Mr Nozair and the Undercover Cops

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I have been getting out and about a lot lately. Well I can now I don’t have meals or washing to do for The Lodger ( aka LM – that was ). So with weekends suddenly opening up from a change to washing poker and shopping I am finding my freedom and rather enjoying it

Oh I hear your say, Don’t get too confident, pride comes before a fall and all that,,,,,

Anyway some of you may remember Mr Nozair who came a year or so ago and not only fell in love with Irma, but also Lesley,his teacher,  The result of all this amour was that the office was filled with citrus fruits for many a long month. You could call it a sort of love token for Irma and for which we were, initially, rather grateful. Eventually though, I had lost count of the many recipes we found with lemons grapefruit and tangerines. Yes Mr Nozair had a Citrus Farm in Egypt and his way of expressing his love was to send fruit to his many conquests,   Although to be fair he hadn’t managed to conquest anyone, although I could see Irma was on the turn. That was because she seemed to think f she cold snare an older man, he may well keel over and leave his fortune to her! Well, she is latin so we will have to forgive her….

Anyway Mr Nozair was back and in Hastings so off I to went to meet him for a round up of what has been happening in the Citrus World to date! As he was now fast approaching 90 and stil running his own Farm and business I thought there has to be hope for me if I want to keep working or rather have to keeep working

It is a stunning drive along the coast road and I always take the circuitous route from Shoreham. This involves going through Cooden Beach and along past Normans Bay – wonderfully old 1930 type beaches where you can imagine slightly privileged families coming to stay for the whole of august,   Anyway I got so immersed in old fashioned holidays and taking photographs that time was starting to run out,  Knowing Mr Nozair hates a tardy time keeper I started to panic and look for short cuts.

So there I am hacking along the Hastings seafront which, if any of you know Hastings is a town of contrasts. The first bit being terribly seedy and run down with glimpses of old holiday camps and fun fairs and the east side becoming rather chic and expensive, with galleries, shops and period houses .  If I had to live anywhere it would be Hastings Old Town as I do love it’s feel.

I was missing all of the exits that the slightly smug Sat Nav Bloke was telling me to take and so I thought if I turn left I would be able to pick the road up again.  So left I turned and almost hit a car which apppeared to be full on in the entrance… or exit depending which side of the road you were on. Indeed the car was so in the centre of the road that I had to mount the pavement on the wrong side to get past him,  Now this sort of man selfish driving makes me cross! Yes there were 2 men in the car and so I slowed down as I manoeuvred carefully past them; gave them my best imperious glare and mouthed the work KNOB to them,  Its fair to say I felt slightly  self righteous pointing out this gross driving misdemeanour and they looked pretty stunned that I should do so!

I thought little of the incident as I was still on my mission to find Mr Nozair and park the car and all before 12.30/. So off I went driving around the town, avoiding pot holes, cul de sacs; the Sat Nav and generally anything that directed me to the ruddy ring road that Hastings has installed and which appears to confuse drivers rather than aid them.

Strangely enough the Knobs had appeared to have had the same problem because as I approached yet another set of traffic lights, they pulled up alongside me. They started looking at me and I thought I was in for a bit of aggro. Maybe calling two burley blokes “Knobs” wasn’t the smartest idea but it was too late now. The passenger then got out of the car and looked my way. I locked the door and hoped the lights would changed,   He knocked the window! “Yes?” I replied in a very snoooty but firm voice hoping he wouldn’t see that I was slightly anxious now. I have heard that if thugs approach you you have to keep your gaze directed to them and so you will appear “well ‘ard!” I hoped that was the impression I was creating.

He knocked the window again and I wound it down a crack,  “What ?” I demanded and with that he whipped out faster than anything I had seen before a warrant card.

Yes the two knobs as I had called them turned out to be no other than under cover cops,  ” Are you drunk or under the influence of drugs?” Were his opening words to me

“certainly not,” I retorted, Well, I wasn’t.

“Then why were you driving up a no entry?”

” I didn’t realise it was a no entry and I made a mistake. We all do that!” He didn’t seem convinced and didn’t look like the sort of bloke who ever made mistakes, save for his slightly dodgy jeans he was wearing. They were a mistake!

He started at me. Sighed. “Follow us ” he said and shot back into the under cover car, which was certainly under cover as it was an old Ford Focus with, believe it or not a sticker on the windscreen which said ” Hope in, I’m not fussy..!” Patently a little play one words there….

We pulled in around the corner and both he and I got out. A bit like a Mexican standoff. I certainly wasn’t having him peering into my window again. Far too close.

“I see you come from shoreham”. Not overly original for an opening gambit but I can work with it. Obviously he wasn’t clairvoyant but had done a check on my car!

“Correct” I replied although in truth I was feeling a little under pressure. Maybe I could bribe him with a bowl of citrus fruits from Mr Nozair. I wonder if I could ask him to follow me, this time?

I paid attention as he spoke again…”So as you aren’t local I am prepared to over look the fact that you went up a No entry and you reassure me you didnt know it was one and wont try that stunt again!” Stunt? Stunt? Did he think I was performing in the local circus? It wasn’t a stunt but more an accidental left hand turn. My reply was quite submissive though as time was moving on

” No, Officer, I didn’t realise -until I was half way up. ”

“So why didn’t you turn around once you knew and when you saw us gesticulating to you?”

“I don’t know.” I tried to appear contrite and meek. I wish I had some lipstick on. That may have worked more in my favour then, regardless of the fact that he could have been my son,

“We need to check to see if you are intoxicated although I don’t think you are.  And I don’t think you were having a fit. Where were you trying to get to?”

So I explained about the importance of not being late for Mr Nozair thinking that he may well give me a guided route through the town of Hastings – a bit like Starsky and Hutch with the blue light stuck on the roof and cars getting out of our way. Well its good to dream!

“Well best thing is if you turn around – take a left – right at the lights .. “and on he droned.

He was apparently letting me off,  I was thankful and I believe in all of my rush I curtsied. Not a deep royal one but more of a bob. Yes I know it as a silly thing to do but I am sure I did it.  Okay I did. For some odd reason I curtsied to some under cover cop half my age and he wasn’t even going to arrest me anyway.

“I didn’t know you were a policeman “I whittled on

“The disguise works then” He replied in almost a smile  “We usually dress like this when we are working under cover. Now off you go” and he dismissed me like a recalcitrant student in the headmaster’s office.

As I got into the car my mind went blank I didn’t remember what he said so I shot across the road and up the first turning,  Yes’m dear readers you guessed it,  It was another No Entry. I couldn’t believe my poor luck that day! What to do?Oh what to do?

So with his words ringing in my ears I knew that if I continued to drive up the No Entry I would certainly be in for a ticket and that would never do,  So I stopped and thought about it,  They were still there. I could see them sitting at the bottom of the road. No doubt watching and waiting for what I would do next. The road was quite narrrow and cars were parked both sides so no chance of turning around,   Then Sods of all Sods, a car came down towards me and I was stuck. There was no getting away from it I would have to reverse all the way back down the hill between two sets of parked cars. A sweat broke out …..

So I re adjusted my seat and gingerly, oh so very gingerly and well aware of the irritated car driver following me down and the two cops at the bottom I reversed all the way to the end . Manoeuvred back to face the correct way and with a cheeky smile at my new friends off I went.

In fact that isn’t really true.. The Policemen looked at me in stunnned silence and I very sheepishly gave them a wave and off I went..

I wasn’t sure in which direction I went but made sure it was not a one way street. And was I late for Mr Nozair? Most definitely but he just seemed grateful that I had turned up and so on this one occasion, on a wet and windy saturday afternoon in Hastings, he was pleased just to have a coffee mate

My drive back home was fragrant. He gave me 2 boxes of grapefruit and a smaller one of lemons. If it all goes wrong I can sell them by the side of the road…


Keep Watch at the Window

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Mick Canning

It’s October.


That must mean it’s autumn. It certainly feels like it, now. So here’s a little poem for when the days are drawing in and it’s becoming colder and darker outside.

Keep watch at the window in the Westering light,

On the distant hill in the approaching night,

Under darkling clouds, over dew-touched heath,

Where the flowers of summer are now touched by death,

I’ll be coming home in the fading light.

Keep watch at the window in the fading light,

You’ll see me walking when the moon is bright,

My shadow before me coming down the hill,

My breath opaque in the air now chill,

I’ll be coming home in the last of the light.

Keep watch at the window in the last of the light,

When I’m weary you’ll see me come into sight,

Drawn by the firelight and the thought of wine,

By the thought of…

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He’s moving out today

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There is a very funny song which I first heard sung by Bette Midler and its appropriate here…..

Moving out today

Its quite a catchy little number and still makes me smile.  Although of course I can now relate this to (ex) LM and it doesn’t cause me pain.  In all fairness, as it took him more than six months to move out after calling time on our relationship, I guess you can say the tears and grief had already been spent.  I hope so, anyway.

So on the day of his move, I went off to work and he was waiting for the removal van.  Now most of you would think that we might have had a nice last meal together. A bit of a wash up as to where it went wrong; talk about the good times and the usual platitudes, but no, no, it didn’t happen.

It’s fair to say that for the past few days I did go around singing… ” this will be our last meal together, words will only make us cry“,  Last Supper  ,

to which he used to look at me with a slightly pain expression.  I don’t know why, as I had assumed he would want me to be happy and relaxed about it all… obviously not!  But anyway after his breakfast, of which he left said ruddy plates still on the worktop and not in the dish washer, he shot off to the bathroom and locked himself in there.  I was slightly perplexed as to why he didn’t come and say goodbye; give me a hug; shake my hand; thank me for everything or return the key, but no, he continued his daily ablutions in the usual way as if nothing had changed.  Most strange!

road trip

Anyway, off I went to work and he waited for the removal van.  Its fair to say that he took most of the furniture we had bought together.  It wasn’t my choice and I simply gave it house room because he liked it.  As my friends would say – W.T.F.????

But that was when I was a People Pleaser.  Buying shite modern MDF furniture which I loathed in order to make him happy.  Waste of time that was. Ho Ho.    I even gave him my second best dinner service ( he wont entertain and certainly cant cook, but he does need something for his Coco Pops and Walberton White Bread in the mornings! ) Add to that, my Commercial Pizza Cutter and the 3 opened bags of Oven Chips which were languishing in the freezer, which he bought each time I went away and you can see I was more than generous..

I returned that night to an almost emptied house; the dirty sheets still on his bed and the wet towel scrunched up on the towel rail.  I thought it bizarre that someone would leave a home and not even put their dirty laundry in the bin. Well don’t you?   I looked around for a Thank You Note; a bunch of flowers or even the dustbin emptied.  But nope. Out of luck on that score.

So I took a deep breath, picked up my keys and marked said departure and final chapter of a failing relationship, by heading out to purchase not one, but TWO pairs of new shoes.  I felt rather euphoric.   Driving home I remembered that for once I did not have to cook dinner for a certain time working around Football or Golf.  I stopped off at the Tesco Express and, just for the sheer hell of it, and because I could, purchased, with somewhat of a flourish, a MEAL FOR ONE!!!   Hell, this living on one’s own was going to be good and certainly empowering.

Its a bit of a fitting song to sign off , but maybe had he moved out when he first mentioned it six months ago, I may not have coped so well.  Silver lining and all that……

I am OK

Woa – a new chapter has begun. 


And best of all, I am OK.  In fact I am very OK.




Rita, The Fur Coat and a Gin Sling

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I have just been watching the dolphins again and trying to get some photos of them.  Crafty creatures see me trying to snap them and hurtle down under the waves.  I am pleased in any event as I thought they had swum away…..

Some of you will remember Rita, my rather lovely, but totally eccentric,  friend who lived across the road from me and used to offer me a Gin Sling mid morning. This was her idea of Elevenses!  Having sadly had a stroke and ended up being sent to a Warden Assisted Apartment, I don’t see her as often as I would like and ” life on the street” is not so exciting.   So I ventured to take myself off to deepest Suburbia and visit her in Horsham!  I know, I know, some things shouldn’t be admitted in print  but there you are! I do know where Horsham is, but I promise I only visit out of necessity.  Lets keep it between ourselves, eh?

So off I went to visit Rita, armed with some biscuits ( Waitrose of course, as she told me once she didn’t eat Value Biscuits or anything like them) and a very nice pot plant.  In truth I hadn’t seen her for some months and felt somewhat guilty, so I added a bottle of Sicilian Lemon Gin into the basket and felt rather vindicated.    The place where she now lives is very nice and I mentally made a note that if I ended up somewhere like this, it wouldn’t be the end of my life.  Okay, I don’t want to be there anytime soon, but Rest Homes have certainly come on a long way in the past twenty years.

Having had to sign in; have a retina scan and offer proof of ID whilst they took my fingerprints, Rita was finally summoned.

” We cant be too careful with the welfare and safety of our guests now can we?”  the rather stern receptionist told me before she let me through the door.

I had told Rita I would be there at 10am and it was now just after eleven.  I guess you could say I was fashionably ” en retard”  but I just didn’t want to be hanging around on such a lovely day and by now, I felt that she should surely be ready.  Rita’s idea of time-keeping is somewhat like the Spanish…..  but there I was at just gone 11 o clock, drumming my fingernails and feeling tense.  When she finally  arrived, she was wearing a coat done up to the neck, and a fur one at that.   Readers, you may recall that the summer the UK enjoyed these past few months, with temperatures barely dipping below 30 degrees, Rita appearing in a full length sable fur coat is somewhat of an oxymoron.  Hell – I think I started to sweat just looking at her….

Rita immediately told me what she had to do in the Town and to make it snappy as she had to be back for a lunch date with ” the Captain!”  Yes it would appear that Rita had already made somewhat of a splash at the Wednesday Tea Dances and had two or three suitable ( when Rita says ” suitable” she really means ” wealthy” ) suitors wanting to share lunch with her in the communal dining room.  This also saves Rita cooking any meals, because cooking and Rita are not a natural synergy.    We approach my car and Rita sits in the back.  ” Rita, wouldn’t you like to sit with me in the front? Its easier to chat!”

” No dear, I get a better view from her” and she plonked herself in and shut the door with a determined slam.   ” Air con.  Air Con.  Can you put the air con on, its quite warm in here”

” Well I can, but how about taking your coat off ?”

” Oh, I cant, dear. I haven’t anything on underneath.  You were a bit early and I wasn’t ready, so I just pulled on my longest coat” and her eyes focused on the Air Con button.  Torn between a rock and a hard place comes to mind.  I either had to let Rita fry in her fur coat and possibly expire permanently if I didn’t put the air con on, or I had to freeze my chops off if I did. I decided to open a window and see if that struck a happy medium

” Can you close the window, as its blowing my hair around”  and indeed, Rita’s platinum blonde confection, perched on her head like a cottage loaf had already started to come undone around the edges.  The arrival at the supermarket was not a second too soon!

” Here’s my list.  I can wait in the car.” and with that I was dispensed to the Trolley Park, whilst Rita snuggled down in the back and took a nap!  I was longer than I anticipated on account of not being able to read Rita’s handwriting too easily and that some of the things she asked for ( blue bag?) had gone out of production twenty years since.  The funniest thing on the list was a jar of Earth Mama Bottom Balm, but politeness prevented me asking her what she used it for!

I arrived back at the car to find Rita had indeed fallen asleep and was gently purring in the sun.  Her (fur) coat was still done up to her neck but before dropping off she had opened the Sicilian Lemon Gin and made her way through at least a quarter of it.  ( I could see this because it was still being clutched by her and was balanced precariously on the arm rest)   I could feel my blood boiling and it wasn’t only because of the unusual summer temperatures.

” Rita! Rita!  Wake up… I am back”   and with that she opened one eye.  Looked at me squarely and holding up the open Gin bottle said ” Drinkie, Darling?  Little Drinkie, before we go home?”

Its fair to say that Rita was well and truly, ” back in the room!”

gin pic

Sarka and the Weetabix

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I am doing quite well on my own and work is keeping me busy. I run between being childishly excited about the building works and lying awake at night in a cold sweat. When I discussed this with Farhad the other day, he told me that it was my age and that old woman are prone to an attack of the vapours!  I am not saying I actually bristled, but I did wonder why everyone keeps saying I am getting old.   As it happens, he is only 6 months younger than me, so hardly room to complain.   He is a great bloke for political debates, even if he calls all the Iranian Government officials, ” Mullahs and Towelheads”


Darling Farhad, my Political Advocate.

During the last heavy downpour and in one of my more confident moments, I heard a knock on the door and went to open it.  Standing before me was our lovely Czech Agent who had turned up unannounced.

sarka wet

Wet Sarka – even the dog didnt recognise her…

She was soaked from head to toe but it didn’t seem to damper her enthusiasm at all.  ( This was, after all, a woman who had bought a house in Prague during the Velvet Revolution when she was only 18 and went on to make shed loads of money when the Czech Repubblic stuck its head up over the European Parapets and said ” I want some of that” ) I wasn’t sure why she would do a visit without telling me but it would appear it was only a flying visit and she wanted to get some Weetabix.  She had, she said run out and couldnt bear to start her week without her daily four Weetabix.  I kid you not.  By the way if you note the suitcase she had with her, I want to let you know that the case was empty.  Nothing in it.  As you can guess, it didnt return home that way

Apparently, although there is a Tesco in Liberec as well as Prague, for some reason, completely unfathomable to her, they have stopped selling Weetabix.  So taking the opportunity of a cheap flight she has headed over here to stock up on that and BBQ flavoured crisps.  Added to that she likes to buy packs of Minstrels and Doritos.  Apparently she gives them out to the children during lessons when they have done well.  If she keeps on giving out the fat and carbs then they will very soon all be as well covered as her.  She wont listen though and insists that it is very important her charges keep their energy up whilst studying.

During the summer she bought a little group to our Summer School; offered to be one of our Activity Leaders


( can you guess which one she is from the picture) and when we were doing a Workshop at The Globe ( no less) she interrupted the Guide and started giving out Krispy Kreme donuts.  When the guide, who was also running the Midsummer Nights Dream Workshop, at no cheap rate let me tell you, gently asked her to refrain from giving out sugary buns on Shakespeare revered stage, she simply turned around the popped one in his mouth saying that if he took more sugar, he would probably be less grumpy!  The floor was silenced….

Anyway back to current mode.  She told me she wasn’t stopping as she was only en route to see one of our friends.  We had gone to Prague at Easter to see her and enjoy the Ribbon Whipping   ( dont ask just google it!)  but ended up taking a short cut home across the mountains.  A quick jump from step to step and our friend, Marina, fell and broke both ankles.  Not only were we all stranded on the mountainside, where we had gone to admire the view as well as try to get to the Pub by opening time, but we could not get the ambulance to plough its way up the side like a mountain goat. The signal was scarce that high up and nighttime was pulling in.  Not many people were wandering by and so we decided that we simply had to carry her down the hill.  Even though Marina is only 5ft tall she isn’t a lightweight and four of us ended up carrying her down the hill as much as we could.  When we couldnt carry her, we dragged her and after that we just drew breath and started it all again. We eventually got to the side of the road to find the Ambulance parked up and the Para Medics having a fag with two of the locals.  They watched us drag her down to the side of the road and then approached.  The first words they uttered were ” Insurance” and even though we are all in the EU there was no way on Gods’ earth, Easter Day or not, that they were going to attend to her until they had seen her private medical insurance.  Poor old Marina, with broken and swollen ankles and having to rummage in her handbag and try to find the Medical cover.  Once found the Para Medics discussed it; inspected it; translated it and finally picked her up and plonked her into the ambulance.  With a brief inspection they closed the door and was off with her to heaven knows where and left us all looking slightly perplexed on the side of the road.

She ended up having an operation that night.  Very satisfactory so she reported and even had a private room.  Although fair to say, even if the room was private it still  reminded me of a Cell, as the hospital used to be an Asylum.  I rest my case….

IMG-20180402-WA0025 (1)

Marina, eating her meal which she declared ” beats NHS meals any time!”

Marina is now home and on the road to recovery.  She told me, she wont be going away with me anytime soon… as if the whole thing was my fault.  Ungrateful wretch…

And speaking of ungrateful wretches, Irma, the Panamanian who used to be in love with both Mr Wu ( remember him?) and Farhad is still not speaking to me.  I think its currently about 18 months.  She has blocked me on WhatsAp and email.  Stupid woman….  Latins.  You just cant trust them a bit.


Irma, in New York, when she was speaking to me

Not welcome in the street….

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It’s been an interesting few months and during that time I seem to have gained a cuckoo.  I speak metaphorically, of course.

Yes although LM declared his interest to cease our relationship, it would appear it was on a sliding scale.  Almost five months since he mused over his half a grapefruit that “my dreams was not his dreams and he would be moving on,” the cuckoo is still very much in residence.

Having told the golfing buddies that he would go one way and me the other when I sold my house, he followed me to my new temporary residence and remains here as I write. Now of course without going into too much detail,  (yes I know a first for me) he lives the life of a partnership but without the “after lights out” perks!!.  It was his decision to decamp to the spare room all those months ago and even in the new abode this is where he stays.  I gently broached the subject the other night as to when his new life would start and he said that he had not had time to look for a new property.  After all, what with playing golf three times a week; Poker on a Wednesday night and the start of the new Football Season, he does remain a little short on time, wouldn’t you all agree?

Meanwhile I am ploughing on with the new house ideas and planning has finally gone through.  It seems to have taken a long time and in the meantime, having bought a caravan and plonked it squarely in the front garden you can imagine that it has already inflamed the views of the Net Twitchers.  Even though I checked with the Planning Department and the Local Councillor, I already have heard voices of discontent.  Some also are not pleased with the new building and declared it another one of those ” glass boxes”  which is in effect an accurate description of it on one side, but then it is the rising theme along the road.

The ex Emirates Pilot and his Misses who live across the road, initially declared it              ” lovely” and “super news” that I was moving into my Dad’s house and that I must come to the annual August Get Together so that I can be introduced properly.  Having heard nothing for a couple of weeks from them, I returned home one afternoon to see that they had  done a 180 degree turn and dis invited me.  I know this because there was a selection of 4 x 4 and vintage Jags blocking the road and a loud variation of types of cackles from elderly over made up Matrons. I could see that House of Fraser had a run on tea dresses and that most of them seemed to have turned up across the road.  So , I guess I can safely assume that no more will they knock on the door and ask me over for Pimms ( reminiscent of Rita from long ago) or mention the Get Together where they can introduce me to neighbours  ( most of whom I already know, but lets forget that) and so I am beginning to feel persona non grata.

Even swimming has taken on a whole new meaning and I now escape before breakfast and before anyone else gets up and wander across the shingle.  In any event, I rather like swimming alone with no one to chat to or think of.  Truth be told I don’t really care.  The weather has been delicious and I have enjoyed this early morning solitary swim.

Best of all, the very best of all, is that there have been dolphins off the coast and we have looked out of the window and seen them.  I have also bought a rather lovely, but very long, paddle board and taken to paddle boarding either alone or with the boys at the weekends.  Dolphin spotting, of course.


Finally, I have found out that Florrie Ford used to live on this very site and the Musical Variety Society or something similar have asked if they can put a plaque outside the new house.  Or should that be the new Glass Box?.


Who is Florrie Ford, I hear you say, well if you dont remember her, you will remember her songs.  Rumour has it that the house she lived in here was one of ” ill repute” and whilst I wont be mirroring that particular part of her lifestyle it is rather fun that the site was one for holding “social occasions” which is exactly what I want to recreate when the building is complete.

Meanwhile, as people are complaining about the short term parking of the caravan in the front garden, I thought I thought I would really give them something to moan about and have just ordered a life size papier mache Freshian cow to stand beside the pond.  I am sure that will go down well with them as they stroll past the front garden craning their necks to see what else is occurring.


Luckily I didn’t need planning permission for it.  Mooooooo


Its my dream, not his and LM moves out..

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It would appear, dear Readers, that LM wont be proposing to me anytime soon.  He has, in fact, decided to move out, so I shall cease the amount of days that I have been counting since we met and realise that fate has once again dealt me a crushing blow.


I am not entirely sure what was the final card ” we” dealt but suffice to say that he has decided to kip in the spare room now for 10 days and although he still puts his washing in the wash bin and uses ” our bathroom”, there seems to be no thawing.

It seems to be coupled with the fact that I had a dream which I wrongly assumed to be his also, but in fact it wasn’t.  As Number Two Son said, rather sagely, ” Mum, its our dream, not his!” and I take this as a small bit of comfort that the next part of my journey will be without him.

no 2 son

The dream I have is to remodel my Dad’s house on the beach.  It was an undertaking that I would have preferred to have taken with LM but as he isn’t about, I shall galvanise myself and do it alone.  As The Pilot said whilst communicating with me recently from Lusaka ( where he currently lives with his wife ! ) , ” Nanooka, take a deep breath; wipe your sword and move forward.  You are stronger than you think!” and with this printed off and stuck to the front of my PC I am, indeed, moving on.

project 3

Its certainly not a trip for the faint hearted.  I have sold my house and will have to either camp in a caravan on site for six months or rent somewhere.  Personally, I would prefer camping out on site, but the Architect says he would prefer NOT to have me there, because apart from the Builders having to work around me, they also don’t want to be responsible for losing any chickens; cats or dogs.   So I will be relegated to renting a home for a few months and planning my future.

I see me growing old disgracefully; drinking a Gin Sling on the Balcony and throwing stones at the passerbys. I am obviously destined to be single; batty and have a house full of animals and not men, but  with a wonderful view of the Channel and the twinkly Wind Farms, what’s not to like?  It will be ” The House that Jack, (re) built…)

Its a new adventure and I cant wait….