Don't know how many of you have heard of a journalist called Liz Jones - she writes regularly in the Mail and the Mail on Sunday in the UK, used to be editor of a magazine called Marie Claire and is passionate about the usage of anorexic models and how the fashion world operates (lost her editorship because of her stance) and animal welfare. She is famous or perhaps I should say, notorious, for writing deeply personal columns and a book about her personal life and herself. She is excruciatingly honest about her marriage failure, her lack of self esteem, her food issues, her knowledge that it is now too late to have a child, and has upset all her neighbours when she upped and bought a farm in the West Country where she houses old and sick animals and spends a fortune of making them comfortable. She is now nearly bankrupt, has been cold shouldered by the locals to the extent where she is abused in the village where she lives and, it has to be said, sounds a right pain in the arse at times. But what I like about LIz is that she knows it. She has no illusions about herself and her foibles and is just as hard on her personality traits as she is on others. I find something rather admirable about her and always enjoy reading her columns as she really is an excellent journalist.
So why am I wittering on about her I hear you cry? Well, to a certain extent I do the same. I review books, music, opera and the theatre but I also write a lot about my own life, what I get up to etc and my family and I find I get a huge and positive response from this. Unlike Liz though, I have boundaries and stick to them. I may write about my gorgeous daughters, my lovely grandchild, my sister and my mum and also have mentioned my ex-husband but I am very careful not to infringe on their privacy. I daresay I could write reams about my marriage - I have never done so - but having now been divorced for ten years and back on friendly terms with Patrick and a bit more objective I realise that I could be demanding, stubborn and impatient and a woman who likes her independence and solitude at times and know there are two sides to every story and am now a lot wiser than I was. I also write about Florence because I adore her but her parents have asked me not to put photos of her on my blog and of course I will never do so. I don't give away private thoughts and feelings of anybody close to me as it would be an invasion of privacy and what I choose to tell you about me is my choice.
OK so I am still wittering so the reason for this HUGE preamble is that I had a 'moment' this afternoon and just wanted to write about it. That's all. I have been in London helping Helen, James and Florence move into their first family home together. They have been renting for a year and now have the perfect house, just round the corner from where they have been living and this weekend was the Big Move. I decamped on Friday with apple cake, chicken casserole, meat pie and quiche, plus loaves of bread for sandwiches, ham, eggs, milk, teabags etc so that there was no need for them to plan any meals. I was primarily there to look after Florence while the move was going on which I did and loved spending two entire days with her laughing, chatting, cuddling and singing her to sleep. When she was asleep I helped pack and unpack and generally got stuck in and then on the way home today stopped off at our local Civic Amenity Centre aka The Tip with a car full of rubbish and cardboard boxes and got rid of the lot.
I arrived home thankful to be back in my own little apartment and to relax and rest. Now, I have lived happily on my own for the last ten years and I genuinely enjoy it. I enjoy the freedom I have to do as I like and the quietness that is mine when I wish it. I have given up trying to convince certain of my acquaintances that I do enjoy it as they look pityingly at me and I can see them thinking 'Oh isn't she being brave about it' and, metaphorically, pat me on the shoulder. I don't let it bother me. I do get the odd moment when I wish I had somebody there to talk about a problem to or catch a spider or unblock the sink, but hey I can manage, and I do.
But when I came home today I felt unsettled. I have one daughter so happily married to the lovely James, now safe in their new home with their lovely Florence, I have another daughter who is settling down beautifully in Australia and enjoying both her life and career there. I should be proud and happy and I am, but when I came home I found a small parcel from Kathryn containing two typical jokey pressies that she sent me, as you can see from the photos, and a card inside sending me her love and I sat down on the sofa and burst into tears. In fact I did not just cry, I simply howled and could not comprehend the sudden onset of misery that swept over me. No point in fighting it, I gave in and cried and cried and halfway through this weepfest I thought 'I want my mum' and that set me off again. In the end I just had to go with the flow, literally, and let it burn itself out. I then took one look in the mirror at this red eyed blotchy female with hair standing on end and runny nose and thought O MY GOD and told my reflection to Get a Grip.
So I do what us British Women have done since time immemorial - I put the kettle on and made a cup of tea. I then ran a bath, lashings of expensive bubbles that I had been saving for a rainy day (this was certainly it) and wallowed for an hour with said cup of tea and a book. Now slobbing around in my dressing gown and I watched last night's Strictly Come Dancing and the best thing about recording it is that I can flick through Brucie's dire jokes and the witterings of Tess Daly and just watch the performances. My neighbour then knocked with a parcel he had taken in while I was away - House Series Six. Hooray! I am also halfway through watching NCIS Series Six and also have Wallander to watch (may leave that for a day or two so I can cope with the Nordic gloom) and later on tonight, Downton Abbey which I adore. So a lot of luverley telly to distract me and the Lip is Stiffening Up Nicely and by tomorrow after a good night's sleep I shall be fine.
And there we go - that is why this post is called Sharing and thank you to those of you who have managed to read this self indulgent ramble - it has made me feel much better.
Who knows? I might even review a book tomorrow.......
