Happy Days!

Shit. It’s been a week again, hasn’t it?

My ‘love for genealogy’ gene has been literally pulsating this week. After 3 years of researching, and having sighed a huge, liberating groan of relief because I was finally able to start creating a book about the whole thing, a piece of jaw-dropping information surfaced from nowhere, leaving me in a complete state of confusion.

Could it really be true that my Great Grandfather was an adulterous man who perhaps was not only conducting two relationships at the same time, but even had two women pregnant at the same time? Or was there only one child, whose name changed in the months between getting her birth certified and her baptism certified? And did my Great Grandfather really marry the servant of the house and get disinherited from the family fortune?

I’ve been clutching at every available straw lately, and this evening, that led to me making a phone call to an 82 year old man- trying to explain to him that his grandmother was the sister of my great grandfather. Bless his heart…he even gave me his address, and I could have been anybody! (It really worries me the information some people will give out…but rest assured, I called his son immediately and told him it was all above board, just in case they were worried. Thanks Mum…for suggesting it!)

So soon, I‘ll be off to meet this stranger and to delve through a big box of family photos. I can’t wait.

Other news?

Ummmm….

It’s bloody freezing, the cat cost me eighty quid at the vet, I am seriously on a diet, I need to buy a Christmas tree, and the fish bake from Sainsbury’s is scrummy. And…oh yes…Dan and Tallis are together again, which made me write “WOOHOO” on our chat page which Dan responded with a rather peculiar eyebrow shape.

Yep, things are good .

Effin' Bloody Things

If you didn’t already know, I’m an animal lover. I’m a real sucker for anything which is cute, fluffy, mistreated, newly born or making funny noises.

I rescued a rabbit from inevitable death on the road last year, made a pen in the garden out of old doors and MDF, fed it half of the veg I was intending to have for tea, and printed out a note for the local shop window. He was returned to his owner before the day was out. I rescued a baby duck from the worrying hands of an unruly teenager once, as well, and looked after him for the night before taking him to the animal shelter.

There are numerous feral cats which find their way through my cat-flap and I have a really hard job sometimes throwing them out. The last one – a little black, innocent looking sweetie – I didn’t notice at first. He was snuggled between the pillows and cushions on my bed, right in the corner, looking like E.T did when he was hiding in amongst the toys in the wardrobe. He didn’t even blink, bless him. One of my cats (Bo) isn’t actually mine but has lived here for four years now. Yep…I’m a sucker.

What’s strange though is that I have absolutely no idea why I love them so much because basically, they’re just a huge pain in the ass. Actually, they’re a pain in a much bigger place than that.

I woke up this morning, wondered into the kitchen, and was greeted with a big pile of shit on the floor. Actually, it wasn’t a pile, because liquid doesn’t gather in heaps, does it? It was 4am and I thought “Ok, I can deal with this. It’s just poo. I dealt with it last night, and I can deal with it again.” (Yes, there was a similar pile in a similar place 24 hours previously.) So I ran upstairs for a toilet roll, unwound a length about 3 miles long and covered it over. Then, of course, you kind of have to drag and scoop, don’t you, to get it up. And I’m sure in doing that, the transparent skin on the top of it is broken, and the smell is enough to render an entire nation immobile. After much gagging I disposed of it all, washed my hands, and went to put the kettle on which is directly above the cat bowls. That’s when I got a cat biscuit lodged between the toes of my left foot and a lump of cat meat stuck to the heel of my right. I did a stupid little ‘uugh’ dance and proceeded to kick over the cat water. More bloody mess.

I made my tea and went upstairs to the bathroom, where Barney was asleep in the laundry basket, undoubtedly covering everything with hair. Shaking my head, I did what I had to do, turned around, and noticed some yellow water in the bath. That’ll be Barney…who when winter comes and he’s feeling particularly lazy or cold, seems to think it’s ok to pee down the plughole. So I cleaned the bath and walked into the bedroom to get something. That’s when I saw Bo curled up on the end of the bed. I knew that he’d walked all over the damn thing before settling down though, because the entire duvet – the duvet I had washed, dried and replaced yesterday - was covered in muddy footprints.

Back downstairs, I sat down to drink my tea. And there, swimming about on the top, was a flea. Now, you may think one flea isn’t too bad, but where there is one there are probably 90 generations of them, all waiting to pounce.

So I tipped the tea down the sink and put the kettle on for another one, cursing, because now I have to go to the vet for Front Line (which is not cheap). Meanwhile, both cats had arrived and were rubbing against my legs for breakfast. So I washed out the bowls, give them some fresh food, and they sniffed it, stared at me, sniffed it some more and then waltzed off in a mood like I was the most inconsiderate person in the world. Through the front room they went, only stopping to attempt a quick scratch of their claws on the sofa. I shouted, and they ran…bounding up the stairs. One of them had obviously made a dive for the dressing table because bottles were flying everywhere. So up I went again, picked up the bottles, cursed a bit more, and came back down to find an ugly looking monstrosity with eyes like the devil eating my cat’s food. So I shooed him out of the cat flap.

Honestly, my love of animals makes no sense whatsoever. Why the hell did I rescue a rabbit? I hate rabbits. They’re the most anti-social creatures I know. My last one could kick better than Jackie Chan. As for the duck, he cost me twenty quid, a sleepless night and a whole load of mess.

I made another cup of tea, sat down, turned on my computer, loaded google, and that’s when I saw him:

Maurie, my interactive google cat, who was sitting there like butter wouldn’t bloody melt.

Well, I know better.

I deleted the bastard.

Changes

When my phone rang on Sunday morning, just before eight, the last person I expected it to be was Rob.

“Is your camera charged up?” he said.

It wasn’t, but I was curious.

“There’s this amazing place…I passed by it last week on my school run. You HAVE to come and see it and get some photos.”

I groaned. It was Sunday morning! I was still only on my first cup of tea, wrapped up snugly in my dressing gown, and had the intention of doing very little for a few hours as the world outside warmed up a little bit. “What is this place?” I said.

“It’s a pond!”

A pond? I have two of those in the garden, so was less than excited. But he had this tone in his voice – one of expectation and wonder.

“The mist rolls over the water,” he said. “And the lily pads are as big as minis. And the whole place is under a canopy of orange and red and yellow, and the sun peeks through the branches of the trees and dances on the water…and all around are the remains of ancient, stone buildings, and…”

“And what?”

“And if you look close enough…” he said in a whisper, “… you can see Merlin with his little pointy hat, emerging from the mist.”

So I charged the camera for half an hour and off we went. Twenty minutes later we arrived at Woodbury Common and made our way through the lanes to Bystock Reservoir and Ponds.

Nature can be a real bummer sometimes. The canopy of orange and red and yellow was gone. There was no mist. And the sky was grey, not blue. It’s remarkable the difference a few days can make to the world, isn’t it?

But we walked around the huge pond, in awe of the reflections in the water. It was so still, that it looked like the sky was beneath us as well as above us. Not one tiny ripple of life could be seen. The red damselflies had disappeared along with the butterflies, the birds had fled and the sun was hidden within thick, autumn clouds. It was difficult to imagine the chaotic world we’d just left behind when, standing completely still, not even a crunch of a leaf or a snap of a twig disturbed the silence. The place was desolate; forgotten. Even Merlin had moved on.

But ensconced within that deathly silence was a timeless peace, and a comforting knowledge. The knowledge that time will pass…that life will return…and that which is barren and grey today will again, one day, be swathed in colour.




I had some sad news a few days ago. Dan and Tallis have decided to go their separate ways.

I know it isn't a lack of love that brought them to their decision, because their love remains. But again I'm left with a feeling of sorrow. Of things being uncertain. And of how no matter how hard we try or no matter how much we want something, sometimes it seems to be completely out of our control.

So I sit for a while, gazing upon life's Autumn waters, and hope and pray...for me and for them... for the beauty of Spring.

Questions

I thought I’d answer a few questions here, rather than in the comments box.

First off, my job. Or should I say my ‘last’ job. Yeah, I quit. The decision was made relatively easily when I ran out of fingers and toes to count all the things which were pising me off. The other girl left too. She just walked out in the middle of the day and didn’t go back, leaving them high and dry and with a stack of refund receipts sitting on the desk. Almost everything we sold in the first two weeks was returned with dodgy stitching and holes. One lady bought a handbag and brought it back in under an hour when the handle fell off. How the hell they expected us to hit our targets selling shoddy products (with no price tag under three figures) is beyond me. It also seems slightly strange to me that this apparently very successful, international company, paid me late, by cheque, and without a wage slip. They never even asked for a P45 when I started.

All I can say is that I wish them luck because they’ll need it. And a final note…don’t expect them to be coming to a department store near you any time in the foreseeable future!

Ok, onto my hair. Yes, I did go for the chop and now it looks pretty much the way it looks in my profile picture, but shorter (jaw length). I have tried to take a few photos of myself, but because I haven’t worked out how to set the timer on the camera, my only option was to hold it at arms length and hope for the best. I have several photos of the top my sofa and my left shoulder, and one or two of me looking like a right gormless twat. So no…they won’t be going up any time soon! I’ll grab the next person who knocks on my door and get them to do the honours, providing I don’t look like I’ve just crawled out from under a bush (which is most days, to be honest).

And finally, onto Rob and how I’m coping without him. Which is pretty well actually.

I imagine that people in healthy, happy relationships develop some kind of routines together – from joint activities, shared interests, regular shopping days or family visits. Perhaps they even have a breakfast routine or a bedtime routine too? I think it’s the regularity of these things which, when they’re taken away, we miss as much as the person when they’re gone. When we first separated in 2005 it was for 14 months, and during that time we both got involved in new activities and pursuits as a means of coping without each other. It was a particularly hard time for me, but when we got back together again, my independence remained, as did Rob’s. We were only together again for six months before we split again, and that second time was a lot easier for me to cope with. We hadn’t jumped right back into doing lots of stuff together or consulting each other on decisions which affected our lives. We both did what we wanted, when we wanted and even on Rob’s weekends off from work, we rarely saw each other. Our time together was mainly in the evenings, but even then we’d often be doing separate things under the same roof. So, after those six months together, we had another 14 months apart. That time round, we both had the tools to cope with being apart. We were always on the end of the phone if we needed to talk to each other, but mainly we just got on with living our lives. Perhaps it was that phone in the corner of the room which brought us back together again for the third time? Under the guise of ‘just friends’ we started to see each other socially, for meals and drinks. The pain and problems of the past had vanished, and we were like two old mates, getting together for fun. We were getting on so well (and of course the love had always been there) that we decided to try for one last time. He moved back in on April Ist and I left just two months later. I was only gone for perhaps six weeks, and when I returned it was because he kindly offered me a roof over my head. It wasn’t the opportunity to try again. Of course we did discuss it – many times- but I think we both knew that it was a futile exercise. Perhaps we could have just shared the house and the bills and been company for each other? Ultimately though, I think at some point we both want to have new relationships and so we would have had to have gone our separate ways eventually. It made sense to do it now, rather than later.

‘NOT’ being in a relationship with each other is relatively easy. The hardest part is not having him there as a friend. I’ve known Rob since I was 15, and although he was never on my best friend list back then, he has always been so involved with the people I know, the places I used to visit, and a few members of my family. Rob spends more time with my Dad than I do…even now. And that will always continue. Our paths will always cross. Our pasts are so intertwined with each others and that’s what can be particularly hard when we’re trying to be apart. The love remains, the friendship remains, the subconscious reaction to turn to each other in times of need remains.

Our mission, I guess, is to be there for each other if needed, but for one of us to always be strong enough to say ‘no’ to another reconciliation when faced with the opportunity of something more intimate. If I’m having a particularly bad day, and am reminiscing about our good times together…and if I happen to pick up the phone and talk to him about it all, I suppose I need Rob to very carefully and gently guide me into a place where I don’t feel the need to have him back. And vice versa.

I can’t ever imagine not having Rob in my life in some way, shape or form. He’s like family. So yes, I cope without him. But he’s always there…he always will be. The lesson I need to learn after our fourth separation is to remain focused, and to know without a shadow of a doubt that we are doing the right thing. It can be particularly hard when one or the other of us has tears in our eyes or are feeling low, or lost, or fragile. And it’s also hard when we are both disillusioned and feeling scared and dubious and wary about the prospect of having a ‘happy ever after’ with someone else.

But (and I know I rambled on for ages) I really am doing ok.

Catch-Up

Eek!

It’s been just over a week since I’ve written.

The aftermath of Bonfire night has been horrendous. Barney, my oldest cat, has taken up residence in the laundry basket – only showing his face for a very hurried munch on his dinner. Breakfast seems to have gone out of the window, along with venturing outside, curling up on my lap or generally making himself known. No amount of coaxing will get him out of there – he seems intent to spend twenty three and three quarter hours a day wrapped up in my fluffy white robe which is in dire need of a wash. I’m thinking that if I throw enough dirty socks and knickers in there, he’ll have no choice but to seek a more pleasant retreat. As much fun as the fireworks are, some creatures are never the same afterwards, bless them.

The aftermath of Rob leaving has been rather tranquil…we were both (and still are) civilized and respectful. There was a funny moment mixed in with it all; Rob had to go and fetch the keys to his new flat on Halloween evening and he had the phone call telling him he could collect them about five minutes after I’d just finished a magnificent work of art on his leg. Wanting to get into the spirit of the occasion, I used bubble gum, a rather sharp knife and some make up, and gave him the most horrific 4 inch, oozing slash. And when he turned up to get the keys, he revealed his leg to the Landlord saying “Honestly mate…it couldn’t have come quick enough.” Apparently, the Landlord’s face was a picture!

For those of you who use Facebook, you may have noticed some rather weird photographs uploaded to my site this week. I took it upon myself to share some of my ancestor’s gravestones with a cousin, and since then I have plunged myself back into my family tree research. It’s incredible how you can hit a brick wall with it all, leave it alone for 6 months and then discover all sorts of new stuff when you look at it again with a fresh mind. It’s taking up a lot of my time at the moment.

I also bought myself a boxed canvas and some new brushes a few days ago and have started work on a painting. And although I say it myself, it’s actually looking pretty good!

So, all in all, things are good and I’m trying to keep myself busy. Next on the agenda is to re-arrange the living room to make room for the forthcoming Christmas tree (did I just say Christmas?) and I’m also thinking of swapping bedrooms too…or at least shifting about some of the furniture. Perhaps I’ll even push the boat out and re-grout the bathroom?

I think – quite possibly – that this has been the most boring post I’ve ever written!

Goodbyes

For the past few weeks - having decided that there was really no other option than for us to separate - we’ve been bouncing an argument backwards and forwards regarding who should be the one to leave. At one stage I was prepared to go. I spent a few sleepless nights just staring at the ceiling, pondering my life, trying to visualise what it would be like to be here on my own again. And as much as I wanted the security of the house, I wasn’t sure I could handle the remnants of a broken marriage imprinted on every wall, every surface of the place. Perhaps a fresh start somewhere else would be good for me – even if (for financial reasons) it could only ever be in a little bedsit somewhere. I questioned what ‘home’ actually meant and convinced myself that I would be happier walking away from the bricks and mortar here to start again. Home can be absolutely anywhere…if you’re happy. And it would be cosy, right? - having a bed and a kitchen and a shower all in one room. Perhaps I’d feel the same way I did as a teenager – when I moved into my first ever bedsit on my own. I remember drawing the curtains, lighting a candle, laying on my bed and playing John Martin’s Solid Air on my portable tape recorder. I felt so content…listening to the music and staring at my psychedelic, spliff- smoking hippy woman on the poster opposite me. Yeah…I could feel like that again. Couldn’t I?

I told Rob my decision…that I would leave. I started looking at ads in the local paper and on line. Everything seemed to be too expensive, or in the wrong area. Then I saw an ad on Gumtree. A guy with a two bedroomed house was offering cheap rent for help with the house. I emailed him, asking him what kind of help he needed. He replied that he wanted help with the ironing and cleaning, perhaps a little cooking, and a massage to soothe his aching muscles after his long days at work. Honestly, some people.

Rob has a friend who owns a few properties and he called him up, asking if anything was available. I listened to Rob’s side of the conversation, eagerly awaiting the news. It turned out the guy had a place which would be vacant in just a few days - a single room, with a single bed, a small kitchen area in the corner and a shared shower in the hallway. It was on the second floor of a house. When he relayed the conversation to me, I sat there and listened, and when he finished talking I promptly burst into tears.

A few more weeks passed by and then Rob had a call. His friend had another place coming up – this time it was a one bedroomed, self contained flat. It sounded nice…and it was in the same area Rob had lived the last time he left…the same area he lived in before we even met. And then, as I was about to agree to have a look at it, Rob told me that he would take the flat and I could have the house.

It’s almost 5pm and Rob has just left.

The sun is beginning to set.
Everything seems a little odd, a little scary.
The cats are looking tense.
Shelves are looking empty.
The bathroom looks unlived in.
Dan’s old room – the room Rob took over – is an empty shell.
It’s far too quiet.

Once again, I’m wondering what the hell is around the corner.

Once again, I’m wondering why two people who love each other can’t make it work.

This is our fourth separation.

It has to be our final one.

Tomorrow I’ll embark on the next phase of my crazy, crazy life. But until then, I think I’ll just sit here for a while and listen - for the very last time - to the sound of that fucking ticking clock he bought and fixed up with the Westminster chime, which dongs and dongs and dongs right through the bloody night.

He told me I’ll miss it when it’s gone.

I think he may be right.