Finally 7x7x7x7

It is with great shame that I realise that I have not yet taken up the gauntlet thrown down by the fragrant Julie and indulged myself in the 7x7x7x7 challenge. So, 

I have to list 7 Blog Posts I admire

Then list 7 things about myself

Then answer 7 questions set by my "Tagger", set 7 questions of my own, and then pass on the whole damn thing to someone else.

Oh Bugger, here goes nothing...

In no particular order, and ignoring (in a truly cavalier style) that it should be specific posts I will happily list  Angie Annetts ~ she makes me laugh, cry, gnash my teeth and reach for the vodka, normally within the same blog post...

The gorgeous pouting Julie ~ she blogs almost as randomly as I do, although she is a much nicer person that me!

Another lovely lovely human being, albeit with a laugh like Sid James, Mrs K writes in many, many styles and under a few different names ~ I love every one of her guises!

Next comes Wendy ~ she is a cancer survivor and writes with courage, humour and grace. If I had to face what she has dealt with I would hope I could do so with a tenth of the style she has shown.

Then we have the indescribable Stringy ~ Now this man should probably have been locked up years ago for the safety of the rest of mankind, but he hasn't and so we are all free to enjoy his writings.. and I'd like to add that he is a jolly nice chap in real life as well!

New to the blogging scene (man..) is the ever so slightly barking mad Kate ~ a woman who inspires such loyalty in me that I damn nearly held her hair back as she threw up after a bit of a sesh..

Finally, and for the pure unadulterated joy of crying and choking with laughter Can I recommend Inflight Bitch ~ Please God I never get on the same flight as her...

Right then... 7 things about myself.

• I really, really don't like clowns ~ I find them extremely sinister. Which rather puts the mockers on me ever taking the kids to the Circus!
• I am allergic to rubber ~ I'll now wait for the sharp intake of breath as we all avoid the obvious question (the answer is yes..)
• When I was quite little I decided that when I grew up I wanted to be a horse..
• I know the eight pieces of music and the luxury item I will choose when I am famous and appear on Desert Island Discs.
• Despite being a complete coward, I had Laser surgery on my eyes a few years ago.
• I can't sleep unless I have Gerald, my toy donkey.
• My favourite book ever is "A Prayer for Owen Meany" by John Irvine

Now for Julie's questions:-

1. When was the last time you told a lie?  I'm an Estate Agent, it's part of my job description.
2. Is there any food you've not tried, but would really like to? Um, I'd like to try more fish, but tend to stick with what I know ~ how dull!!
3. What Posters were on the wall of your teenage bedroom? I have to confess that I had no posters on my wall, I lived most of my teenage years in either a book or my head so posters weren't really an option.
4. Groundhog Day is real. Which day would you choose, and why? Tricky one this, I would choose a day in Cyprus with my latest ex-husband just after we got engaged. It was a golden day and he and I sat by the Med and drank pink wine and talked and laughed and he told me I was beautiful.. That was one of the most perfect days of my life.
5. Which is the one room in your house you'd make over, if money were no object? No hesitation, my kitchen.. as long as that meant I could knock down the wall into the dining room and make it one big room!
6. Would you ever consider/have you ever had plastic surgery? Hmm.. I've thought about it, but on balance I don't really think I would.. It's trying to cheat nature and that rarely ends well!
7. What is the most adventurous thing you have ever done? What? Apart from repeatedly getting married?? It's got to be the Bungee jump I did in my twenties. The next time I am that scared I want to die straight after..

And now my questions.. 

1. Do you still have monsters under the bed?
2. What is your favourite time of day, and why?
3. Is there a piece of music that can make you cry, and if so, what is it?
4. If you could choose an accent, what would it be?
5. Is there anyone in your daily life that you just know would be improved with a fork in their face?
6. What is your least favourite domestic chore?
7. Who are your 3 choices for the perfect dinner guests? (alive, dead, famous or not).

So there we have it ~ and I feel a tiny bit naked after that (as it were) ~ so I am going to pass this on, not the being naked, the 7x7x7x7 of course..

Julie Angie Mrs K Stringy Kate   and any other Bugger who fancies a challenge ~ I dare you!!

The Power of the Telly Box

There is a programme on tonight "Long Lost Families" ~ it's very mawkish and deals with the reuniting of families separated by adoption. The first series last year was dubbed "Mummy's Weekly Weep" by my kids, as I sobbed my way through every episode.


It resonates with me on many levels, the main one being that of an adopted child. I am not sure whether this is a appropriate subject for a Blog, but it's my bloody Blog and so I've decided to write about it.


My parents wanted children desperately but it just never happened, and so they chose to adopt ~ and being the amazing human beings they were they subsequently adopted 4 of us, my Mother never did anything by halves! I was only 10 days old when I was adopted, which meant that I didn't have to grow up in Solihull, which is where I was born ~ I mean me with a Brum accent?? I think not..


I didn't find out I was adopted until I was about 9 ~ I still remember walking upstairs and hearing my sister scream at our Mum "I hate you, you're not even our real Mother" ~ which is, quite frankly, one hell of a way to find out! I ran into my parents' bedroom and wept bitterly for about 15 minutes with my poor Mother tying to console me.. And then I suddenly realised it actually made no difference to me AT ALL.. My Mum and Dad were still my Mum and Dad and life was really no different, other than it would be a bit cool to tell the girls at school!


At the time I asked questions about my "real" parents (God, I hate that phrase) and my parents skillfully avoided telling me anything ~ rightly so, I now realise with hindsight. All I was told was that my Birth Mother was very young when she had me, and that my Mum and Dad loved me and wanted me to be their daughter. Good enough for my 9 year old self!


The years rolled on and there was the odd occasion where I thought I wanted to know more, but the desire passed very quickly as I looked to my parents and realised how lucky I actually was.


When I was pregnant with my eldest daughter my Mum used to get very upset that she couldn't empathise with me, having never been pregnant herself. That hit home for me.. It made me love my Mum even more to be honest.


My Mum died less than 2 years after I had my daughter and the effect that had on my life was devastating. I had lost my best friend and my rock, the light in my life and my Beacon of Hope ~ how the bloody hell was I supposed to cope when my world had been knocked off its axis? And to this day I defy anyone to tell me it would have been more painful if my Mother had actually given birth to me, it's simply not possible. The same can be said when both my big Brother and my Dad died ~ blood ties could not have made the pain any more horrific. 


Throughout all of this I have never had any desire to find out any more about my Birth Mother ~ I have, in fact, been quite dismissive.. I have always brushed off friends who have asked "But don't you have ANY interest in knowing" with the [true] explanation that I felt nothing was missing from my life and my relationship with my parents, and therefore I felt no need to delve into someone else's life.


And then this flaming programme was shown ~ and I realised that I am not the only one in the equation. Somewhere out there (maybe) is the woman who gave birth to me and who (maybe) wants to know about me. You may say that I am thinking like this because I no longer have parents, and to be perfectly honest you may well be right. 


I think I would like to see my adoption records ~ just to see. And yes, I can't help but wonder what if I look like someone else? A harrowing thought I know, but a thought all the same.


So once again, I will sob my way through this programme while I try and decide whether to apply for my records. Might I be opening a can of worms? Or might I not be strong enough to do it alone, maybe I should leave well alone.


Now, excuse me while I go and mop all the mascara from down my face.

Back by popular demand....

.. That is a monster exaggeration ~ truth be told one person said they liked my Blog and now I've got all big headed and decided to start it again.. Shall I point out the unsubscribe button now, or shall we totter on??


Anyway.. I have been set a challenge by the gorgeous pouting Julie Sardine Tin.. It's called the 7x7x7x7 ~ and to explain I shall cut and paste from her latest blog (which by the way, is a jolly good read):~  

I have to list 7 blog posts I admire

Then list 7 things about myself

Then answer 7 questions set by that my "tagger", set 7 questions of my own and pass on the whole shebang!

So I'm going to give it a go ~ It will take me a day or so to put it all together.. but watch this space!


Oh and the lovely Julie's Blog is www.thesardinetin.com 

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action Please..... Part 3

Well... It's not exactly Jackanory but shall we crack on and finish this then?


Quick recap ~ I'm mad and the Police have knocked on my door..


It may sound silly, but I have never been in trouble with the Police in my life, and so when this Police women told me why she was there I nearly collapsed. I was required to be interviewed, under caution, with regard to allegations that had been made against me. The allegations were Theft and Fraud, and there were no more details forthcoming at that time. If I refused I would be arrested and my house would be searched.


I had nearly 2 weeks to wait until the date agreed. I cried every day and failed every night to sleep for more than 2 hours, every time I closed my eyes the fears came crashing down on me and forced my eyes open..I used to lie on the sofa ~ I couldn't go to bed, I'd bought that bed with my husband and to lie in it alone was too painful ~ and go over every scenario in mind, over and over. 


The day arrived and I went to the Police Station ~ only to discover they'd given me the wrong date and I had another week to wait. Somehow I got through the following week and went for my appointment. I was interviewed under caution ~ the tape machines really do make that high pitched whine when they are switched on you know! 


I told them what I had done ~ Why would I not? I explained that I had only used the money to support my children and my intention had always been to pay the money back, somehow. I also explained that the kids and I were living on amounts that kept us well below the national poverty line and there were days when I could not afford to feed them or keep them warm. The Police were very kind to me, I like to think that they realised I am not a habitual criminal, and my actions were a direct result of desperation and my illness. 


They explained that the allegations had been made by my brother, he had also accused me of selling my Father's effects ~ hilarious for anyone who has seen my house, packed to the rafters with my Dad's clothes and his boxes of photographs; I can't throw away his clothes even now.. I have them hanging in my room so I keep him nearby.


I provided proof that I had touched none of his capital ~ the police had informed the DWP and they had said they felt no need to prosecute, I am told they will contact me at some point to organise some kind of repayment plan. 


And so, all things being equal, I wont be charged with anything. If I am, I will stand up and be counted ~ I will take whatever punishment is handed out, after all I did wrong and I believe passionately in justice. I just hope that my Siblings enjoy their inheritance and feel their actions were justified.


Whatever happens I have already had the worst punishment I could have had. I have to live with the knowledge that I did wrong by my Dad, he trusted me and I let him down ~ that is a terrible punishment and it will stay with me all my life.


So that's my nasty little secret.. I know I have let so many people down; but I have also paid a very heavy price. All my jewellery is gone.. pawned months ago and I can't afford to get it back, I lost my sanity and my self respect and I damn nearly lost my life as well. But somehow, through all of this, my kids stayed safe and now they are going to have their proper Mum back again.


So judge me if you will, I may well do the same ~ but just remember that we do what we do for our families, and I will never apologise for loving my kids so much I would do anything to protect them.


And here endeth this particular life lesson.

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action Please..... Part 2

So where were we kiddies?? Oh yes, I was going mad.. So here comes part 2, the nasty bits. Some of you may read this and judge me ~ all I ask is that you wait until the end to judge me.


I Don't really remember my Dad's funeral.. I'd arranged it from within a haze of pain and all I can really remember is vowing not to cry in front of my kids, they didn't need me falling apart in front of them, I had to be strong for them. Trouble was, who was there to be strong for me?


I remember delivering Dad's Eulogy ~ I stood up and my throat closed, but I did it. I had remembered my promise to Dad and so everybody was treated to the glory that is Bunny Berrigan's "Can't Get Started", and I vaguely recall various people pressing my hands and uttering words that washed over me like the sunlight. My surviving Brother and Sister were there, but I was the focus as my Dad had lived with me and everyone knew I had been his carer. My husband had appeared out of the woodwork a couple of days before the funeral and I wanted him there to look after me, a mistake with hindsight. But I got through the day and didn't let my kids down ~ or my Dad I hope.


2 days after the funeral I got the first phone call from my siblings ~ what about Dad's will? As I was Dad's Executor it was presumed that I would know who got what, and how much, oh and when? Honestly, it turned my stomach, I hadn't slept for over a week and suddenly the vultures were swooping ~ I felt dirty and soiled by the blatant avarice, what about my beloved Daddy being dead? Isn't there a saying about waiting until the body is cold?


I saw my Solicitor and he explained that it would be a lot cheaper if I was to sort everything out and apply for Probate myself ~ ironically I stood to gain next to nothing from  the Estate, my siblings and all the Grandchildren were the benficiaries. But having spent so long looking after my Dad, it seemed natural that I would "do the right thing" and take on this task myself.


The phone calls increased to every few days ~ how much and how soon would the funds be handed out? I took to avoiding the calls as it felt as though my brain would explode ~ if I talked about this then it was as good as admitting that my Daddy was gone forever. However, I started putting all the paperwork together as I was supposed to, good daughter that I was. My husband had suggested we take the kids away for a break and I allowed him to pay for a week's holiday in the Canary Isles for me, him and our combined children. My daughter posted a comment of FaceBook saying how excited she was and within a couple of hours I got an offensive text from one of my siblings saying how nice I could afford a holiday. I replied and explained I couldn't afford to get the bus to the Travel Agents, my husband was paying.


I don't really remember the holiday ~ other than it not being a huge success. Too much had happened and his kids had started making my life tricky ~ seems they weren't prepared to share their Dad after all. I suppose the marriage limped on for a few more weeks after we got back, but fairly soon I got royally dumped ~ by email..


Underlying all of this was an ever increasing money crisis. Having never lived in the benefits system, I had no idea of what I was entitled to or how to go about claiming it, so the kids and I lived on Child Tax Credits and Child Benefit ~ which isn't an awful lot, approximately £600 per month to pay for EVERYTHING, including the hideously expensive pre-paid gas and electricity meters that this house has. Imagine having so little money that you had to choose not to eat for 2 days so that you could put some money on the electricity key and feed your kids? Sounds melodramatic doesn't it.. to me it was just every day.


One day I went to the bank and drew some money out of Dad's account ~ as I had not informed the DWP that Dad was dead they were still paying in his Civil Service Pension. The sheer relief of being able to go and buy food for the kids and put a decent amount on the gas and electric can't be described. I was horrified at what I had done, and swore blind to put the money straight back, well as soon as I could anyway. But I didn't and as I slid further into the madness of my breakdown I took to withdrawing bits here and there to pay for, well, living. Each time I swore I would repay it with the money that was due to me when I had finalised the Estate. Can you see where this went wrong? How could I finalise the estate when I had withdrawn funds after his death? To be clear, I never touched a penny of his money.. it was his pension.. for some reason it matters to me that I make this clear.


This continued for a few months until I realised exactly what I was doing. I went to see my Solicitor and confessed everything. He very sensibly called me for everything and told me to get it sorted straight away ~ he did point out though that my career as a Master Criminal was never going to take off as using a dead man's bank card isn't terribly clever. So I started the process of sorting everything out and began to think that somehow I could make this better.


And then I had a visit from the Police.....


To be continued..

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action Please..... Part 1

The good news is that I am getting a lot better ~ things are slowly improving and I am no longer living in fear of imminent eviction and I can look forward to not having to make the choice between the kids eating and me eating ~ and all too common occurrence over the past couple of years. The bad news is that I have the need to unburden my last, nasty secret ~ so let's do it!


By the time I moved over here a couple of years ago, I had had to make the difficult decision that my Dad needed to be in a Nursing Home ~ his health issues included Parkinsons Disease, Skin Cancer, Prostate Cancer and Dementia as well as having lost his mobility and, quite frankly, I could no longer look after him.. I'd nursed him on my own as well as raising 3 kids and trying to juggle the enforced sale of my beloved home ~ it had nearly killed me and I had lost half by body weight and any ability to sleep. 


When I moved over here Dad was still in a Nursing Home near Southport so I was still driving the 90 mile round trip about 3 times a week. My partner wasn't terribly keen on anything to do with illness or old age so I tended to do this on my own during the week, which was fine. 2 months after I moved I had a call to say that Dad had been taken to hospital with complete Renal failure and could I get there, in a hurry? I arrived to find my Dad hooked up to loads of machines and unconscious. The Doctor carted me off into another room to ask me whether I wanted him resuscitated or simply made comfortable. I already knew the answer but to say "please put a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) Marker on him" nearly killed me. I had called my brother to tell him to come up and he did for a few days.


I spent the next 2 months driving 90 miles a day to sit with my Dad.. the stubborn old bugger had recovered his kidney function and slowly recovered to a certain degree. The only days I didn't drive over there were the days over Christmas and my Wedding Day, mainly because there were several feet of snow and I was worried I wouldn't make it back.
I arranged for him to be moved to a home nearer me so I could spend more time with him and he was moved over in the January. I remember seeing this tiny, wizened  figure being carried out of the ambulance and into the Nursing Home ~ that couldn't be my Dad, my Dad wasn't the biggest of men, but this tiny wraith-like figure was just too small and too helpless. And then he saw me and smiled, and life was OK again, I had my Daddy close to me, where I could be with him. I used to go there and feed him and hold his hand and tell him the same bits of news over and over again ~ Dementia's a bugger like that. Some days he thought I was my Mum and that was quite tough, I didn't have the heart to tell him Mum had died many years before. He also used to ask after my beloved eldest brother, how could I remind him that his golden son was also dead? So I used to lie and say they'd be in soon to see him ~ was that wrong? I thought it was kinder, as the only time I had been truthful he had cried in my arms for hours.


Soon after, and for reasons that have no place here, my eldest daughter decided she wanted to go to South Africa to live with her father. So I flew her out to Capetown and flew back.. 13,000 miles in 4 days. On my return I discovered that the house I was renting was to be sold at action within the month, leaving me and the kids with nowhere to live. For a lot of reasons my family and I had never moved in with my new husband and his family so I suddenly had to find somewhere to move with little or no local knowledge and very strapped finances. I made the decision not to tell my Dad about any of this, he was too ill and his ability to assimilate this sort of information was so compromised it wouldn't be fair on him. 


So I found a house and we moved, it's not easy doing that sort of thing when you are as disorganised as me, and it was a nightmare of boxes and swearing, but it got done.. I had deliberately not been to see my Dad for a couple of weeks as I did not want any of this to touch him and worry him, and then I had a phone call from the Nursing Home.


I drove there and found my Dad in bed - the staff were brilliant, they understood my position and, in my absence, had made extra efforts to treat my Dad ever more kindly than they usually did. My dad was barely conscious and, in the 2 weeks I hadn't seen him, had withered away to nothing. I turned around immediately and hustled the kids out of the door.. they could not and would not see their Granddad in this state. 


The next week was the stuff of nightmares ~ spending all day with my Dad and trying to arrange childcare for my kids for the evenings so I could go back to the Nursing Home. The Matron had been very honest, Dad had very little time left, it could be a week, it could be day, it could be a few hours, and I didn't want him to make that journey alone ~ he would be scared and it was my job to look after him right up to the end.


My husband had told me that I should just walk away and wait for the phone call, after all I was a mother and I should focus on my kids. This was not even an option and so the relationship with him fell instantly into nothing, with hindsight, he was not capable of dealing with my pain and my emotions and so chose to withdraw from the entire situation.


I spent as much time as I could with Dad, dropping the kids to school and going to the Nursing Home, leaving to collect the kids, feed them, offload them somewhere and drive back ~ I even spent some nights sleeping on the bed next to my Dad.


It took a week.. he died in my arms on the evening of Monday 19th July last year, and the pain cannot be described. I was truly alone ~ my Mum, Brother and now Dad had gone and left me, and I had no one to turn to. My kids were devastated, they had grown up with their Granddad in the same house and to lose him was unbearable, I had to look after them and help them.. but who would help me?


And then I went mad.....


To Be Continued.....

We All Need A Guardian Angel

I know you're all gagging to know what drama has befallen me this week ~ I mean it's not as though it's going to have been quiet and uneventful is it? When trying to describe the last few years the only words that spring to mind are "Car Crash TV".. So we'll crack swiftly on shall we?


So.. I've lost my job for being too posh (understandable really) and am back to the world of no money and fear of the unknown. If I am honest, the job thing did knock me badly ~ Having struggled out from the abyss of suicidal depression, I felt myself sliding backwards and the old insecurities rearing their ugly heads. And then the killer blow ~ an eviction notice from my Landlord, thereby realising the ultimate fear ~ the inability to protect my kids and keep them safe.


For months now I have been trying to claim Housing Benefit ~ something I have dreaded as it seemed to me to be the sign of ultimate failure, but needs must at certain times of life. Anyway, it would appear that people like me don't get things like that, and many months and several different applications later I was so far behind with my rent that I blush to admit it. Every time I applied I was asked for everything from bank statements (embarrassing, all those minus signs) to Completion Statements for the house I sold over 2 years ago and everything in between. Every time I provided those details I was asked how I managed to survive on no benefits and my standard answer was "very badly" ~ which becomes more and more accurate every time I get asked. However the Great Grey Monolith that is the Housing Department round here decided that I obviously have money stashed away somewhere and kept turning my down ~ month after month. Earlier this year I was reduced to pawning my jewellery in order to make some sort of dent in the arrears and the next step would be selling my car - unfortunately it's still dead as I can't afford to get a new starter motor for it, which means I can't sell it ~ another thing on the list of things that I can't afford.


Anyway, I buckled again and saw the darkness gathering ~ ironically I need more antidepressants but the lack of car means I can't go and get a repeat prescription ~ and just could not see how to get out of this situation. I felt bitter that I had managed, somehow, for over 4 years and yet was ultimately doomed to fail at this stage. I have no family and my friends list is sadly lacking in millionaires so there was no-one to ask.


Guardian Angels come in many forms, and mine is 5" nothing and called Tina. She has felt bad because she didn't recognise the signs of my last breakdown (nothing to do with the fact I am so good at hiding things) and has appointed herself as the person to help me get back on my feet. And so, this week she and I have been to the Citizens Advice Bureau, the Job Centre, the Housing Office, the Job Centre (again) and anywhere else I needed to go. She has also stood up to my Landlord and explained that bullying me wont help as "If I end up topping myself he still wont get his rent" ~ now THAT was magnificent to watch!


So we reach the end of the week.. we have walked maybe 40 miles this week, and it's a uphill slog back home after crying at the Housing Office I can tell you! I am told I qualify for a "Good Cause" backdate of my rent and I have finally been awarded Job Seekers Allowance. I still have no car and some serious rent arrears, and the dark clouds are still hovering, but I have my kids and my dog and my Guardian Angel. In my life so many people have let me down, or not been what they said, that I have almost forgotten how to trust anyone ~ and so to have a tiny little Guardian Angel with a Heart as big as the world is amazing ~ despite everything I can't help but think how lucky I am.