games as they performed every home match at Highbury.  Ollie had a child out of wedlock and Granddad must have been a good man to take her on whilst pregnant and raise Jean as if his own, followed by three of their own children.  She liked a sherry and was great fun, especially at Christmas when she would stay at our house and bring lots of presents (usually knitted toys) and play cards with us.  She died on Christmas Day 1985 when I was fifteen years old.  She had stayed at home in Eastbourne that year as had been feeling poorly. We didn’t have a phone then as Dad worked for the GPO (before it became BT) and got free calls from the exchange. A Police Offer knocked on our door as we were eating our turkey to tell us that Ollie was gone.

Upset as I am to lose three wonderful Grand Parents, I am sadder about Granddad Head that I did not meet as he died when my Father was five years old. Bombed down by the Germans at Brooklands, Weybridge in a factory making war planes.  My Dad was alone during the war years as My Nan had to work. He tells me that he had lots of friends in the street, but as an only child it was hard when all the kids got called in for tea/bed and he had to look after himself. The war spirit soon saw him taken in by the lady across the road from him, “Aunty Kit” who was our 3^rd Nan.  Granddad Head would have been so proud at what a wonderful man my Dad became; always putting others before him and never malicious, only kind.  Benny Boy describes my Dad as “the closest a man could be to God” which just about sums him up.

Blood is thicker than water? Not true for everybody, but it is for me.  I feel sad for those estranged from their families and I feel lucky to be close to my relatives. There are not many of them. This is why it is so important to me for Charlotte to have a close relationship with her family, especially her Grandparents. We don’t know how long they will be here for.  She is an amazing, beautiful, wonderful loving child and I am proud to share her with those that care about her.

Love Letter from my heart..

This day, 29th May 2004 was the happiest day of my entire life. We were fortunate enough to get married in a castle. I truly felt like a princess.  I found out at 4.56pm that Crystal Palace were being promoted to the Premiership, so Ben would be happy as we exchanged vows at 5pm regardless of how I looked, if he was getting last minute regrets or wanting to run away, he would be smiling and I just hoped it would be because of me.  Ben is my utter rock.  We have ups and downs like most couples and arguably the best thing that ever happened to us, our amazing daughter Charlotte, is what has caused more rucks and arguments than ever before.  There are no disagreements bigger than parental choices and our little princess plays us against each other so well. She is the winner and the apple of her Mummy's eye. Sorry Ben, but I would choose Charlotte every time over you. She needs me and cannot be without me. You on the other hand are fat enough and ugly enough to stand on your own two feet and can look after yourself,  kind of. You would live in a dirty pigsty but could watch as much Jeremy Kyle, Jerry Springer and stupid fishing programmes as you like.

But on the other hand, I want to thank you Ben for the last ten years of marriage. I am still madly, deeply in love with you. You make my heart flutter and skip a beat.  I loved our spontaneous fun days of gigs and festivals, camping trips and endless fun. I love the day that you turned up at my office with a cactus. I love my daisy earrings and necklace. I love the day I was not in the mood for a festival and you made the pub landlord play Insomnia by Faithless and two seconds later we were heading out to Clapham in the rain and buying a dodgy ticket from the tout that dragged us in the woods. You are not flowers and chocolates. You are unique. You are a weirdo with your "Benisms". Your Mum said it would work between us because, "I got you" and not many people do because you are a bit of a freak of nature. You don't keep in touch with that many people, you are a bit of a loner and like your own company, but you never cease to amaze me. A shy man, that dresses up as a Chippendale, Cock Fosters and Alice in Wonderland that delivered the most amazing wedding speech ever, from your heart, that even had grown men in tears.

I am proud of what you have achieved. You turned your life around from a pot-bellied lager lout to a super athlete running marathons, competing in duathalons and riding 100 miles on your bike; raising thousands for our favourite charity, the Miscarriage Association.

Thank you Ben for being my absolute rock.  I could never have got through our baby losses without you. You had to deal with my pain and your own. All the focus was on me, not you, yet you were so sad yet so strong. Thank you for lifting me when I lost my business and helped keep me calm and in control during my court case. Powerful and strong. Powerful and strong. Of course, I won, sorry we never saw any of the cash, but we did it!! Thank you for being a great father, a wonderful husband and a brilliant son-in-law. Thank you for understanding my Mum's illness. I do not have to be embarrassed or ashamed when you are with me. Thank you for being there when my Dad was a very sick man with cancer. You were by his bedside choosing horses with him and placing his little bets, giving him some normality in his life.

I hope I am there for you when you need me. I know I can be selfish and self centred. Me Me Me Me xxx

You are my personal career consultant, my best friend, my clown, the son I never had, the man I will grown old with and be by your side until death do us part.

Tender is the night...

This blog won't be shared on Facebook or Twitter. Not now, maybe later, maybe sooner, but not right now. It is somebody else's grief.

When I was 9 months pregnant, I played a song over and over again to Charlotte in my belly. I could not wait to meet him or her. I was so excited.  The record was Tender by Blur. I later found out it was about heroin addiction. Come on come on come on. Get through it. Love is the greatest thing. I'm waiting for that feeling. Oh my baby.  It is said that a baby will later recognise a tune. Charlotte loves it and we play it over and over again in the car. We call it "The Baby Song" and Charlotte always says, "play the baby song, play the baby song"

This week we found out that her teacher lost her baby at seven months. She is a very special teacher. She has looked after my child from the day she entered independency.  I feel that I have hit gold with this teacher.  She has done a great job and the children in her class have been excited about this forthcoming event that should have had a happy ending. We were told in a well written letter from the Head Teacher that there was no heartbeat and subsequently the baby was lost. So sad. So tragic. Parents and children of the school, particularly Grasshoppers class are devastated for Mrs J and her husband.  The letter advised us to tell our children in the way we feel is appropriate.

Charlotte looked absolutely shocked and said nothing, just stared at me as if she could not comprehend what I had said. Her bottom lip trembled and she asked lots of questions. This will be the saddest news that the majority of the children in Grasshoppers have been told in their little lives to date. Charlotte is refusing to listen to "The Baby Song".

Please Lord, may this lady and her husband find the strength that allows them to cope with their grief and may they be blessed, when they are ready with a healthy and happy baby.

There was an old lady that smells of wee

There was an old lady that smells of wee, it’s me you see, when I’m 63;

That won’t happy to me, I’m not going to smell of pee, not me, you’ll see.

There are many medical conditions that cause incontinence in men and women, which is both sad and distressing for everyone involved. But I am telling you now for free, I am not going to be weeing my knickers because my pelvic floor muscles are knackered. Oh no.  I have been quite good with the exercises, and I can jump up and down on a trampoline quite safely, but I do not do fifty squeezes and lifts every day and there has been the odd moment of slight concern when laughing or sneezing. I discovered that I am not alone in preparing for the future and found some exercise balls on Amazon. Now, please don’t go thinking that I mean Anne Summers, I do not. These little balls come with weights that apparently work miracles. However, 2 months on they are still in the box.  I met an old school friend recently who threw her Aquaflex balls in the bin a few weeks ago, still in the box, unopened after five years!!

My Primary School reunion night was fabulous and great to catch up with old friends.  I love my new friends too that I have met through Charlotte. A lot of them are just reaching the big FOUR 0, now or have a few years leading up to it. I am pretty jealous as my next big birthday will be Fifty – maybe I will make the Villa in Ibiza in 2019 for hard-core partying. That had been the plan for my 40^th, but my world changed when this amazing little person entered my life – so instead of dancing all night long I was coming to grips with breastfeeding, changing nappies and a different kind of sleep deprivation. 

I do have friends that have hit the 40 and have chosen not to have children or are pretty relaxed about it. I was absolutely obsessed and would not have stopped at anything for a child.  I think I would have robbed a bank if it would have given me a baby. For years, I dreamt of a babe in my arms and was pregnant for around four years before Charlotte entered the world. I did have a period of a year when despite falling pregnant easily three times, nothing happened. My fertility levels were high, Ben obviously had swimmers that could hit the mark, but month after month my friggin period arrived! I took my temperature, peed on ovulation sticks, Googled all day long, joined chat forums, had more tests, had therapy, had acupuncture, yet still could not get friggin pregnant and it really was breaking my heart.  I was so sad, that after years and years of turning my back on the Church, I decided to go back, with Ben, to put some peace back into my life and maybe faith would help me with my baby dream. The first time we went to the Church, St Matthews in Surbiton the sermon was about a lady that was baron. She was sad and desperate like me and made a promise with God that if he were to bless her with a baby, she would ensure that her child grew up around the church and would spread the world. Lo and behold, this lady fell pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy whose life was surrounded by love and gratitude to God.  Well, that is what I would do. I made my mind up and prayed every single night to the man upstairs to give me a child and I promised in return that my son or daughter would be bought up as a Christian. Apart from Ben, no one knows this until now. I am pleased we made that choice as whether it’s all a load of BS or not, it has helped Charlotte learn some pretty decent values in life. I will chill out about it as there are so many nice things to do in special family time on a Sunday, but I will keep my promise as am grateful to the amazing gift that I received back in July 2009, whether it had anything to do with my faith or not.