Day at the Races

The Grim Times led to my father's death and funeral and all of the chaos and confusion that surrounds these events. I did try to hop on a plane to get back to the UK a week earlier, but British Airways and I have a difference of opinion about the definition of 'amendable'. The travel agent and I will be having words upon my return.

In the meantime, I have been trying not to mope. My cousin to the rescue. He's just been fantastic. He's the one who has the boat and took me down the islands, where I ended up camping on a dock for the night. I will just say he's been very bad for my liver and lungs, but very, very good for my heart. While he's not on the oil rigs, he stays with his mother (my aunt) here in Trinidad. Basically, my cousin has been picking me up, taking me out, getting me (very) drunk and then I've crashed in his mother's spare room.

On Tuesday, Trinidad celebrated it's Independence Day. He decided he would by hook or crook, get us into the VIP stand at the Arima Racecourse, to watch the day's races. He told me I had to be smartly dressed: no jeans, t-shirts or flip flops. What a drag. So I dressed to impress. We had a blast.

We rocked up in time for the 3rd race. The stand was boiling hot, boy was I glad I wore a skimpy dress, any more cloth on my skin, I'd have melted. The balcony of the stand over-looked where the horses were walked before the race, and where they got the colours and jockeys. We tried to assess the horseflesh, look in the racing catalogue for the stats, the names and make our choices. I would go and place the bets and then, we'd make our way to the other side so we could watch the race. My cousin said he brought lots of cash with us, but in the end we bet $105.00 in total. We finished the day with $120.00, not bad for a couple of novices. It was fun. We ate, we drank, we smoked, we were merry.

One of my cousin's horses decided it didn't like the jockey and left him staring at the sky at the starting gates. Another spooked itself when the gate opened and threw a right girly strop, good thing neither of us parted with good cash for that one. The point is: my friend Gee used to work in a betting shop. She horrified me at the stories of men coming in with the Title Deeds to their houses. That's a mindset, I just don't get. To risk a huge amount of money, to risk your house on a four-legged temperamental creature, that might just be having a shitty day, I don't understand it. Actually, I don't want to understand it. I can cope with hard drinkin' and smokin' kind of men, but a man who could one day come home and say 'honey, pack up. We have to be out of here before 9 am tomorrow morning'. Nah. That's just a whole new level, I couldn't deal with.

I can't believe in a week's time I'll be back in the UK. The time here has gone so quickly. I'm going to miss my Trinidad adventures. Hopefully, there will be a few more before I leave next week.

Grounded

So much for best laid plans. Thanks to the Icelandic eruption, the UK skies are currently filled with volcanic ash. All UK air traffic is grounded. To any people grounded and grumbling, flying through a volcanic ash cloud leads to 'oh shit, the engines have shut down' shortly followed by 'mayday, mayday...we're all going to diiiiiee', a long plummet and a short stop. The two aircraft who flew through the ash in Jakarta in 1982 were bloody lucky, I don't really fancy the experience myself. As you may remember I'm not a huge fan of fair ground rides. Plummetting would really ruin my day.

Having said all of that, here we are in Trinidad, probably for at least another couple of days extra. I'm very lucky. I'm staying with my family who are showing some reluctance to let us go anyway. I'm thinking of the people who are in hotels, airports etc. I don't have an employer breathing down my neck. Boy does have school and he may end up missing a day, but it's not life-threatening. So, we'll chill out a bit longer, continue to eat fantastic local fare, hug my Niece and Nephew, hang out with the rellies. Oh the hardship.

It rained yesterday. Today, we've got up to an overcast sky and damp ground. It's a very welcome sight. This has been one of the hardest Dry Seasons in years and the earth is desperate for the moisture. As it has been a gentle rain, rather than a downpour, it will soften the scorched soil and then absorb the rain, rather than run straight off the land and into the rivers. I love tropical rain. I can sit outside and watch it fall from the sky for hours.

All in all, I'm a happy bunny. The break has been fantastic for me. It's been an injection of energy that I've desperately needed. I'm looking forward to getting back to Norwich and stuck into World Domination. That I have to wait a couple of days extra is neither here nor there.

Family of the Heart

It's safe. I've stopped sniffing now. When I could see, I swept my kitchen. Bits of scrambled egg, bread crumbs, masticated peas and a dessicated sausage rolled into my dust pan. Evidence of the joyous chaos that has been in Palais de Roses over the past 9 days. I changed bedding, put loads of laundry on, collected the bits that were forgotten: a dinosaur, a pig, a glove and a watch. I had a bath, indulged in some smellies and put on comfy clothes. The house is quiet. The Cat is still in hiding. It'll take her awhile to realise we're back to normality, whatever that means.

There are 3 human beings who currently walk this Earth, who I can say changed my life utterly, beyond recognition, positive transformative catalysts. Aitch is one of those people. Through her I firstly found my spiritual path; I found a family who welcomed me into their arms and refused to let go, no matter what an arse I was being; I found music and dancing; and laughter, lots of laughter. I found the place I belong.

Boy and I moved out of the house to the Great Ursus and his lovely, so she and young family could run riot here. As a plan, it was perfect. They had a brilliant base from which they could catch up with everyone. They had space and privacy. I ended up staying over a couple of nights, sleeping on my couch. I loved seeing the toys scattered around, hearing the boys excited chatter just because it was morning and every day is still an adventure. It didn't make sense to some people, but it worked.

Now I sit here in the silence and I miss them so.

Slipping Away

I find it difficult to believe that 2 weeks ago I was at work, looking forward to my two weeks off. Don't ask me where the time has gone, because I sure as hell don't know.

My weeks' holiday was spent pretty much on my sofa catching up with a huge pile of reading. I finally got round to reading Virgin Suicides after much nagging from The Viking. Yes, it was very well written, and I did like the clever bits he did with the retrospective multiple narrator. Would I pick it up again in a hurry? No, not really. I did feel it was so incredibly sad.

I also spent most of my time nagging Boy. He starts his SATs next week. After much lecturing he sat down to revise. I was somewhat surprised that his teachers had not gone through revision or exam tactics with him. So I invested in some revision guides and went through the basics of revision. I am trying not to nag him about the revision. If he wants to be a vet, then he's going to have to work bloody hard. If he doesn't put in the work, then he'll have to think of something else. Me nagging him, isn't going to help. I keep telling myself that. Hasn't been working though. But I keep trying.

The Viking and his dad came visiting on their way back from Sweden last weekend. On Saturday morning we ambled into town and I became a bit concerned about Dad. He looked a touch confused and seemed to be struggling a bit. When we finally found a free table in a cafe, he admitted that he didn't feel up to the walk home. My alarm bells went off. This is a man who runs marathons, flies gliders and is building a conservatory from scratch. The Viking and Boy went home to get the car, I rang my surgery and got an automated message advising me to ring NHS Direct. I didn't particularly want to take him to A & E without a bloody good reason, but I did not want to wait for the Call Back from NHS Direct. Then I remembered, we've got a Walk-In Centre. I strongly advised that course of action to Viking and Dad and they agreed it would be a good idea for him to be checked out there. We didn't wait very long in the waiting room before Dad came back clutching a large brown envelope saying A & E.

I've not been to the A & E in the new hospital, so that was a bit of an experience. The staff were brilliant, got him into a cubicle and hooked up to the ECG pdq. And there we stayed. I didn't think to check my watch and see if we made the 4 hour deadline. But to cut a long and stressful story short, they wanted to keep him in for observation and to do more blood tests. So he went up to the ward and we went off to pack a bag for him and to get something to eat. That's when the fun and games started. When we got there, they'd moved him to another ward and it was on visitor lock-down, thanks to the Norovirus. We weren't supposed to visit him at all. Thankfully, the staff let us take him his bag and settle him in properly. He'd made friends with the other gentlemen on the ward, who of a similar age and when we left they were having a lively debate about the football results (Championship - will Hull go up and Premiership). The staff weren't sure that they discharge him on Sunday, the doctor's were considering doing more tests. Since I had to be in London during the week and The Viking had to be back at work, leaving Dad in a strange city by himself, we were hoping he'd be well enough to go home again.

This is a happy ending. Dad is back home oop North and according to the Viking is back to normal. It's funny, but at throughout it all I had the comforting presence of Mousie and Tom in the back of my mind. I knew that Dad would get the best of care. And he did.

My week in London was packed as I was trained to be Super Orange Woman. I now have had the basic product training so when I get back on counter no longer will I have to look to my Counter Manager to fill in the gaps. I'll have further training in the selling techniques to show me the best way to part women from their hard-earned cash. It hasn't really changed how I view the PCH, or their products. What was a bit shocking was the basic science behind the skin and how it ages - and the damage caused by the sun and sunbeds.

Of everything I've learnt this week, that has been had the greatest impact. I'm sure I've said that every now and then I've gone along and had a quick blast on a sunbed, to warm up and get a touch of colour in my skin. I'm by no means brown, it just keeps me from looking like a ghost or a vampire-wannabe. What I didn't realise is that the damage doesn't appear straight away, it takes about 20-30 years for it to work it's way up to the surface of the skin. It's scary. Really scary. I'm going invest in several bottles of self-tan - which in a way is just as scary as melanoma. I'm turning into Super Orange Woman!

Family

Please visit this link from Inspector Gadget's site.

The simplified version: there's a young lad Jack, whose parents are serving police officers, he suffers from a rare from of childhood cancer. It's so rare that successful treatment can only be had in a specialist centre in the US. The treatment costs hundreds of thousands of pounds. That's the bad news. The good news is that if Jack goes through the treatment, the statistics are heavily in his favour. He will likely remain cancer free. He's only 5 and needs all the help and support we can give.

After all, he's part of our family, and we help our own.

There is a God, and She is Good...

*Big Girlie Scream*

Right. Now I've got that out of the way, I'll behave with the decency and decorum you've all come to expect.

*Big Girlie Scream*

How chuffed was I when I went into work today and The Buyer gave us a copy of an e-mail saying the Miller Harris lady said those who had her training yesterday could have a fragrance of choice? Until I realised I would have to chose.

Eeek! Too much choice. Yesterday, I wore Geranium Bourbon and loved it to bits, it's floral without being sweet; sophisticated and not a scent to be worn lightly. I won't link the individual fragrances as I normally do, I've added a new section in my link lists and if you feel moved, you can visit the website. Today, I wore their Tangerine Vert. Fresh, vibrant and sweetly citrus. The only problem is that it's very moreish; I'm sure people thought I was mad, I couldn't stop sniffing my wrists. As I type this I'm sniffing them still.

Before I go any further, many thanks to Samantha for introducing me to a poverty-inducing, fabulous range of fragrances. Even more thanks for my amazing treat and for coming by and commenting. Please feel free to pop by and have a coffee any time.

This is also Alix's day. Her two years of hard work doing the MA in Digital Art (the one I'm about to start) has paid off and she has got a Distinction. We are so incredibly proud of her. So Big Up Alix! It's been an amazing summer for her marriage, now distinction and then off to London (boo hiss for the last one) to seek her fortune.

Setting the World to Rights

Many thanks to Sanddancer for her accurate diagnosis, she's absolutely right, it's post-holiday blues. I'm just not ready to face real life at the moment. After 2 weeks in the sun, sea and sand, Norfolk feels a bit drab and cold in comparison. Mind you, whenever I go back to Trinidad, I always end up wondering what it would be like living there again. Not that it's at all feasible. I have no career and no money and I'd need oodles of both to even think about going back. Besides, as expensive as it will be funding Boy's education - he wants to be a vet, like his uncle Atlas, it will still be more affordable if we're living in England.

It's weird really. I've spent a lot of time thinking about the future recently. A bit of handy mathematics reminds me that in 13 years time, I'll be 50 and Boy will be 26. Obvious really, but I tend not to think this way normally. In 5 years time, he'll be packing his bags and going off to uni. That is, if he manages to resist the siren-call of drink, drugs, girls and ASBOs. I wonder what he'll be like as an 18 year old, all big and hairy. At the moment he's taking great pride in rubbing in the fact that he's now as tall as me. He's done a heck of a lot of growing in a very short space of time. I haven't seen Kevin yet, but there's time. I still get my cuddles and we have been playing Oblivion together in the evenings.

While I was in Trinidad, I spent a lot of time with my brother's friends who've got kids just a bit younger than Rowan. I had a bit of a revelation, which I'm beginning to think explains quite a lot of what's going wrong in the world today. Parents are terrified of telling their kids 'No'.

I think it happened with the 60s generation. After the austerity of the war years and the heavy-handed parenting of that generation, the backlash was more permissive parenting. Books on childrearing became popular, parents became insecure about their abilities and began to seek out expert advice. The experts cautioned against physical discipline, after all, no one has good memories of being hit as a child and unfortunately, there are still far too many appalling cases of physical abuse. I suppose that generation realised that it is possible to walk away from dysfunctional families and did. I suspect this realisation haunted them and made them insecure, so gradually became more and more loathe to correct their children's behaviour. Coupled with two working parents and guilt offerings society has created a rod for everyone's back that ASBOs really aren't going to solve.

I believe children need boundaries. I don't believe that boundaries have to be enforced physically, kids aren't stupid and understand far more than parents give them credit. I quite like the idea of the Super Nanny way of 'no', explanation, and then naughty step.

I think parents forget that kids want their parents to love them as much as they love them. Good behaviour reinforces the parent/child bond and enables more fun to be had on both sides.

By the way, I'm not putting myself forward as the ideal parent. I fully expect that Boy will spend his time on a therapist's couch regalling them with countless tales of my many failings. The one thing I take comfort in is the fact that even when we fall out, or disagree, Boy knows I love him very, very much.

Well, that's my tuppenceworth...what do you think?

Tropical Hellos

Greetings from the tropics. Boy and I survived the coach trip down from Norwich to Gatwick. We basically stayed up all day Friday, and believe it or not I was actually ready to go an hour before the taxi came to pick us up! We left Norwich at 1.40 am and I foolishly had vague hopes of being able to sleep on the coach. Hah! When you've got a man sawing logs right behind you and another making horsey noise on the other side, you've really got no hope.

Gatwick was filled with stroppy people pushing their luggage like they were offensive weapons. That was completely fine by me. I hadn't had any proper sleep for 24 hours so I was in the right frame of mind to make my way back and forth between coffee and checkin. Unfortunately, the security offical had to make up her tick boxes so we pretty much had to strip down to our undies before they let us through. What amazed me is that every 5 mins there's a security announcement telling passengers exactly what they can take through, there are people dressed in bright yellow t-shirts handing out plastic bags for stuff you can take onto the plane...and there are arguments in the security queues. They are huge wheelie-bins full of perfume, deoderants, toothpastes, moisturisers, lipsticks and drinks bottles.

I'm shocked by the fact that the flight was on time. Not only that, but it was relatively pleasant, some screaming babies, but not overly bothersome. The food was tasty, the coffee hot. The landings were fine (I gave them a 7.5, Boy thought it deserved an 8). I was able to negotiate an earlier flight for the island hopper, which really is a ropey arrangement. Again, that was fine, hardly any turbulence and brilliant views of the rainforests in the Northern Range of the Trinidad.

Not too bad a deal considering there's a hurricane stomping around the Caribean at the moment. A lovely fellow by the name of Dean, left about 7 people dead and at last count was a force 5. It's very unlikely he'll come visiting, Trinidad is just below the hurricane belt, Tobago is more likely to cop it if he heads south. I think he stomped over Jamaica yesterday. Hopefully, having spent his fury there he'll burn himself out in the Caribbean Sea.

As far as family stuff is concerned, not much to report. My brother is adamant there's nothing much to do at the moment. Until the will is probated, we can't really do anything and so all the work I was envisaging having to do, has just disappeared. So this has turned into a holidayWe scatter Pop's ashes on Saturday in the same area that my mum was scattered and there will be a few members of family and friends around. Think of us then.

Apart from the jet lag, we're really well. I'll try not to rub in the joy of being back in a hot, Tropical climate. I won't go on about walking into the garden and picking mangoes for breakfast, having fresh avocados from the tree, freshly made passion fruit juice, or the warm weather. Cause that would be cruel.

Wedding Blitz

I spent the weekend in Cambridge at the Viking's cousin's wedding. To say I was a little bit nervous at meeting the rest of his clan, is like saying the sea is a little bit wet. The Viking and I have been together nearly 9 months which is a bit of a shock, considering it's been pain-free, fun and easy as Sunday morning and this was the first family event I'd been to. His immediate family are lovely and I really like his parents, I got to meet his older brother and fiancee this weekend as well as the whole clan. Boy was safely ensconced with his dad.

In a way, this wedding was a complete contrast to Alix's wedding. It was a civil ceremony, followed by photos on the grounds in the fabulous sunshine, with food served by serious waiting staff. The bride looked fabulous, the groom as if all his Christmases had come at once. The bridesmaids were gorgeous and ranged in age 2 - adult, in dresses that suited their colouring and looked fabulous. Unfortunately, I didn't take an evening outfit with me, so while everyone else got changed into more relaxed, groovy gear, I was still in my dress of the afternoon. But the Viking stayed in his suit to keep me company, only taking his jacket off to boogie with me. Not only that, but he earnt several brownie points for sorting out several clothes-related disasters with safety pins.

This morning we mooched around Cambridge. I'm not sure how good an impression I made on his brother as he caught me singing Dancing in the Streets in the corridors of our digs last night and singing C is for Cookie to the Viking in the middle of the Sunday market this morning.

All in all, it was a lovely weekend. A bit poignant, because next weekend Boy and I fly out to Trinidad again. We go to scatter Pop's ashes and sort out any remaining stuff. It seems really strange to be going out there, knowing this is the first time that my primary parents won't be there waiting for us. Truth be known, I've been trying not to think about it. Funny isn't it? How much ever you try and hide stuff, it always seems to seep out and bite you on the arse. But it's a time for families. And I've missed my brother and his family. It'll be good to see them and catch up on their news.

Final Journey

It never ceases to amaze me, the way life can change in a matter of hours. Or rather, the way life can end in a short space of time.

I had made plans to see my birth father, N, on Thursday. We were going to buy some Chinese food and spend the day with his wife who’s recovering from surgery at his home. His boss decided that morning, he needed him for a fairly important meeting. Which left me at a bit of a loose end. Atlas and Sil were at work. So, I invited myself up to Pops so I could use his PC and internet connection.

The day before, he talked about finishing the radiation treatment. The waiting was driving him nuts. Both Atlas and I agreed if those were his wishes, so be it. The consultant convinced him to keep attending as he only had 6 more sessions. The meds were making him feel weak, giving him insomnia.

He had gone for radiation Thursday morning, but for the first time needed a wheelchair. After a month of only sleeping 2-3 hours, he slept the night before, and after breakfast. We were pleased that he was able to sleep, but worried that he wasn’t eating. As a diabetic, it’s really important that he had regular meals.

When I came over that afternoon, I brought him some chocolate cake to tempt him. He was having a snooze, so rather than disturb him, I went online, chatted to various people, thought nothing of it.

I heard a noise at about 4pm. I found him standing up by a light switch. I helped him back to bed, with some help, sponged him down and changed his shirt. Made him comfortable. I then rang Atlas. He rang me back with instructions to feed Pops chocolate and sweetdrinks, he thought he was having a hypo – a drastic drop in his blood sugar. I was trying to get Pops to have some juice when both Sil and Atlas arrived. Sil got him to have some chocolate. Pops was embarrased at the fuss, but smiling at our attempts at humour. He dozed off.

We left to have showers and eat, we returned within an hour and a half. Pops was snoring away. Atlas, unhappy at his still lowered blood sugar, sought medical advice and went off to get the means to do a dextrose drip. Pops was adamant that he did not want to end up in hospital, he did not want medical intervention. Atlas is a vet and is capable of putting in a drip. He intended to call by for a GP on his way back.

I sat with Pops. Tried to get him to drink some honeyed water. He was no longer focussing on me. I opened the window to let some air in. At one point I got up and held his hand. And then, he just stopped breathing. He just slipped away. What journey he has gone onto I don’t know. I don’t believe he went on his own though. I think that must be a post for another day.

We are still in shock. I had been making plans for Boy and I to come out and see him again in Easter and again during the summer hols. The consultant had said 12 months.

I don’t feel acute grief. I just can’t be sorry that he’s gone this way. Pops was adamant that he wanted minimal medical intervention and was not looking forward to final progression of the cancer:, unable to communicate, move about and 24 hour nursing. He was spared the indignity and suffering of that outcome. In fact, he could not have timed it any better really. The cremation is Monday morning, his service is Wednesday. I fly back to England on Thursday evening.

I really miss him.

Weird Times

The past couple of days have been a bit odd. I got moved from Pop’s house to my brother’s house, which incidentally is the house where I grew up. So I’m now in my old bedroom. It’s quite disconcerting because everything looks the same, but everything has changed.

Pops is frail, but still in reasonable health. While I’m here he’s undergoing radiation therapy to try and extend his quality of life. He’s not in any pain, or exhibiting any symptoms, so it’s become a kind of morbid holiday where I’m meeting up with relatives and going to the beach and discussing funeral rites, wills and inheritance tax.

Trinidad is a bit like my brother’s house, the same but different. I’m going to try and find some links to the local newspapers. It’s become a very violent and dangerous place filled with rumours of police corruption and political scandal vying for a place in the papers, next to kidnappings and murders on epic scales. Life here happens behind burglar proofing, high walls and security guards. It makes me claustrophobic. I can’t bear locked doors and guns. Any homesickness I might feel is quickly chased away by reality. Like all bouts of nostalgia, the Trinidad I knew while growing up, didn’t really exist because it was seen through the eyes of a self-centred teenager.

I’ve had a chance to finally meet my niece who is 18 months, named after one grandmother with the temperament of the other. With blonde curls and the cutest smile, she’s stolen the hearts of everyone around her, including mine. Broody? Me? I’ll never admit to it. Ever. I’m looking forward to grandchildren.

My nephew is about to take his SAEs, which is the equivalent to the old 11+ system. While primary school education needs to be paid for, secondary education is free and the competition is fierce for the handful of really good high schools. He spends his Saturday morning having extra tutorials, the afternoon doing his homework and Sunday evening revising fractions. My SIL (Sister in Law) looks at me strangely at my relaxed attitude to Boy’s learning.

The hardest part is being without my Boy. I keep thinking there’s something missing…the cuddles, his sense of humour. I’m taking loads of pictures to show him. I don’t have my USB cable, so I can’t transfer my pictures yet, but there will be some to make you envious. Blue skies, clear water and white sands. This is a beautiful but troubled country.

Four Legged Journey

I’ve decided that I’m going to call a halt to my career as a professional procrastinator. It’s way too stressful. I was packing 10 mins before I was due to leave. And tell me, if I’m only going to be here, why do I need 6 pairs of shoes? I need taking in hand with my packing, I really do.

The first leg of my journey started out with me standing at a bus stop waiting to go into the city to catch my National Express coach. When I finally got to the bus station, panicking and stressed, I was pleasantly surprised. National Express decided I was a VIP and laid on a coach just for me. Seriously, I was the only passenger. The driver, a bubbly blonde woman, was such a sweetie. I sat up front so I could chat to her and we had such a laugh. Bless her, she even got me a fish and chip dinner in Attleborough. Goodness knows what the new driver thought of the smell, but I hid the evidence. Unfortunately, she finished at Stansted, and then other passengers invaded my space! Humpf. The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, if a bit chilly and noisy. Fortunately, I had my MP3 player and a weird game of I-spy with Monkfish to keep me occupied, as well as several calls from my Viking.

The second leg started with me in Gatwick airport. After I arrived, I had a quick recky to look for somewhere to kip for the night. I also had the most expensive, worst cup of tea ever. I cannot describe how disgusting it was. I know, given the circumstances, its a bit petty going on about tea, but honestly: it was vile.

I found finally found a bucket chair on the second level and began what was, one of the most surreal nights I’ve ever spent. Despite the fact it was only 23.00, all of the best spots were taken: the upholstery benches without armrests. I was quite pleased with my seat. It was next to long wooden benches with armrests, so I felt slightly smug in bagging my chair. With a bit of wiggling, I stretched out with my legs propped up on top of my suitcase, on the wheely trolley. I attached my backpack to my suitcase and then loosened the straps so I could get one of my legs through. I had my mobile phone on my chest set to vibrate (no comments on that thanks guys - you know who you are) to wake me up at 3.40, so I could beat the queue for the 4.30 check in. Unfortunately, I was sat opposite a bank of arcade games, including House of the Dead 3. My 3 or so hours sleep was punctuated with moans, screams and gunfire. I rolled my woolly hat over my eyes and dozed.
Every time I had to shift position, I woke up, pushed up my hat, shifted about and pulled hat down again. I’d have a quick look around and there would be more people sleeping next to me. All of the wooden benches were taken with other travelers. There was someone’s feet by my head and by my feet were someone else’s head. Not far from me two couples struck up a conversation which lasted the whole time I was dozing. It wasn’t at all annoying, the rise and fall of their voices was actually quite reassuring. Almost as if they were the sentinels guarding us sleepers. Note to self: learn not to pack so much.

The third leg, I spent a bit like a pretzel, dozing. The food was atrocious, but hey, you pay peanuts for a flight which should have cost 800.00GBP (no pound signs on this keyboard), you kind of expect a lack of frills. I am not a keen flyer. I really don’t like it that much. I’m nervous on take off and landing. I hate turbulence. However, while perusing the safety card. Hah! I noticed the make of aircraft. It was a Boeing 767-300 G-VKNG. Note to self: take pack up for the next flight.
Third leg was the most dodgy. After spending most of my time in a queue in Crown Point International Airport for immigration. I had to lug my bag of bricks around as I sorted out the flight to Trinidad. Many, many thanks to my sister-in-law for sorting out a ticket. This small airport gets an influx of 1000 travelers twice a week and seriously can’t cope. If I would have had to wait on standby for the Tobago Express (the little shuttle between the two islands), I would have been screaming. The shuttle was a small plane with twin props. It was a heck of a flight. I’ve decided that, yes, size does matter. I like BIG airplanes. It’s disconcerting feeling the small plane bouncing on clouds. Turbulence seems so much worse.

The fourth leg brought me home. My mum always laughingly called him The Factotum, a bit of a misnomer, because he looked after me throughout my childhood. He drove me to and from school, parties, helped me with my maths homework, looked after my parents and their home. We met up and headed home. Much of Trinidad has changed. There are now 3 lane highways where there were only one. Lots of construction and new shiney buildings. American billboards with Ben Affleck smile down on drivers weaving in and out of lanes. Indicator? What’s one of those? The traffic has got so bad that the Factotum took us the scenic route which shaved a half an hour off our journey. Night had fallen, but I was still able to recognise the places I visited when I was growing up.
It was good to see Pops. He is has lost weight, but not his smile or sense of humour. I brought him lots of naughtiness: chocolate. It’s been good catching up with him. He says I’m good for him, for the first time in a month he slept for 7 hours, instead of the 2/4 he’s been having. As I write this he’s off having his radiation therapy. The specialist says it will keep him comfortable and active for longer and it isn’t the nightmare that is chemo. I am so pleased he decided not to go that route. He seems fairly philosophical.

I’m glad I came. It’s good to be here.

So Long, Farewell, Auf We...

I sit here with the dregs of my coffee, in my fluffy pink dressing gown, with a pit of dread sitting in my stomach. Today, is a day for goodbyes. Some are merely temporary, some will be permanent. One of my constant challenges is to learn to let go. I'm rubbish at it. I want to hold on to the people I love and not let go, I want to hold on to the things that make me happy. Unfortunately, this does not work for me. So I'm learning to live in the moment, enjoy what happens now and hold the memories in my heart, when I say goodbye.

Grim stuff, I'm sorry. When I started this, I didn't intend to get so bleak so soon. If your eyes are beginning to cross, please click on any of the links to the right of this, normal service will be resumed shortly.

Those of you who visit Snapshots, will know that Ing has had a terrible loss last week. Today, he, his colleagues and Stacey's family gather to mourn their loss and honour a wonderful woman. I met her only briefly, although my attention was firmly focussed on someone else, I remember her smile.

As they say goodbye to Stacey, I can't help but be aware that I am leaving my child, my home, my friends to say goodbye to the man who raised me. I don't want to go. I don't want it to be real. I don't want to have to let him go. I'm really only 6 years old you see, and it hurts. He's my strongest link to my mum, who died 2 1/2 years ago. Ours was by no means an easy relationship; but for a man who took on the role of father late in life to another woman's children, I think he should have a star in Heaven to shine just for him.

Today, I set off to say my goodbyes to him. Thanks to National Express' not taking into consideration flights that leave at stupid o'clock, I'll be kipping down in the South Terminal tonight. I've got a 6 hour coach journey to Gatwick this evening, then after the 3 hour check-in I have a 13 hour flight. When I get to Tobago, I have to clear immigration and customs and for another flight to Trinidad. It's going to be a long jouney.

Best Laid Plans

Today, I was going to get up early and head out with my camera. Instead, I saw boy off to school and went back to bed for another couple of hours. I then pottered round the internet for the rest of the morning. I didn't really feel like going off into the cold and damp, bus or no bus. So I put on Chocolat. A fabulous film, I laughed and cried my way through it. After the credits I had a line running round my head so I sat at my desk and wrote it out. I didn't stop writing until boy came home to get changed before he went off to the coast to see his dad and family.

He had his grandad and his grandad's new Love Interest in tow. She was lovely and I have to say I heartily approve. She is obviously very fond of him and vice versa. Certainly from the conversation it was clear that she has been introduced to the rest of the family. I still miss boy's nana, she was quite a woman. It's been 4 years now and I know she is not forgotten, but happiness does not have a timetable. I think he's a lucky man and I hope they continue have fun together. I quite like the idea of naughtiness late in life. Boy seemed quite comfortable with with her and he's a good judge of character.

After they left, I returned to the keyboard and only stopped to get some fish and chips and to watch Chocolat again. Unlike Dianne, I can watch films over and over again in quick succession. I then returned to my keyboard and now after 4,458 words my brain is fried. I have about another 1,000 words to go and then my story is done. Hopefully, that will be my prose submission for my degree done. Well, the first draft anyway. I'm not even finished and I already have marked out passages to be changed.

When I popped into the fish and chip shop, the owner gave me the once over and announced how pleased she was that I didn't look so tired. Bet she won't say that next week. I have five shifts waiting for me over the next week, starting tomorrow.

Monday in London

At the crack of dawn (for me), I sped into London courtesy of One Railways and met up with father #3 who had flown in to see a concert given in honour of one of his old chums. It has been a couple of years since we've seen each other and it was good to catch up on news. We exchanged compliments, he's looking well and he says I look well (the sign of a well-trained man 'no dear your bum doesn't look big in that). We had an early lunch and then headed off to The Hayward Gallery. The eagle eyed among you will notice I've included them in my links.

Wow! Where do I start? I'm beginning to think Georges Bataille is the God of all things artistic and if heaven is The Hayward, then I'm moving in tomorrow. The Hayward is this strange terraced type building on the South Bank. The display is called Undercover Surrealism and features works by Picasso, Dali, Picabia and Miro with quotes from Georges Bataille's Documents, as well as some stunning pieces of African and New World Art which influenced the Cubist and Surrealist movements. Father #3 is also an art gallery buff and was very kind as I tried to show off my newly gleaned bits of knowledge. I think I'm falling in love with the London Art Scene, which is a bit scary because a) it's not really the Art Scene, it's just the mainstream stuff and b) I suspect it'll be unrequited and expensive.

The exhibition is open until the end of July and I'm determined to suck up to as many chums in London as I can so I can borrow a piece of floor, to go and see it again. Did I mention that it's half price on Mondays at the Hayward?