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| Photo by Magnus D |
I can't let the Royal wedding pass without mentioning it on the blog. I was surprised that the children were more excited about it than me. Daughter number two had to work in the morning so she cleared the Sky box and had the recorder set to record every second of the wedding coverage. The son who must not be named took advantage of the day off school to spend some time with his girlfriend, he should really have been revising for his exams, but it wasn't that sort of day. I listened on the radio, I didn't think I was that interested, but curiosity got the better of me because I wanted to see the bridesmaids, so I kept the radio coverage and watched online with the sound muted. The bridesmaids and the page boys looked lovely and behaved perfectly.
It was after the wedding that I started to get more interested. Winston Churchill once said "There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man". Watching all the horses involved in the ceremonial procession back to Buckingham Palace was the best bit for me. Suddenly my full attention was on the screen when I spotted what I thought was a person struggling with a horse at the side of the parade. It was such a brief glimpse that I couldn't really be sure what I had seen. Then a loose horse was mentioned in the commentary and we saw the horse break away from the other horses and thunder past the coach carrying Prince William and his new wife. It wasn't possible to see the horse after that, but the commentary suggested that the horse had rejoined the parade.
I was worried about the horse (and the rider) and I really wanted to know what had happened to them. I checked online throughout the day and eventually it was reported that the rider was unhurt and the horse had made it's own way back to the stables at Horse Guards' Barracks. So now I just have one unanswered question, how did the horse lose it's stirrup irons and stirrup leathers, did they come off when the rider fell?
There are some good pictures of the riderless horse here.
I couldn't think of anything worse than having to go to a street party, but the girls went to one and apparently they had a really good time. The star of the day for me (apart from the horse) Samantha Cameron. She looked lovely, very smart but not dressed to upstage anyone and she was brave enough not to wear a hat. I have a deep dislike of hats and there were some truly hideous examples at the wedding yesterday. During the service I noticed a woman in a huge black tilted creation that totally obscured the view of the people sitting behind her - totally selfish! Apparently some people are saying that Samantha Cameron was disrespectful for not wearing a hat. I don't think so. As far as I am concerned the outfit worn by another politician's spouse was far more disrespectful with a plunging neckline, and another wore a white dress with black dots that proved see through and showed her underwear. Why did that make the story of the Emperors New clothes come to mind? Maybe because her husbands policies are no more substantial than that dress!
I am looking forward to another long weekend. Having such lovely weather last weekend made Easter extra special. On Easter Sunday we had a family picnic in my mum's garden. Having my three year old nephew Oliver there made it extra special. My daughter had the idea of doing an Easter egg hunt for him. He is too small to have a lot of chocolate so I bought a set of hollow egg shaped chicks and my daughter bought some fun things to put inside them (or to hide near them).
Oliver went racing around the garden looking for the chicks with Grandad giving directions from his deckchair and his cousins trailing behind ready to help him. It was lovely to watch him and to see how much pleasure he got from a tub of bubbles, a balloon on a string, bouncy balls and a selection of books. I think the rest of us enjoyed it every bit as much as he did. It was so nice to have all the family together and to be able to enjoy the sunshine.
I couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness because Oliver has come along so much later than my own children and he will only remember Grandad as old and frail. My children have a wealth of happy memories of time spent with their grandparents and their grandparents have been a very important and much loved part of their lives. When my children were little they longed for cousins and I longed to become an aunt - we had a long wait! Oliver has cousins who adore him and a whole family who love him very much and who enjoy spending time with him. His experience of childhood will be different, but the important thing is that he is surrounded by people who love him. Grandad may no longer be able to race around leading ponies or playing cricket in the garden, but he and Oliver are great friends and he still enjoys the fun of family life.
I think after recent events Robbie would be delighted to be ignored by our cats. He is the one who usually feeds them so you would think that he would be their favourite person in the world, but cats are fickle. They leave Meg the dog to look adoringly at Robbie while they give him aggravation every time he is late feeding them - it serves him right for teaching them to tell the time!! If Robbie does not get up on time Oreo meows outside our bedroom door demanding to be fed, and if Robbie stops off at the bathroom on the way downstairs Oreo head-buts the door demanding instant attention. This usually results in a stream of abuse emanating from the bathroom!
Meg adores Robbie, she has been a good dog, but now she is old, frail and more than a little senile and she does some crazy things sometimes. Robbie had bought a big bag of Starbucks coffee for a friend of ours. He had even had it ground to be used in a cafetiere, but he made a mistake and left it near his chair in the lounge. I came home one morning to find the house smelling like Starbucks and the lounge covered in coffee. It made her violently sick, so when I had cleared up the coffee, I had to clear up after her - thank goodness we don't have carpet! A few days later she stole a bag of flour from the kitchen and trailed flour all through the house, she looked like a ghost - and she almost became one when Robbie saw what she had done! Clearing up flour is harder than it sounds, especially when most of it is on the dog!!
The cats don't like to be outdone and one of them decided to go one step further with some tactical vomiting! Robbie insists on displaying his Dr Martens on the stairs, a pair for almost every step. It was just too tempting, not content with covering the front of his favourite purple boots the fat, furry feline (as Robbie called him) vomited into his blue boots. Guess who had to clean it up - I get all the best jobs!!
Without really meaning to Robbie left me feeling old and past it (whatever 'it' might be). It set me thinking about what old really means. As a child on the rare occasions that I was brave enough to ask my grandma how old she was, she would tell me that she was as old as her tongue and a little bit older than her teeth. I was never brave enough to point out that she was considerably older than her teeth - she had a new and rather wayward set of dentures! My mum (who was 29 when I was born) always claimed to be 23, in fact she remained 23 until she was well into her 50s!! My younger daughter longed to be 18 so that she could be an adult and do all the things she wanted to do. My older daughter who is 22 was furious the other day when she was asked for ID to buy a DVD with a 12 classification! She hates looking younger than her years.
So it seems to me that most people are not totally happy with their age, that is just the way life is. It is no wonder that I feel old when I have to cope with Robbie and his many and varied moods. You should have seen him today, he had a massive strop because he sat on some bird poo, but thankfully his bad mood didn't last too long. One way or the other life with Robbie is always eventful! Perhaps I have a few (or more) grey hairs, perhaps I am getting old, who cares. John Barrymore said "A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams" I am not ready to give up on my dreams, so by that measure I am still young!
I had a very interesting discussion with one of my offspring when we were driving in the other day. It is worthy of note because most of the time all I get is one grunt for yes and two for no, so it is reassuring to find that they can manage more than a growl when the mood takes them. The subject under discussion was teenage angst, I have to be fair, none of my children have given me too much grief during their teens, it is just that teenagers are hard work. I joked that I had missed out because I was too well behaved in my teens, so I plan to enjoy a mid life crisis instead. There was a deep sigh from the back of the car, "Mother, you have already had it, it's called Robbie!"
When I clicked on the list of blog topic suggestions that I sometimes use, the subject that I was given to write about was was Guilty Pleasures. At first I thought no way, I can't write about that, but I don't give up easily and I decided to to take up the challenge. Robbie doesn't have any guilty pleasures, he has plenty of pleasures but he doesn't really do guilt. I will not list all his pleasures it would be a mix of X rated and terminally boring stuff, and I have I have written about most of them on the blog in the past. So it is confession time, I am the one with guilty pleasures.
Dave is my greatest pleasure, in some ways he is a lot like Robbie, he is warm and affectionate, and he is very determined. They both love their food and come to think of it they both have some pretty disgusting habits! They have a number of differences too, Dave doesn't abandon me in favour of a train, he always has time for me and he likes nothing better than to snuggle up next to me. He may be just a cat but he is very special to me.
I think most of my other guilty pleasures involve spending money that I can't really justify. I am not high maintenance when it comes to clothes or shoes (that's Robbie!) and I don't spend a lot on having my hair cut or styled. I can't waste my life messing about with my hair, I prefer a practical easy care style. Books are my weakness, I cold spend a fortune on books and I get very possessive about my books, I will not part with them.
I have a passion for paints too, not the sort that you paint walls with, I mean artists paints. I love to paint and always want the best quality paints, I could never have enough paints, brushes, paper or any kind of art/craft materials. Good quality paper is a must, it is an extortionate price, so yes buying art materials is a guilty pleasure.
I often write about Robbie's love of Polish Jaffa Cakes, dripping and various other types of food. I must admit that my likes and dislikes are a bit unusual too. I love liver and bacon with rich thick gravy so much that sometimes I have a craving for it. I am the only one in the family who likes liver, so having it seems rather self indulgent, but from time to time I give in to my cravings. It seems that Robbie has had a life long aversion to anything green or healthy, so he is completely mystified by my love of runner beans, spinach, swede, beetroot and tomatoes.
I do have a few other guilty pleasures, but you can't expect me to tell you everything. The only one that I am willing to admit to is John Major, I have a bit of a soft spot for him. It is true that he has a face best suited to radio, but I like the way he speaks, I think he is a powerful and sincere speaker. I have to confess to a sneaky admiration because he got his own back on his critics, misbehaving with Edwina Currie shows that he wasn't such a grey man after all!
It will not surprise those who know me that Robbie and I do not always agree. We are quite capable of arguing about everything from politics to pet care, but when you get beyond the bickering our views are not significantly different. It is just that Robbie is less willing to be outspoken than I am -yes really! I can tolerate people spouting drivel as long as I don't have to listen. I can accept their right to believe passionately in the most ridiculous things, but if they try to impose their batty beliefs on me they will get their answer loud and clear - even the Jehovah's Witnesses have blacklisted our house! The thing that really gets me wound up is when one group gets so forceful about asserting their rights that their actions have a devastating effect on others, including those more vulnerable and less able to assert their 'rights'.
That brings me on to a name which has fast become a swear word among many of it's customers - London Midland. If you type the words 'London Midland chaos' or 'London Midland Disruption', you will find countless examples of delayed or cancelled services and services that terminated before their expected destination. Their name has become synonimous with disruption, chaos and unreliability. The the drivers dispute which has been causing havock for passengers is supposedly at an end. There have been various promises about normal service being resumed from yesterday. It is that little word 'normal' that bothers me because 'normal' for London Midland is not a good customer experience. Yesterday Robbie's journey to work was one of the worst yet. I would be much more reassured if they said that they would be running the full timetabled service, on time and with working toilets. Come to think of it I wouldn't believe them even if they said that!!
Like so many others Robbie has has had a terrible time trying to get to and from work. Often it took three times as long as it should and it required considerable ingenuity to get there or to get home again. It was exhausting and extremely worrying. I understand that the drivers have issues, of course they want to be paid well for what they do. I am not anti union (but I am deeply unimpressed by the way some unions behave) and I understand that this problem is not all one sided, the company should have sorted this out long ago. In fact the faceless bods at DFT who make totally batty decisions about franchise allocation should have foreseen the problems of harmonising the pay and conditions of workers who joined the new franchise from two different companies. It is simply not good enough to treat passengers so badly.
Needless to say the chaos has generated a lot of frustration and there has been plenty of heated discussion on facebook. I was pleasantly surprised to find that even some fellow railway employees did not support the recent action. One person wrote (not a direct quote as it was necessary to tone down the language) They need to get their heads banged together. For too long the insulated world of train crew have been taking advantage of at the people who employ them as well the poor passengers stood on platforms waiting for a non-running service. A fortnight working hard in a different job would be enough to make them appreciate just how fortunate they really are.
It seems the drivers have got their deal, but at what cost. What about the people who have had to drive to work or to university because the train service is so unreliable, what about the countless people who lost pay because their train was cancelled or terminated short. Did the drivers give a thought to the people who were terrified of losing their job because they just couldn't get to work on time. I wonder if they cared that the passengers that they messed about so badly will get no meaningful compensation. It is great for the drivers that they have got what they wanted, but at what cost?
If my brain was like a computer I would be able to erase old files and junk to free up memory space. Instead I find myself struggling to remember what I went to the shop for but still able to remember useless chunks of information from years ago. On Thursday evening I found myself sitting in a parking space at the local Tesco which is attached to a filling station. As I waited for Robbie I glanced up at the signs above the fuel pumps Esso, and suddenly an advertising jingle replayed itself in my head. "The Esso sign means happy motoring, the esso sign means happy motoring, so call on the Esso sign", I dread to think how long that little gem has been lurking in a dusty corner of my brain. I looked it up when I came got home and YouTube alleged that it was from the 1950s, I will admit to being a child of 1960s but I wasn't even a twinkle in the 1950s!
Anyway by the time we got home I had skipped nimbly over the stepping stones of memory and recited a sizeable chunk of a Robert Browning poem to Robbie. I have probably mentioned before that Robbie is a man of varied and surprising tastes, but I may not have revealed that he likes me to recite poetry to him. For some reason my maternal grandmother cropped up in conversation and I told him that The Pied Piper by Robert Browning was her party piece - she could empty a room with it! For those who are not familiar with it, it is a lovely poem but it is very, very long. She knew the whole poem by heart and as a young child I thought it was the coolest thing to get her to recite it for me, it fees as if I have known that poem for ever. Reciting it brings back many happy memories, but it is no practical use.
Anyway, back to computers, I have been doing battle with my computer for some time, or to be more accurate, doing battle with the Blogger template I use for the blog. I have tamed most of the gremlins in the system or at least found ways to work around them, but when I wanted to change the layout slightly it started acting the fool. It left my text looking as if it was hanging in mid air, all I wanted to was to have a distinct dark coloured background with light text in my chosen font. It seemed like a fairly simple thing to do, but Blogger wasn't having it. I wasted hours trying every way I could think of to get it to do what I wanted without success. I don't like to be beaten and in the end I found a rather clunky solution, I created what I wanted elsewhere then turned it into a PDF file and imported it. It worked! There should have been a much better way of doing it but at least it is done.
So now I have my next battle, trying to the make the 'contact me' button work. So far it has led me a merry dance, but if I am capable of keeping Robbie more or less on the straight and narrow, I am certainly not going to be defeated by a contact button!!
When I was a very young child I enjoyed stories about a magical little man called Mr Pink-whistle who had all sorts of adventures because he could make himself invisible. I liked to imagine all the mischief that it would be possible to get up to if I was invisible. In books and comics invisibility is a common theme, from the Invisible Woman, the first female superhero created by Marvel (who just happens to be as old as me) to Harry Potter and his cloak of invisibility, the ability to disappear has brought them power, excitement and adventure. People will tell you that in real life it is not possible to become invisible, but it is, the difference is that in real life it is a very lonely and isolating experience.
There is a dutch artist called Desiree Palmen who creates amazing phots of invisible peope. I like the pictures, because they express visually how I feel sometimes, not exactly invisible, but not quite there, perhaps the right term would be overlooked. An infection in my inner ear left me with balance problems, dizziness and slight hearing loss. It has been like that for years and I cope quite well most of the time, but I don't cope well with crowds or noisy environments. I am used to the dizziness but sometimes in crowded places I feel very unsteady and vulnerable, it is almost like a shrinking feeling. It reminds me of Mrs Peperpot a storybook character created by Alf Prøysen who never knows when she is going to shrink.
The other day a friend of mine asked "if I ceased to exist would it matter?". She was not threatening to end it all, she was just feeling invisible and she was posing a very important question. I know quite a lot of 'invisible' people, people who for various reasons struggle to fit in. For some struggling with a disability makes them feel isolated especially when it is a hidden disability that is not understood by others. Mental health problems can be especially isolating and some people who are weighed down by worries, fears or sadness feel that life is going on around them but nobody knows or cares about them.
We all take life for granted until something puts our future or the future of someone that we love at risk. Then we suddenly review our values and we realise that the things that the world thinks are important don't really matter at all and we learn to value the little things and the things that do not have a price tag such as love, friendship, time, health, warmth, sunshine and freedom. It is true that each life is just a tiny insignificant speck in the sands of time and that when someone dies the world carries on just as before. However the answer to my friend's question is yes, it would matter if she or any of those invisible people ceased to exist.
It would matter to everyone who loves them and cares about them. A person who ceased to exist would live on in the memory of every life that they touched, and most people touch many lives in one way or other. Someone who had hurt or wronged them would never be able to ask forgiveness or put things right and they would have to carry that guilt through life. If someone ceased to exist, the good that they may do in the future would not happen. They could not pass on the wisdom that they had gained from their life experiences or prevent others from making the same mistakes, they would not be there as living proof that you can get through the bad stuff. They could not encourage others or set an example for others. Finally if someone ceased to exist the people who love them would be devastated, they would always wonder 'what if ...' For some it may perhaps be one loss too many and the pain and grief may change their lives for ever.
So why am I writing about this? Partly because April is National Autism Awareness Month. I have close family members with autistic spectrum disorder and I know how confusing and isolating life can be at times. However I also know that he is interesting, clever, loving and very special. Don't miss out, look around you for the invisible people, don't be afraid of difference, please don't pass them by.
No, I have not started writing film reviews, the title of this post refers to me. On Sunday afternoon we decided to stop to buy an ice lolly from the ice cream van on the way to my mum's house. I asked Robbie to get me a banana lolly, our local ice cream firm Gallone's makes fantastic banana lollies, their ice cream is really good too. As I opened the lolly I commented that they are not like they used to be, they still taste good but they are a slightly different shape and texture and the packaging is different. Robbie said that it was a shame that he couldn't travel back in time to get one for me. As we continued our journey I was quietly contemplating time travel, thinking of all the other things that tasted better in the past, opal mints, spangles and Texan bars, to name just a few.
For once Robbie's mind was not on food, but he was also contemplating time travel. He announced that if he was able to travel back in time he would make sure that the Blue Pullman and the Baby Deltic was saved for preservation. It came as no surprise that even his flights of fantasy involve diesel trains but it left me wondering what I would do if I could travel back in time. My first thought was to go back and warn my first husband and my dad to take better care of their health as both died of as a result of 'silent killers' by the time the symptoms were evident it was too late to do very much about it. Somehow I know that would be cheating, you can't change the past so , I think I would just like to go back and meet my great grandparents and find out what sort of people they were. I know a lot about them from researching my family tree, but it would be nice to know what they thought, what they did, what their homes were like, I know about some of the things that made them sad, illness, loss, poverty and war, but it would be so nice to know about the things that made them happy and the things that made them laugh.
Robbie has been up to his old tricks again alliteration on the theme of F. On this occasion the cat was not the target of his outburst - it was me! On Sunday morning when I woke up he waved a red and swollen finger in front of me and announced that he'd got a load of green pus out of it the previous evening. I didn't like the sound of that and I insisted that it has to be treated and dressed to get all the gunk out. His outburst was not because I was hurting him, I was apparently making him look like a freak by putting a plaster on his finger. Some of the F words were flaming, freak and finger, but I will leave the others to your imagination! His finger is much better now, so it was worth putting up with the indignity of a plaster after all!
My son has decided that he no longer wants to be named on the blog. As a blogger himself he understands that this will be rather challenging for me, so he has given me permission to write about him (as long as it is not too embarrassing) but he does not want me to post photos of him. So the question is do I give him an alias or should I just refer to him as my son. So far that question is unresolved and for now he remains nameless. My dilemma reminded me of when he was about 8 and going through his spy phase. He decided to change his name to Flash, his teacher was most annoyed when he changed his name on all his exercise books!! That seems like a lifetime ago now.
So back to the present, he has his GCSEs looming in front of him and the difficult question of finding a suitable place for Sixth Form. The school he is at is very good in terms of the results it achieves and there are some very good teachers but it is very rigid and oppressive. I want him to do well beyond Sixth Form and that involves becoming more self reliant and taking responsibility for his own learning. He also felt that he needed a different learning environment for Sixth Form and he was very keen to go to the school that his sisters attended. There was just one problem, they only take up to 20 external students for post 16 education and everyone wants to go there.
Having attended the open evening and chatted to the teachers about the courses available he was more keen than ever and he eagerly filled in his application form. After that there was a long and anxious wait, then when we had almost given up hope there was a telephone message inviting him for an interview, he was so excited. The interview went well and on Friday the long awaited letter arrived, he has a firm offer of a place. He will be one of only a handful of boys at a girls school! He had a huge grin on his face and he sat in the lounge with his hat on (the hat is similar to the type worn by Olly Murs). I asked why the hat had put in an appearance after an absence of several weeks and he said that it is his happy hat. He took it off and allowed me a brief glimpse inside. Inside he has tucked several photos and notes into the lining band. He carries his most precious memories with him - in his hat! He has always had a unique approach to life.
I like the idea of a happy hat, if I thought it would work I would make one for Robbie, but maybe Robbie wasn't built for hats!
Photo by t-florie
When I was chatting with my friend the other day she referred to my recent post about arguments and she pointed out that what I write on the blog is not always the complete picture because the things that really hurt me do not find their way to the blog. I guess she has a point, I do write when I am sad or hurt or worried, and often the process of writing helps, but one my of my greatest frustrations is not being able to write about a person or a situation either because they do not want to be written about or because the situation is too personal or private to write about. To see a friend or family member struggling and being ground down by a situation is almost worse than enduring it yourself especially when there there very little that you can do to help. Very occasionally I have to accept that the issue is completely off limits, but usually I can write more generally about a subject or write about a similar situation from the past.
Once a very long time ago I was bullied. I was in my first job after qualifying and I became increasingly unhappy because of the way my manager behaved towards me. It was quite a long time before I recognised it as bullying because it was very subtle. I was put down for the smallest errors or omissions, things that I did well were ignored or passed off as my manager's work, she criticised me in front of colleagues and clients, she withheld information so that I would make mistakes and look foolish and she gave me the worst jobs and impossible deadlines. It wasn't my first job, so I knew that work shouldn't be like that and I knew that I was competent, but I still felt that somehow it was my fault and my confidence ebbed away to be replaced with anxiety and dread. I felt trapped and powerless, and I was sure that no one would believe me, it was her word against mine,she had a good reputation and she was coming to the end of a successful career. I did the only thing I could do, I kept going and I worked long hours and I tried to meet the impossible targets.
That situation continued for months, I didn't tell anyone, I just became increasingly unhappy and anxious. Then after about 9 months of agony someone more senior than my manager took me aside after a training course and asked me to tell her what was happening. That was the beginning of the solution for me, it took time and it wasn't easy but knowing that I was believed gave me the confidence to stand up for myself and to tackle the bullying. Sadly the manager became ill and left not long afterwards, but by then things were much improved between us and we parted on good terms.
Looking back with the wisdom of hindsight I still wonder why it happened. I don't think she was a bad person, she just behaved unkindly towards me. She was at the end of a career that had given her status and satisfaction and she may perhaps have envied my youth and enthusiasm (I was about 23) and been irritated that I took it all for granted. She was traditional, very respectful of hierarchy and she clung to rules and regulations. It seemed to me at the time that she used rules and policy to justify a 'can't do' attitude and to avoid making decisions, but perhaps that is a bit harsh. I realise now that she was out of her depth, she had been moved out of her comfort zone, I think she was intimidated by the client group and I think that clinging to rules and tradition was her way of feeling in control. I suspect she was unhappy and perhaps a little afraid but it doesn't excuse the way she treated me.
It is hard to admit that you are being bullied and it is probably just as hard to admit to yourself that you are a bully, but acknowledging it is the first step towards putting it right. I wouldn't wish what happened to me on my worst enemy, all theses years later I can still remember how terrible I felt. It was a difficult to face up to those feelings, but having to do so has made me stronger and more determined and I am sure it made me a better manager. When he was Chief Executive of The Industrial Society Tony Morgan said "Workplace bullying - in any form - is bad for business. It destroys teamwork, commitment and morale."
The title for this post is a Moorish Proverb, I like the imagery and it seemed like an ideal title for a post about Mothers Day. I had a lovely day on Sunday, the girls (with a little help from their brother) cooked a roast beef dinner and it was really nice, the carrots were fantastic and I am not usually a fan of carrots. They bought me a beautiful locket too, so I felt extremely spoilt.
In the afternoon we all went to see my mum, spending Sunday afternoon with her and my stepfather has become a bit of a family tradition. My brother and my nephew usually pop in too and it is lovely to have an unhurried couple of hours with all the people that I love most. My mum takes pleasure in feeding people, and she and Robbie have developed a mutual admiration, he loves her cakes and she is pleased that her baking brings so much pleasure. On Sunday he tucked in to her legendary pineapple cake, but he likes everything that she cooks. I think almond tarts are my favourite, mum makes amazing pastry. We bought mum a CD and a book for Mothers Day, and the girls bought her some lovely flowers, she loves flowers, but I am not keen on having flowers in the house, I don't like watching them die.
My mum and I are different in so many ways, she loves fashion and always wears bright colours, she is passionate about jewellery, she likes having her hair done, she wears make up always because it makes her feel good, she loves to shop and she likes going out. Those who know me will know that I am not like that, I couldn't be less interested in fashion, and I don't like bright colours. I like blues and greys and I tend to stick with colours I am comfortable with. In my late teens I remember having a brief phase when I liked brown, my mum was horrified, she said "you can wear that when you are dead!" but she has always respected my right to express myself my way. I would rather have my teeth drilled than tolerate anyone messing with my hair, I hardly wear any make up and I detest shopping. Given the choice I prefer to be at home rather than going out. We are different but in the things that matter we are very similar, family always comes first with mum and she has always been there to share our joys and our sorrows. She taught me that women can do anything they put their mind to and they can do it better than men because women read the instructions first! She taught me to keep trying and never to be beaten by circumstances, she gave me the confidence to be me , to stand up for what I believe and not just follow the crowd, and she gave me values and standards to live by. So you see we are not so different after all! My mum is not really the sort of mum to give advice, she just teaches by example, but I do recall one little gem of wisdom from around the time of my first marriage "men are like dogs, if you don't train them young you will always have problems" - so that's where I went wrong with Robbie!!
It's not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it. From the television show The Golden Girls
The fact that Robbie and I argue will come as no surprise to regular readers of the blog, but the things that we argue about are perhaps a little more surprising. I listened to a discussion on the radio recently about the causes of arguments within relationships and I realised that Robbie and I argue about some very strange things compared to other people. So I decided to come up with a list, and looking back at the blog has revealed lots of evidence too..
The gender of God - Robbie is convinced that God is male, rather formal and definitely C of E, my understanding of God is considerably different. If Robbie gets too pompous about it I tell him that God is female and he loses it completely! Sunday Morning Musings
The merits or otherwise of Ken Livingstone - This subject crops up when Robbie wants to provoke an argument, he knows exactly which buttons to press to get a reaction and it always works. The mere mention of that odious little man sends my blood pressure sky high and totally ruins my day. Red and Green, Not Fit to Be Seen
The fridge - Robbie is the self appointed ruler of the fridge. It has to be set out his way and he even expects me to buy condiments and such like in the correct size to fit in the spaces that he has designated for them. He is destined to be a very disappointed man because I do as I like!
The Fridge Police Fitting In King of the Fridge
Supermarket shopping - Supermarket shopping together is a very dangerous activity because it is very likely to lead to arguments. Robbie likes to push the trolley, to organise the trolley so that the items are stacked in the correct manner (according to him), to dictate the size shape and brand of item purchased and to be in complete control of the order the items are put through the checkout. There have been occasions when we have almost come to blows and on several memorable occasions he has danced with fury! Survival - Against The Odds!
Trains come first - I shouldn't really complain, Robbie has never made any secret of the fact that he lives, breathes and sleeps trains, but there are occasions when it would be really nice if he could put me first just for a few minutes. In Disgrace Again
Waking me up -
I really wish that I could make him understand how annoying it is to be woken up. He may be able to go to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, but if he wakes me up it takes me ages to get back to sleep. Of all the things that we argue about I find this the most hurtful because it is so thoughtless. Tiredness Can Kill
What to wear - Robbie is so conventional in some ways, but when it comes to clothes he is unique, in fact I sometimes wonder about his sanity. The clothes he wears are a bit like him, loud, startling and a bit crazy - need I say more! I believe passionately in freedom of choice - my freedom to choose not to go out with him looking like that!! Human Rights
Hoarding - Both of us are hoarders, we both hoard different things for different reasons and it often leads to conflict. I have written countless posts about Robbie and his love of clutter, so it seems only fair to link to posts that explain what I hoard and why. Confessions of a Hoarder Parting with Memories
Being tactless - Robbie has an unfortunate habit of speaking his thoughts and it can get him into big trouble at times Questions Questions
Lack of awareness - Robbie is very lovable, but he has a complete lack of awareness of the way that his actions impact on those around him - mostly me!
Give Him an Inch and He Takes a Mile!
The Location of the North - This is a matter of fierce debate. Having grown up in Northamptonshire I know that the North starts at Watford Gap but Robbie grew up in Staffordshire and he gets extremely annoyed when I say that he is from the north. We have a similar debate about the Midlands, Robbie thinks that the Midlands means Birmingham, but I keep telling him that Northamptonshire is classed as East Midlands while the whole area around Birmingham is the West Midlands. If yo really want a reaction from Robbie tell him that he has a Birmingham accent - and then run very fast!! I cant tell the difference but he insists that his Walsall accent is completely different.
Burial or Cremation - This is something that we will never agree about. When the time comes I want to be cremated because I think it is cleaner and more responsible, but Robbie wants to be planted. If he really annoys me I tell him that he will have to make sure he outlives me if he wants to get his own way, but he knows that if it came to it I would of course respect his wishes.
Some of these things are fairly trivial but some we could almost fight to the death over. Maybe that is why the blog is so useful, it helps me to get it out of my system without harming him! Some people say it is healthy to argue, it is better than not communicating at all and it is fun making up afterwards!
Things tend to creep up on you without you taking much notice until one day it hits you like a thunderbolt that something is badly wrong and things can't go on the way they are. That is how it has been with Robbie's pain, it has always been there and it has always worried me, but Robbie hates it when anyone makes a fuss. so I have got used to noticing a lot but not making a big deal of it. None of us see ourselves as others see us but when Robbie looks in the mirror he sees Superman staring back! Thankfully it doesn't involve him wearing a skin tight outfit with with his 'smalls' over his tights - but he thinks that he has to cope with everything without complaining and without asking for help. This is especially true when it comes to coping with the pain and problems caused by spina bifida. He doesn't like to dwell on it, as far as he is concerned what can't be cured must be endured. The problem is that this approach only works while the pain is manageable, but it had become unmanageable and just coping with everyday life had become an ordeal.
Getting Robbie to see the doctor was easier said than done, but I wasn't ready to take no for an answer and he was in so much pain that he knew he couldn't go on like that. So on Friday morning Robbie and I went to the surgery to explain the situation to the doctor. His company allow casual dress on Fridays but as we walked across the car park to the surgery door I wondered why he had chosen that day to wear see through Converse with vivid blue, yellow and pink socks, jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt. The doctor was lovely, she listened and asked questions and she could see that he couldn't cope with the pain. She wanted to see the range of movement he had in his legs and I had to suppress a smile when she got him to lay on the table and had him waving his legs around like a dying fly. She could hardly miss his psychedelic feet and the look on her face was priceless.
My hidden smile was replaced by a broad grin when the doctor said that she thought that it would be possible to manage the pain. She explained that the pain will not go away but there are several types of medication that can dampen the pain messages coming from the nerves to the brain. She has prescribed medication with a view to him taking it long term. It will take up to six weeks before he will experience the full benefit, and it will have some side effects, but it was such a relief to have a long term plan to deal with the pain. Robbie's sense of relief was even greater than mine, he even thanked me for making him go to see the doctor. There are no quick fixes and the pain will not go away but the medication will make a huge difference and hopefully Robbie will be able to enjoy life again.
