A day of slightly less ordinariness in a life that's becoming ever more ordinary

Happy days (especially for Janello)

Sorry, sorry, sorry - working is really not suiting me. I never have time to do anything anymore. I know I've got to finish my SA update but that'll have to wait. Now I have to tell you about T's wonderful colleagues. They are the salt of the earth and I feel lucky to have met them.

Where's this particular rave come from, I hear you ask... Well, yesterday was the second Charity Day I've been lucky enough to be part of. Every year, T's company donate their profits from one day to numerous charities (£64m to date). The celebrity patrons of the charities pop into the offices throughout the day to help raise the profile of the event and the staff all get dressed up (the Chilean miners were my favourite this year, but I also enjoyed seeing a donkey and a bear having an argument about some deal or other that was going down on one of the trading floors, and the Tellytubby that went past on a scooter as I was playing mini golf made me feel a bit trippy) and basically get pissed. It's quite an experience but, until T died, I'd only ever heard about it and seen the pics, never actually been part of it. Last year T's colleagues did a big organ donor drive on Charity Day and it was truly incredible. This year was lower key but they were kind enough to invite me along again. If I say that I was downing Jagerbombs by 4pm, then you'll get an idea of the kind of drinking that's involved. It's immense. And I'm paying for it today.

Anyway, the real point of this post is to say how touched I continue to be by T's colleagues. They are like part of my extended family now and always make me feel so welcome. One guy I'd not met before reduced me to tears in the pub (admittedly not that difficult to do, especially when I've had a few) by telling me how much T's death had affected him. He wanted to speak to me last year but couldn't bring himself to. But this year he felt able to and went out of his way to come and chat to me and explain how much T meant to him, how saddened he was by T's death and how often he still thinks about him. It was really nice to hear and very touching. Another of T's workmates kept telling me how much he misses T too. And another has a canny knack of asking just the right question in the right way to always make me cry. Superficial questions are easier to bat off. It's those, 'how are you really doing' type questions that get me every time. Not everyone mentioned T's name but it was nice when people did. It keeps him alive a bit more. Sometimes you think people have forgotten.

And all the boys looked out for me on the night. I was thoroughly wined (although there was a distinct lack of dining), taken from pub to pub, never left on my own and put in a taxi home. Admittedly, those same boys are also completely to blame for me getting completely wasted (again), but at least they did it in a considerate way. I even got a 6.10am wake up text to check I hadn't slept through my alarm (the pitch I had at 8am this morning was particularly challenging). I have a unique relationship with T's colleagues. One that I really value. I'm in a strange position where I have an insight into them as people from what T used to tell me, but I can also be completely honest with them as I'm not part of the daily workings of the company. This isn't always a good thing, as one of T's directors will testify - pretty much every time I see him he's on the receiving end of some abuse regarding his management style from me. But it's great. It totally tallies with my honesty policy.

So anyway, big up the boys. Thanks for being there for me if you're reading. T would be very grateful (as well as slightly bemused and astounded that we're all in touch), as I am too.

Why did the tortoise cross the road?

Sorry, this new job is meaning I don't have much writing time. Now where was I...oh yes, safari = done and it's back on the road again. This time Route 62 - the scenic route apparently. I was cruising along at 120kph or thereabouts on a deserted and very straight road in a very barren area when up ahead I could see something on the road. We got closer and closer and it just wasn't moving so I had to come to a bit of an emergency stop. Turns out it was a tortoise crossing the road. In a very comic way, he stopped in his very slow tracks, looked up a the car and promptly went into his shell. It was so cute! I guess we should have picked him up and put him in the bush but there wasn't a car in sight so I drove round him and we continued on our merry way. In terms of other wildlife, we saw lots of springbok (like small deer), loads of ostriches (they farm them like they farm sheep here), baboons, a wild cat (possibly a sand cat?) and two tortoise (tortoises??). I also ate ostrich (delicious - surprisingly similiar to steak) and springbok (I had carpaccio so didn't really get a proper taste, but it was yummy). No tortoise on the menu though.

We eventually arrived in Oudtshoorn after a long drive and checked into a cute hotel where our rooms were individual thatched, round cottages - traditional to that area apparently. The weather was dry and bright but not amazingly warm so we sat by the pool fully clothed and read our books with an afternoon cuppa. Dad and I walked into town to do a recce for eating options that evening and were told in one shop that although the shopkeeper was new to town, she didn't recommend we walk down the street parallel to the one we were on as that's 'where the blacks go and it's not very safe, you've got to watch your bag'. I think she was spouting a load of bullshit but it amazed me that that attitude still prevails. I know some areas of SA aren't safe and you do have to watch your back, as you do anywhere, but I think in this case she was probably being racist and ignorant. 

That evening we ate at a great restaurant that made the long drive to Oudsthoorn worthwhile. I'd highly recommend it if ever you're there. It's called Kalinka (in fact, I'm going to put a load of links at the bottom of this post, partly for my future reference but also in case anyone else needs top tips) and it's based in this old house so diners are spread out in two or three different rooms. I had springbok carpaccio with parmesan and rocket followed by ostrich fan fillet with beetroot and some other things. It was outstanding food and cost less than £20/head with a couple of large glasses of pinotage and coffees. (I can't remember if I said in my last SA post, but the quality of the food in SA was out of this world. It reminded me of NZ in that respect. We had scones in one little cafe on the highway. They came served with three little ramekins on the side; one had apricot jam with a sprig of lavender on the top, the other had butter with a sprig of dill and the third had grated cheese with a sprig of mint. Imagine being served that in a cafe on the side of the A1...) It was then back to our round thatched cottages to watch Arsenal thrash NUFC 4-0 in the Carling Cup (but we got our own back on Sunday, beating them 1-0 - Toon Army!)

The long & dusty road to De Hoop

We set off the next day about 8.30. The sun was shining and it was warm and bright. We drove down to Mossel Bay and had breakfast on the terrace of a nice little cafe called the Santos Express, right on the beach. There were a group of young Zimbabwean lads on a soccer trip on the next table, playing dominoes with their tunes blaring out - it was really nice and gave the place a bit of a buzz. From Mossel Bay we had a bit of motorway driving before turning off the nice, smooth tarmac at Heidelberg and onto unsurfaced roads en route to De Hoop National Park. I could only do about 40kph and it took us hours. I had to stop when a stupid collie dog sat down in front of the car. A toothless woman came over and asked if I was worried the dog would bite my car. Cheeky cow! I just didn't want to run it over but she told me to just drive and the dog would get out my way. Thankfully it did. Eventually we reached a little settlement called Malgas on the Breede River. It was a little oasis in the middle of the dusty, barren landscape. To cross the river I had to drive the car onto a pontoon/raft thing. Two guys then pulled us across the river! They had chains on a harness that they wrapped around the metal wire that went across the river, then they just walked forward and pulled the pontoon across. They even do tractors. In the heat. Hats off to those two. Mum and I gave them a helping hand. Turns out one of them is a big Man Utd fan.

That's two whales - right there!

We eventually arrived at De Hoop National Park, one of my favourite places on earth. It's simply stunning. Really off the beaten track, beautiful white sand dunes, pristine beaches full of the most unusual and colourful shells I've ever seen, quite a rugged coastline and whales, whales and more whales! They were so close to the shore, it was just incredible. And there were so many of them. With hindsight I'd like to have spent more time there - and stayed in the national park for a night or two to really make the most of it. I was very reluctant to leave, but so happy to have seen the whales.

Then it was back on the dirt track in desperate search of tarmac. Those roads might be OK in a 4x4 but definitely not a Toyota Corolla. It was painful and we were all a bit fed up by the time we eventually reached our final destination for the evening, Stellenbosch. More on that in the next exciting installment, now I've got to catch some zeds. Good night.

Paternoster
http://www.oystercatcherlodge.co.za/
http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g1055305-d1217597-Reviews-Noisy_Oyster-Paternoster_Western_Cape.html
http://www.voorstrandt.com/

Oudtshoorn
http://www.kalinka.co.za/
http://www.riempieestate.co.za/

It's been a while

The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.

Flora Whittlemore (from my KLM in-flight meal box!)

When life knocks you down you can choose whether or not to get back up again.

Karate Kid

Sorry for the silence. I disappeared to South Africa for a week or two, as you do... so here's my catch up. I'm probably going to write it in installments so I can also get some shit done before work tomorrow!

I finished my six-week contract a couple of weeks ago. I was pleased to survive the return to work. It ticked some boxes for me and the timings worked out well. Before I was offered the job, I was stuck in a bit of a rut; looking for this life-changing, meaningful role that I promised to myself when T died. I didn't get any indication of what that might be, and found it increasingly hard to decide what I wanted to do with my life. I think I was putting too much pressure on myself. My counsellor helped me realise that the life-changing bit could come later down the line - it's OK, and maybe even sensible, to have short, medium and long-term goals. The short and medium-term goals may not be your ultimate destination, but they are sometimes a necessary step to getting there. And that's OK. It was a relief to acknowledge that and the out-of-the-blue job offer helped cement those feelings. My colleagues were fantastic. I got leaving cards and presents (including the unofficial Cheryl Cole biography because I sound just like Chezza!) and felt very supported. All in all, that short contract felt like the right thing to have done at that particular moment in time.

My last day was a Friday and on the Saturday I flew out to Cape Town for a short holiday with my parents. (But not before I discovered my washing machine was leaking AGAIN. It was about 8.30pm. I think the taxi was booked for about 4.15am. Not long to sort out a leak in a top-floor flat. I was tired and stressed and had a pre-holiday to do list as long as my arm. My neighbour was in Holland. I thought David, a close friend of the family who lives nearby was in Portugal, and I was blowed if I was going to call that plumber back out. So I'm sorry to say that I was a typical girl and called my Dad 350 miles away and burst into tears. Fortunately he kept his cool and spoke to David (who wasn't in Portugal) who then rang me and sorted me out. I feel lucky to have such kind people in my life. But it did make me wonder what I would have done if David wasn't around. My sister has looked up some women's DIY courses in London for me, so I think maybe I need to enrol for one or two of them so at least I know the basics. I just feel so pathetic and vulnerable and incompetent when it comes to things that T would have looked after. But it's down to me to change that. DIY SOS here I come!)

With the leak issue resolved, I was able to get about three hours sleep before the flight, via Amsterdam, to Cape Town. The 11-12 hour flight was amazingly smooth - no turbulence whatsoever and as it was a day flight, I had good aerial views of Africa. The desert of North Africa fascinated me. It's such a hostile environment, yet there was signs of life down there, with tracks and settlements among the dunes. Then the landscape changed completely as we flew south and it became much greener, with lots of rivers. In addition to my study of Africa from the air, I managed to watch a fair few films, including the new Karate Kid (thumbs up), The Hangover (two thumbs up), Yes Man (possibly too tired to enjoy this one), and similar story with the new A-Team. As we flew over Namibia there was spectacular moon rise. It made me think of T and I knew he'd be so happy that I was making this journey, although I know he'd be gutted to be missing out.

After overnighting at an airport hotel, we left Cape Town and headed up the coast to Big Bay for breakfast. It was a lovely sunny day, hot in the sunshine, and we had great views back across the sea to Table Mountain. I felt very relaxed. We continued up the west coast to a small fishing village called Paternoster where we met some friends of Dad's for lunch at a great little bohemian restaurant called the Noisy Oyster. Sardine fillets for starters followed by yellowtail with pawpaw salsa really hit the spot. It's officially one of my favourite restaurants. I then took control of the wheel and drove us along a very bumpy dirt track to Shelley Point where we checked into the most amazing apartment I've ever stayed in. I had a corner bedroom with floor to ceiling windows that looked straight out to sea. What a view to wake up to in the morning! It was simply stunning. The shoreline there is absolutely covered in shells. They make the most incredible sound when you walk on them. It really was a place to stimulate all the senses. It was fab!

That place was so so good for my soul. Since T died, I've felt strong connections to a few select places. Not necessarily connections to T, just places where I feel at peace and connected and contented and where I invariably leave a bit of my heart. It really feels like when T died, my heart broke into pieces and on this new journey that I'm on, I'm able to leave pieces of my heart in significant places. A bit like scattering ashes. As they tend to be places where T has never been, I don't know if this feeling is more to do with me, or whether, as I know they are also places that T would absolutely love, they are more to do with him, or even to do with us. I woke up quite early those first few mornings and lay in my huge bed (I could lie in either direction on the bed and my feet still didn't hang off the edge!) whale watching. I saw lots of seabirds and some seals but unfortunately no whales. That's how we should all wake up every morning; naturally, and with a view that makes you feel instantly happy and alive and ready to face the day with a big grin on your face.

While we were at Shelley Point I had a nice walk around the bay on my own, just thinking and taking it all in. I also went out for an early morning run. I've never ran on the beach before, or in a more beautiful place. I kept a diary while I was away, just to remind me of things and places. One night I wrote, 'I've been bloody unlucky in losing T, but am so lucky in lots of other ways.' I really do count my blessings. As we were leaving, we spotted blowholes from whales quite a way out to sea. It was just perfect.

From there we had a long drive to the Aquila game reserve near Worcester. That wasn't much to write home about, especially compared to the Masai Mara where T and I spent our honeymoon. There was only one giraffe on the reserve and a couple of elephants, so once you'd seen them, you knew there was no point looking for any more. The cats had to be a separate area so they didn't eat the other animals and they're fed twice a week, so do the lions approach the vehicles in a Pavlov's dogs way, thinking they're going to be fed, or is that just me being cynical? Yes, we saw the Big Five, but two of them, the poor cheetah and leopard, were in small enclosures like you'd see at the zoo. Maybe I went with unrealistic expecations. It wasn't so bad, just a bit disappointing. On the plus side, the food was good and they made an elephant out of a towel! We also had an open fire in our room and an outdoor shower. Having a hot shower on a cold night, under the stars was one of the highlights of my holiday. I've never done that before.

The scenery in South Africa is really varied. A lot of it is dry, barren, scrubland with few trees and plants. Then you come into a really fertile valley, with lots of crops and greenery. It's pretty mountainous too, and there's some incredibly long, straight roads where you don't pass a soul. It reminded me of parts of America (that I've admittedly only seen in films). Then the area around Stellenbosch is completely different again - much more European, with lots of trees and wineries. The Cape Dutch architecture is interesting too. It feels very un-African. We stopped for lunch in a cute little town called Tulbagh. It's got some lovely old houses and a sweet little church.

I found it very strange to be in Africa yet be able to pass as a local - until we opened our mouths we could have been mistaken for white South Africans. My only previous experience of Africa is in Kenya and Tanzania, where white tourists like me stand out like a sore thumb. I couldn't quite get my head around the fact that I could be a white person in Africa and not have 'tourist' written all over me. While there was a certain amount of comfort in this, it was tempered by a great deal of discomfort for me. The disparities between the rich and the poor, and on a generalist level the blacks and the whites, is phenomenal. The affluent areas of SA feel very much like Europe and you forget you're in Africa for a moment. Then you come across a township (always out of town) and the poverty there is indescribable. All the workmen at roadworks were black. Without exception. The foreman was always white, leaning on his 4x4 overseeing the work. Maids were always black. Poor white people must exist in SA, but they don't live in the townships. I found this ongoing segregation hard to comprehend. In comparison to SA, the UK feels much more multicultural and integrated. The upper, middle and lower classes here are made up of all races. I know racism sadly does still exist here, but I really don't think we have such big racial divides in this country. SA really is a country full of contrasts, on so many levels.

Right, enough of my rabbiting for one night. I better do my dishes and get ready for day two of the new job tomorrow. As a slight aside from my SA adventure, I started a six-month contract today. Everyone was lovely, but I was pleased to get day one under my belt. I'm not convinced I've done the right thing by taking on a six-month contract but I have to just suck it and see. And I need to start focusing more on the positives and not the negatives. I received an official complaint about my blog moaning (from my sister) this weekend. It's duly noted and I'll endeavour to get back on to a more inspirational note in future posts.

RANT

Bloody tradesmen. And bloody T for leaving me in this mess. Sometimes I despair. I really do. So, hoovering on Sunday in anticipation of Singapore Pam's visit (hope you're reading this and feeling honoured Pamela!), I discover that T's motorbike helmet, that's been sat behind the kitchen door since I collected it from the police station several months ago, is sat in a pool of water. Shit. No time to look into it, have to run out the door to meet people...

Monday - manage to pull the washing machine out (no mean feat) and discover that the pool of water extends under the washing machine and the kitchen units. In fact, the electric heater is sat in the middle of it too. Probably not that safe. Shit again. Go on the checkatrade website. Find a local plumber. He can come that night to take a look. Great. Said plumber calls later that day: 'Who are you again? What was the issue? Remind me of your address.' Hmmm. Plumber comes that evening as promised, says I need a new washing machine hose and a replacement tap thing. Cost: 'Let's think, £80...£90...£105 should do it'. Fine. I've got no idea how much I should be paying but I can't risk my kitchen ceiling caving in or massive water damage, so I'll pay £105. He can come the next day to fit it. Even better.

Today - on top of massive train delays this morning meaning I was an hour late getting to work, and massive bus delays this evening (I was explicit about the fact this is a rant)... the plumber turns up, fits the hose, asks, 'Is your husband at work?' Those who've been unlucky enough to have insight into my pysche will know that by this point I've already thought about the fact that the plumber might murder or rape me in my own home - or possibly both, or that as he knows I've been out today, he might tell his dodgy mates who might come and burgle the place. (This is in no way a judgement on his character btw. More an insight into my brain. Funny, I typed Brian then by mistake. That's the plumber's name...) Anyway, I found myself saying, 'Yes. He's at work.' Brian: 'He must work very late. What does he do?' Me: 'Oh, he works in IT in the City.' Yada yada. I wanted to punch his lights out. Not only had I let myself feel intimidated by him, but he was delving (probably in a very innocent, plumber kind of way) into my very personal life. And it was none of his bloody business. And I felt obliged to lie.

Anyway, I go and sit in another room to avoid punching his eyes out and wait for him to finish. 'How much do I owe you?', I ask when, 5 minutes later he's done. '£110', says Brian the chancer. 'Funny', says I, 'It's gone up £5 since yesterday'. 'Oh, I must be getting muddled up with another job... It's been a long day... ha ha... I meant £105... yes, it's definitely £105. You found me on the checkatrade site, you say? Well, I hope you might go on and fill out the review about me. No need to mention that I got the price muddled up.. ha ha.' Ha ha indeed, matey boy. When enough time has passed that he wouldn't be able to identify the review as being written by me (warped mind = if he does then he might come and get me in revenge for tarnishing his reputation), then I'll post an honest review. He wasn't all bad. He came when he said and was kind of polite I guess. I don't think he was a total cowboy or anything. But I reckon he took me for a bit of a ride. And he was nosy to boot. The biggest kick in the balls is that the washing machine still leaks, but what am I meant to do about that? Risk having to deal with Brian again or go through the whole procedure with another Brian? Oh, the joys of being a single woman, incapable of coping with DIY disasters. Come back T, all is forgiven.

Working girl

Just thought I'd post a quick update on where I'm at with things. I'm just coming to the end of my 6-week contract. I can't believe how quickly the time has gone. The return to work has been fine. My brain still works, I can still remember how to do my job, my confidence is slowly coming back, I can get on the train in the evening now and not have flashbacks to the night I got the call from the hospital on my way back home from work. It's all good. Thankfully. It was definitely the right time for me to go back and the right place for me to go back to.

What's not good is the lack of personal time I have. A lot of the time I feel exhausted. Or at least drained. I feel tense and like I can't think freely anymore. It's kind of hard to explain but I think my brain got used to having all day every day to process thoughts and emotions and now it doesn't have that luxury and it's creating lots of noise in my head. I'm having vivid dreams and have started waking up at the same time in the wee small hours again. I go straight back to sleep but that's happened before and it's not a good pattern to get in to.

I've said to a lot of people that it seems so wrong to have so little personal time. Not just me personally, but all of us. What are we doing? I get up just before 7am and I'm never home before 7pm. So 12 out of 24 hours are spent on work-related things. You're meant to get eight hours' sleep a night, so out of the 12 hours that's left, if eight are spent sleeping then that leaves four hours. In that time I try and cook, wash up, make packed lunch for the next day and iron an outfit as a minimum. On top of that I normally have calls to make, emails to send and chores to do. Which means that I have absolutely no time to just relax. It's pretty frenetic.

And that pace is set to continue... I've just accepted a six-month contract at a design agency in Covent Garden. They seem like lovely people and it'll be good to have a new challenge. Six months isn't forever but it'll be a good test of the working water. And it might help me make some decisions in the medium to long term. I'll try not to moan and groan about work too much - it is, afterall, my decision to take up this job - so feel free to tell me if I start being too down on life.

I've also been doing some self-analysis and decided that I'm most definitely a control freak. I don't like being out of control. I don't particularly like taking risks. I like to know what's going to happen as a consequence of making a decision. Even though that's impossible. But this explains why not working was freaking me out. I had all these options available to me and I didn't know what to do for the best. I put a lot of pressure on myself to do something extraordinary and not go back to the daily grind. I agonised about what the 'right' thing to do would be. Should I retrain in something completely different - but what would that be? Should I move abroad and escape things here? Should I get a more mundane local job to get me out the house and earning some money? Should I move north? The list goes on...

So my current situation makes me feel a bit happier. A bit more in control. I feel like a decision has been made for me. Although I have to remember to acknowledge that I'm the one who made the decision (I can hear my counsellor's voice in my head). It's funny how it all worked out - a random and lovely recruitment consultant got in touch with me out of the blue on LinkedIn. We met and she put me forward for four interviews. One said no, one offered and two invited me for second interviews. I hadn't even been actively looking for work and here I was with the possibility of three offers if the second interviews went well. It was great for my confidence. I'm also able to acknowledge now that I'm someone who gets off on being liked and loved. So those three thumbs up gave me a big boost. I wasn't being perceived as a widow who hadn't worked for 14 months, but as me; a capable and likeable professional. I need to remember that. I'm still me, despite what's happened. Some bits of me will never ever be the same again, but some bits are exactly the same and will never change.

And here's one final thing I wanted to share: in all of my interviews I was completely and utterly honest. I told them exactly what had happened. I also laid my cards very clearly on the table. I told them my conditions and that no amount of money would sway me if those basic conditions weren't met. I kind of said, 'this is me, this is what I want, take it or leave it'. It made the whole process so much easier. Instead of saying what I thought the interviewer would want to hear, or what I thought I 'should' say, I said what I wanted to say. It was liberating and empowering and I think it earned me some respect. I urge you to give it a go.

Right, that was meant to be a quick update and turned into a download. I haven't even touched on the 10k run I did last weekend (52m56s), or the fact I gave blood last week (and nearly fainted), or that I had a lovely night with Singapore Pam last night (with far too much NZ sauvignan blanc), or that I'm off to South Africa at the weekend (and I can't bloody wait)... I'm contemplating the world's highest abseil off Table Mountain. But that probably won't surprise you :o)

A sense of perspective

Like many people, the plight of the Chilean miners has moved me to tears. To be stuck underground for so long beggars belief - 69 days. You just can't get your head around it. Their solidarity and cameraderie in light of what they've been through is admirable. The rescue effort is just mind-boggling; they've thought of everything and it's going so well. My floodgates have well and truly opened. It puts so much into perspective.

I find it interesting that so many of the miners have decided to get married as a result of what's happened. T's proposal to me, after 10 happy unmarried years together, was triggered by the London bombings and his uncle dying from cancer. It's funny how it sometimes takes triggers like that to make you realise what it's important in life. And sad too. Why does it have to come to that?

Anyway, I'm so happy that the miners are being rescued. The 33. The age T was. A special number. I can't begin to imagine the hell they've been through. They are brave men. They will live new lives as a result of what they've been through.

Deep and meaningful

Some things that have inspired me recently. Interestingly, and by pure coincidence, they are kind of both related:

http://www.girleffect.org/share/the-big-picture/the-girl-effect and http://www.girleffect.org/share/the-big-picture/the-girl-effect-ticking-clock

http://blog.thedolectures.co.uk/2010/09/compassion-2/ (Thanks to Molly for forwarding this one on to me.)

And this made me think:
http://blog.thedolectures.co.uk/2010/09/how-big-is-your-but/

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us…Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory… that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
- Marianne Williamson

Kindred spirits

This interview struck many chords with me. The saying yes to everything. The getting back to life but with many happy and sad memories. The feeling of liberation, of not having anyone else to feel responsible for. That learning how to do things you've always done as two, as one. The bit about a part of you dying when your husband dies. The constant fear that something bad is around the corner.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/7878932/Sheila-Hancock-interview.html

Doomy gloomy

This is not just any wedding anniversary. This is a wedding anniversary commemorated with a Marks & Spencer pizza and a strawberry trifle for one. This is our fourth wedding anniversary. This is the second wedding anniversary I've spent on my own. This is not just any wedding anniversary. This is a wedding anniversary without a sodding husband. This is a shit wedding anniversary.

Running free

Taking part in this year’s Great North Run (GNR), the world’s biggest half marathon, is possibly the greatest achievement of my life. I’ve um-ed and ah-ed about whether it’s a bigger achievement than the skydive I did earlier this year and have decided that it is. The skydive was hard mentally. I had to overcome emotional barriers but, once the decision was made, all I had to do was be brave and do what I was told. The GNR required months of training, from a standing start; I’ve only been running since August last year. I’ve never been a runner, nor a real exerciser. Yes, I used to go to the gym, but mainly to fight the flab caused by my excessive socialising. I’m amazed at how my training has built up over the months. From struggling to run one mile, I suddenly found myself running four miles, then six, and so on. Now six miles is my basic run – I was doing two a week in my GNR training – and my long runs are 10-11 milers. That still amazes me.

From going from only running for T and because of T (it helped me feel closer to him to be doing something that was such a big part of his life), I’m increasingly running for me. As well as for T. I know he would be astounded and immensely proud of my running achievements. That’s incredibly motivational. He was extremely passionate about his interests, including running - so knowledgeable and wise. He was a great coach and he got such a buzz from imparting his wisdom to me and his running friends. Sometimes, when I don’t think I can go any further, I think of T and what he went through last year, and it puts my running pain/fatigue into perspective and propels me on.

Importantly, I’ve discovered that I really enjoy running. I love being outdoors in the fresh air. I love the buzz I get when I get back from my runs. I love feeling physically tired and naturally hungry. It helps me clear my mind and think things through, away from life’s clutter. I love having running in common with so many friends – male and female. Not many sports are so gender neutral. I enjoy having goals and challenges to work towards, in the form of races and times. I’m enjoying learning more about running, training, injury-prevention, nutrition etc. In short, I’m becoming a runner and a running geek. And I love it!

Being part of the 30th GNR was an awesome experience and I feel lucky to have been forced into doing this by T’s death. I doubt there are many sporting events where you’re one of 54,000 people. The atmosphere was great, being among so many likeminded people - all there for the same reason - was quite powerful, and the Geordie support was warm and encouraging. Even the rain couldn’t dampen our spirits. I was lucky enough to be running with one of my oldest friends, Margot, a GNR veteran who was nursing an injury but who did amazingly nonetheless. Her fiance, Sam, powered away at the start but it was great to see his beaming face at the end, when we congratulated ourselves on our sub-2 hour performances, as the North Sea turned increasingly grey and the rain started lashing down. Definitely a day to remember. And yet another that I wish T could have been part of.

Thank you all for your support, emotional and financial, on this latest challenge. As always, it’s been invaluable. The following people deserve an extra special thank you: my cheering family and Auntie Christine; my running pals, Margot and Sam; my coach, GB, for all his training advice and encouragement – wouldn’t have got the sub-2 without him; and Michael @ Be Fit in Newcastle for curing me of my hip pain in one session, two weeks before the race, enabling me to run all 13.1 miles of the course. Bring on the GNR 2011...

First the worst

Apparently the firsts are the worst. The first birthday - theirs and yours - the first Christmas, the first wedding anniversary, the first anniversary of their death, etc etc.... I think I disagree. Or I guess it's not disagreeing. It's just that that statement implies that the seconds are somehow better. I don't think they are. Do people not realise that although the raw-ness may subside, that special person is still missing from that special day? What could be worse than that? Surely the more you endure, the worse it gets? The more you're reminded of the time that's passed since the last time that date was last a happy date. In fact, none of the anniversaries are worse than the other. They are all equally as difficult, and equally as hard.

Tomorrow is T's birthday. It's absolutely gut-wrenching to not have bought a card and presents. Or to have made a cake. Planned a celebration. It's just going to be a 'normal' day. I can't celebrate without T. I can think about him and those happy birthdays we've celebrated together. But that's about it. I have to go to work. I have a meeting for a voluntary job I've undertaken at the local theatre in the evening. Life goes on. Incredibly sad but incredibly true. It really is incredible to think that life does go on. How does it go on? How do we muster up the strength and the resilence to make it go on? We're broken inside, but on the outside - to the hundreds of people that will pass me on the street tomorrow, sit next to me on the train, queue beside me for my coffee - I'm whole. Incredible how well we can hide it. And if people don't know to look for it, they just won't see it.

How could she walk? 

How could she move?

That's the sort of thing I'll never know, or comprehend - what humans are capable of.

(An extract from 'The Book Thief' by Markus Zusak, narrated by Death and very worthy of a read.)

This week has been strange. I can only think it's because I'm back at work and finally have something big to distract me, so my mind gets caught up in work then when it allows itself to refocus on life, it momentarily forgets what's happened. Today as I walked the length of the concourse at Waterloo during the morning rush hour, I found myself scanning the faces of the commuters walking towards me. It dawned on me that I was searching for T. Searching for that beacon of hope and love and light in that sea of strangers. He wasn't there. Then at work today I glanced at my phone. Noticed the date: 15 September. Shit! I haven't planned T's birthday. Haven't got his present or made his cake. Then that realisation again. There's no point. No need. No T.

The firsts aren't the worst. They are just different. And I'll think of T tomorrow; 35 years ago to the day since he entered the world. That innocent little bundle of joy. He didn't deserve this to happen to him. Tomorrow should be a happy day. It's not fair.

Daily grind

Just a quick one to update anyone who's interested on how day one back at work went:

On the bright side
- I didn't have to get up too early as had counselling at 10am
- This also meant I didn't get to work till noon, so didn't quite work a full day
- I know two of my three colleagues from last time I worked there. That made a huge difference. Friendly faces. I'm also familiar with processes, clients etc. It's a bit like watching a soap opera - you can go away for 18 months and come back and still catch the drift of what's going on. And there was carrot cake. That always helps
- My brain still works. Hurrah!
- I didn't turn into an emotional wreck. Commuting, especially the evening commute, or the thought of it anyway, has freaked me out since T died as I was on the train home when the hospital called me. But I survived
- Location etc is all do-able. I can walk from Waterloo which will keep me fit and means I can avoid rush-hour Tubes
- There's a Costa nearby. They serve flat whites. I've never been a takeaway coffee girl; thought it was too expensive. Now it's going to be my daily treat to myself. Life's too short to worry about spending £2.35 on a coffee if it gives you pleasure. I wish I appreciated that before
- I'm earning some money again (which is just as well as the monthly travelcard cost me a small fortune)

On the darker side
- Got home about 7.30pm. Opened my mail, checked my voice messages, checked Hotmail/Facebook and generally unwound. I then had to do a 6 mile run. In the dark. That took me 50 minutes. Got home, made a few calls, stretched, showered, did dishes, made sarnies for tomorrow. Time for bed. No time to cook. No time to do much else. There's more to life than that - I know that now. It's what I do with that knowledge that matters though...

Thanks for the various texts and emails I got today. I appreciated you thinking of me.

Right, better get some kip ready to start all over again tomorrow. From the crack of dawn this time :o(

Hi ho, hi ho...

On Monday I start work again; after living through my own personal hell and the subsequent 14 months of recuperation and reflection. I'm fortunate to have had that space to grieve. To try and 'come to terms', for want of a better phrase, with what's happened. To think about what's important to me in my new state. And what I want for my future. I haven't yet found the answers to either of those things. I think I thought they would find me. 14 months on and I'm slowly realising that I need to find them. But I'm not yet sure how...

One thing I do know is that it finally feels right to be going back to work. People told me that I would know when I was ready. I didn't believe them. I thought I'd never feel ready. But I know I'm ready now. It also feels right to be going back to a work for a company (or a reincarnation of a company) that I have worked for in the past. I'll be working alongside two people who I worked with for two years. And I'll have some familiar clients too. There's some comfort in that. It's not the deep and meaningful job I promised myself after my perspective on life was changed by T's death, but it's another step in the healing process. And in the confidence-boosting process.

It's only a four-week contract. But that sounds just perfect to me. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, which makes it feel less daunting. I feel strong and confident. And in desperate need of a shopping trip to ensure I'm dressed the part. I'm not looking forward to the early starts. And the commuting is going to drive the new 'life's too short' me, absolutely insane. Commuters are so bloody rude. I'm going to have to learn to bite my tongue as I step aside to let the herds charge onto the train in front of me. I refuse to join them (famous last words). But I'm looking forward to stimulating my brain cells. To having some structure to my days. To having that Friday feeling that T and I so used to love. I know with that comes the dreaded Monday morning feeling too, by the way. I'll have to find a way to cope with that.

I'll miss getting up when I wake up (and going to bed when I'm tired). And running when I fancy it - and in the daylight at the rate autumn is advancing. I'll miss being a lady that lunches with friends and their babies. I'll miss just being me and doing what I feel like doing, when I feel like doing it. I'll regret not defrosting the freezer while I had the chance. Or cleaning the car before now. I'll be more fraught. And will read more books. There's pros and cons but it's time to give it a go. After all, what's the worst that can happen?

Question time

In recent weeks, I've had a fair few encounters with strangers that have required some polite chit-chat. These encounters have highlighted to me the inappropriateness of the questions that we're conditioned to ask people we've never met before to break the ice or fill the silence. Questions like: 'Do you have any children?' On the outside this seems harmless enough, and I guess for the majority of people maybe it is. But how hard would it be to be asked this question if you're infertile, or have suffered a miscarriage, or your child has died, or your husband/wife recently died before you got the chance to start a family?? You bite your tongue and answer, 'no'. Then you're asked if you plan to have children. You've never met this person before. She knows nothing about you but she's asking you extremely personal questions. And waxing your nether regions while she does so... it's just plain wrong.

The other favourite is, 'Where do you work?' Since T died I haven't worked. So sometimes I say, 'I'm not currently working.' You can hear the cogs in their head turning... this stranger in front of me is seemingly young and capable but not working. Aha, I know, 'Were you made redundant?' that would explain things. Well, yes, technically I was made redundant so I often just answer in the affirmative, then have to endure an in-depth conversation with the stranger about the recession, how hard it is to find work, how difficult it must be for me, etc etc. But that's a load of bullshit. But sometimes a darn sight easier and less intrusive to go along with that, rather than tell the stranger the real reason why I'm not currently working.

I'm sure I've been guilty of asking similar questions in the past, and may even still do so occasionally, but I'm going to try harder to ask more neutral questions, especially of strangers. It makes polite chit-chat that much harder because you don't have those 'easy' questions to fall back on. But I'd rather have to think harder about what I say before I open my mouth than risk upsetting someone I've never even met before. I reckon it'll be easier said than done...

I dedicate this post to Shoya Tomizawa who was killed in a motorcycle crash in the Misano GP on Sunday. And also to the nine people who were about to do a skydive when they were killed in a plane crash at Fox Glacier, NZ on Saturday.

Surf's up

A couple of weekends ago I had a reunion with five of the people I met on the Flying Kiwi trip. We went to Croyde in Devon for a weekend of camping and surfing. It was awesome! It was so nice seeing those people again - one had flown over from Dublin and another had biked there from Italy, the rest of us are UK-based. Everything was so easy and we just picked up where we left off when we last saw each other in March. Amazing really, that we know relatively little about each other yet have become firm friends, with our NZ adventure binding us together.

I loved being under canvas again and managed to sleep well on both nights, which is always a bonus when camping. The mattress, proper pillow, alcohol and sleeping tablet combo worked a treat. And surfing was really good fun. I didn't think it'd be for me, but I surprised myself and even booked into surf school again on the Sunday. Just goes to show (once again) how futile it is to worry about things before they happen. You just need to suck these things and see. I managed to stand up quite a few times. My problem was that once I stood up I was so chuffed with myself that I started celebrating - hands in the air, knees definitely not bent, screaming and shouting and laughing. That's not really surfing. I then normally jumped off the board to avoid falling in. But I think I've got to grips with the basics now; just need to perfect my technique. Lots of practice required...

T would be astounded that I even tried surfing. I'm a bit scared of the open sea and certainly don't like a) waves going over my head and b) going underwater unexpectedly, both of which are hard to avoid when you surf. I definitely think a bit of T jumped into me that night last July, before he faded away. I can't explain it any other way. If that's what happened then I'm pleased and very grateful to him. I'm seeing the world with new eyes. With T eyes. And it's a great view.

There was a really clear sky on the Saturday night with very little light pollution, so as we staggered back from the pub we did a bit of meteor spotting. It's the time of year to see them. I vividly remember seeing the meteor showers at the same time last year in the dark Northumbrian skies. They will forever remind me of T.

Well, I'm back from my latest escape: a long weekend in Spain with my sister. It was wonderful. Fabulous weather, lots of swimming in the sea, great company, delicious food, a night in Barcelona - my favouritist of cities - some delicious mojitos, a whole row to myself on the easyjet flight home (unheard of, although there was the obligatory EJ delay to contend with before that). But no T.

T and I had booked to go to Spain for our summer holiday in August. But we never got there. We'd spent months planning a holiday to Croatia. Even bought the guide book. Then decided at the last minute that it wasn't coming together and opted for Spain instead. We were going to spend some time in the mountains, a week by the sea and a few days in Barcelona - a city I'd told T all about but that he'd never visited. It was going to be my opportunity to show him why I love that place so much. And a chance for him to fall in love with it himself. I think it would have been the perfect holiday; a good balance of all the things we enjoy. And a chance for us to start trying for a baby.

Although I've done more than my fair share of travelling since T died, I found elements of this break particularly hard. Going to Gatwick as we'd done many times before when heading off on our summer holiday, queuing up alongside the couples and families heading off on their long-anticipated annual break: it was all so familiar. Yet so bloody alien. I could picture T beside me. The usual pre-holiday stresses causing some unnecessary tension and bickering between us - are you sure you packed the passports? I can't believe you forgot to pack X, Y or Z. Why did you have to finish work so late, knowing we had to get to the airport to catch our flight? Did we definitely lock the front door? etc etc. Then the relief of making it through to the departure lounge and onto the flight. Time to relax. Time to start enjoying the break. Time to make the most of it as we'd be back at work before we knew it. That holiday feeling. Bliss. Holding hands as the plane took off. Watching London disappear through the cloud. A snooze on the flight to make up for the late night packing the night before. Then the wall of heat hitting you as you stepped off the plane at the other side. Deep breath. And relax...

After 13 years together, we had our little holiday routines. It was hard being on a more traditional holiday without T there beside me. Hard seeing other couples acting out exactly what it would have been like to be there with T, in front of my very eyes. Hard being in the place where T and I should have been holidaying this time last year. Hard being in Barcelona, knowing that T will now never have the chance to go. Just hard not having him there with me.

Don't get me wrong. It was great being away with my sister. We had the best time, lots of laughs and I'm very grateful that she was able to come with me. We've got some great memories of our holiday and I hope to go back to both Sitges and Barcelona very soon (city break anyone??). It's just hard getting used to doing things without T. Yes, I've been away without him in the past. But then I'd be sending him postcards, calling him every day and picking out a little souvenir to take home to him from my trip. Now there's none of that. Just that gaping hole again. It's proving to be a bloody big place that hole.

Survival of the fittest

So, I arrived back home today from my little séjour in France and was finally able to turn the calendar over from July to August. It was a very symbolic gesture. The July anniversary had been lurking in the back of my mind for a while, without me realising quite how much it was bothering me. I feel relieved it's now passed and I've survived yet another first.

The 30th July - the date of T's accident - dawned warm and sunny in France. I had my friend Graeme's three extremely loving and caring children to distract me from the minute I woke up until they went to bed that evening. With an honesty that only children have (and with my full consent, incidentally), the girls asked me lots and lots of questions about T, his accident, and my feelings about it all, as and when the questions occured to them over the course of the day. The questions varied from specifics like, 'How much blood did T have on him when you saw him in hospital?', to 'Can I please try T's wedding ring on?', to 'Where do you think T is now?' (I was told by the girls that T would always be right beside me - they indicated to the space beside my right shoulder - and always in my heart. They are wise little things.) Because I didn't want to get upset in front of them but also because I wanted to answer their questions as honestly yet sensitively as possible, I found myself answering these ordinarily horrendous questions very factually. It felt a bit like a kind of therapy.

As well as the accident-related discussions, we also did lots of ordinary things like a grocery shop, an ice-cream run and some playing in the garden in the sunshine followed by a BBQ. I was quite happy having my hair done and being spoilt by the girls who looked after me very well. They made me feel loved and less alone at a difficult time. There was lots and lots of laughter, fun and raucous giggling. And no time to stop and check the time. Which meant no reliving those 'this time last year' moments that I thought would form a significant part of the day. With the benefit of hindsight, I'm so pleased they didn't. Yes, there were difficult moments and tears and lots of sadness, but that didn't dictate the tone of the day; I actually ended up having a really nice day. Which isn't how I thought I'd be describing T's first anniversary. But I'm so so grateful it worked out that way. It's what T would have wanted, I think. He wouldn't have wanted me to be too sad, or morbid or consumed once again by grief. He would have approved of my choice of company. Of our excessive wine and whisky consumption in his memory. Of the sky lantern we released. Of our sitting out in the garden until 3.30am putting the world to rights. Fittingly and unintentionally, it was a very T day.

I know now that spending T's anniversary in France with G was the best thing I could have done. I can't remember laughing as much as I have over the past week for a very long time. I've eaten well. And woken up with a hangover on more than one occasion. I've met people that I've never met before but who had met T. I feel once again like I've come back from one of my safe havens a slightly different person.

Always remembering

I can't believe it's almost been a whole entire year since I last saw T. That this time last year we were just going about our lives as normal, completely unaware of what was about to unfold. I wish that I'd answered my phone when it rang while I was at work on 30th July - that I'd taken the call from T and had been able to tell him one last time that I loved him. I wish that he had answered his phone when I tried calling him that morning. I wish that T had broken every bone in his body that day and was now making a good recovery. I wish that I was the mother of T's children. I wish that T was here to watch out for me, to love me and hold me and be with me forever more. I miss the foot massages he gave me while we watched a dvd. I miss the meals we used to cook for each other - a course each (and it had to be a surprise and a dish we'd never made before). I miss the random bunches of flowers he'd buy me on his way home from work. I miss his nagging - about anything and everything. I miss our chats and our planning and our social life. I miss his motivation and his enthusiasm. I miss his love for me and I miss loving him back. I miss getting uncontrollable giggles when we were trying to get to sleep. I miss his music and I miss his motorbike. I even miss his moans about work and his CISCO revision. What I miss most of all I just can't put into words. I just miss T and all that that entails.

I'm going to France tomorrow to lie low for a few days. I'll be well looked after by one of our very good friends and on Friday, weather permitting, I'm hoping to send at least one sky lantern into the night sky in memory of my T. I know that sky lanterns will also be released from a beach in Northumberland and a hillside in Hertfordshire. Small but significant gestures of remembrance.

As well as remembering T, I'll also be remembering the people who battled to save T's life almost a year ago. The paramedics who attended the crash scene within minutes and restarted T's heart. The A&E nurses at the hospital, and one in particular who I formed a bond with that evening. The rest of the medical staff at the hospital who took care of T as best they could. T's transplant nurses who worked through the night to ensure T could donate as many of his organs as possible and who have been there for me over the past 12 months. I'll also be remembering the friends and family who supported me at the hospital that night and those who have been there for me this past year. And I'll also be thinking about the transplant recipients who, a year ago, had life-saving operations thanks to T's generosity.

May you rest in peace my beautiful boy. I'll love you forever more.

The awakening

I just came across this and on first read felt like it kind of summed up what's gradually happened to me over the past 12 months, so thought I'd share it with anyone who's still reading...


A time comes in your life when you finally get it...when, in the midst of all your fears and insanity, you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out...ENOUGH! Enough fighting and crying and blaming and struggling to hold on.

Then, like a child quieting down after a tantrum, you blink back your tears and begin to look at the world through new eyes.

This is your awakening.

You realize it's time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change, or for happiness, safety and security to magically appear over the next horizon. You realize that in the real world there aren't always fairytale endings, and that any guarantee of "happily ever after" must begin with you... and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are... and that's OK. They are entitled to their own views and opinions.

You learn the importance of loving and championing yourself... and in the process a sense of new found confidence is born of self-approval. You stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you - or didn't do for you - and you learn that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected.

You learn that people don't always say what they mean or mean what they say and that not everyone will always be there for you and that everything isn't always about you.

So, you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself... and in the process a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.

You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties... and in the process a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.

You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view. You begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really stand for.

You learn the difference between wanting and needing and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you've outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with.

You learn that there is power and glory in creating and contributing and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a "consumer" looking for your next fix.

You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a bygone era, but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life.

You learn that you don't know everything, it's not your job to save the world and that you can't teach a pig to sing. You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that martyrs get burned at the stake.

Then you learn about love. You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be. You learn that alone does not mean lonely.

You stop trying to control people, situations and outcomes. You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.

You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside, smoothing things over and ignoring your needs.

You learn that your body really is your temple. You begin to care for it and treat it with respect. You begin to eat a balanced diet, drink more water, and take more time to exercise.

You learn that being tired fuels doubt, fear, and uncertainty and so you take more time to rest. And, just as food fuels the body, laughter fuels our soul. So you take more time to laugh and to play.

You learn that, for the most part, you get in life what you believe you deserve, and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different than working toward making it happen.

More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction, discipline and perseverance. You also learn that no one can do it all alone, and that it's OK to risk asking for help.

You learn the only thing you must truly fear is fear itself. You learn to step right into and through your fears because you know that whatever happens you can handle it and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life on your own terms.

You learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.

You learn that life isn't always fair, you don't always get what you think you deserve and that sometimes bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people... and you learn not to always take it personally.

You learn that nobody's punishing you and everything isn't always somebody's fault. It's just life happening. You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls.

You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you.

You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about: a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Then, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never, ever settle for less than your heart's desire.

You make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting, and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.

You hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind.

Finally, with courage in your heart, you take a stand, you take a deep breath, and you begin to design the life you want to live as best you can.

Biting bullets

So, I've applied to VSO. That's Voluntary Service Overseas - they focus on placing professionals with transferrable skills throughout the developing world. Placements usual last for 1-2 years. I've got through the initial registration process and have been invited to attend an Assessment Day, date TBC. It's pretty exciting stuff. Scary too (although as I'm trying to live more for the moment I shouldn't really say that).

Half of me feels really comfortable with the life I've now got. I really love being in my little flat, seeing friends and family, running, reading, watching films etc etc. I'm learning to enjoy my own company. Something I've never had to do before. The other half is anxious to escape that life - to do something meaningful, worthwhile, different, exciting. Away from mortgages and babies and things that no longer mean what they once meant to me, or at least that I hoped would one day soon mean something to me. That's not to say I wouldn't miss friends, family and babies - I would, terribly - but I feel I no longer fit in to that part of life. I can't empathise, have no baby stories or hand-me-downs to share, don't know what it feels like to be pregnant, or a mum and don't even have a date to accompany me to social events. Right now, I can't see when that will change. It may, one day, but not right now. Which kind of leads me to believe that I need to forge a new life for myself. One where I do fit in. And where I'm able to just be me.

I've gone from being one of two people to being just one. That means I can pretty much do what I want, when I want. Again, that's got its pros and its cons, but I really believe it's a unique opportunity that shouldn't be passed up. I've developed a real lust for life since T died. I want to try new things, push myself out of my comfort zone in order to learn and develop and enjoy life, and really make the most of the relatively short time I've got on this planet. I want to be able to look back on my life and be proud of and happy with what I've achieved. I don't want there to be any regrets or what ifs. I don't know that I can say that for each and every one of the past 33 years, but I've got the ability to change that for the years ahead.

I think if I took the easy option of staying here and plodding along in mainstream life, I may have regrets. I think I would be unfulfilled. I think I would have missed an opportunity. With VSO, I've got the chance to help other people who are less fortunate than I am in many ways, I've got a chance to meet new people and experience a new culture, I've got a chance to have a bit of an adventure while still gaining relevant and valuable work experience and being paid expenses to do so. I know it won't all be plain sailing and that it'll be completely different to the trip I made earlier this year when I was surrounded by friends. I'll have to adjust to being completely alone in a new and developing country. I'll have to make new friends. I'll have to get used to a new culture, customs and probably diet. I'll be a long way from home (read: family, friends, familiar surroundings). But if they're the worst things I have to deal with then I think I'll be OK. I keep reminding myself that I've been through the unthinkable and have come out the other side - a bit battle-scarred and war-weary, but I've made it out alive. Compared to that, VSO will be a walk in the park. Something to be embraced and enjoyed. Another new challenge. Just need to get through Assessment Day first...

A sobering thought

I've recently got back in touch with someone I went to university with via Facebook. We spent six months together in Perpignan as part of our degree. He told me last night that the owner of the bar we used to frequent on a pretty much daily basis was convicted of murdering four girls. The murders happened between 1995 and 2001. We were there in 1996...

As I keep telling myself, life can be too short. Live for the moment. It's all we really have.

On top of the world

On Friday I got up at 4.30am and caught an early morning flight to Glasgow with three friends. At Glasgow airport we met up with my parents and four other friends and acquainted ourselves with our home for the next 36 hours, a 15-seater minibus. We headed north, up the side of Loch Lomond to Fort William, from where we were going to start our ascent of Britain's highest mountain. Sadly this wasn't your average long weekend in Scotland. There was nothing remotely relaxing about it. We were there for one reason, and one reason only; to climb Ben Nevis as quickly as possible before heading south to climb Britain's third and second highest mountains - Scafell Pike in the Lake District and Snowdon in Wales. All in 24 hours. It was a crazy thing to do, but I would highly recommend it. And I'm once again so grateful to T for making it all possible.

On 19/07/09 at exactly 21.02, T emailed a group of his friends to ask if any of them would be up for joining him on the Three Peaks Challenge. Back came the usual excuses of lack of time, childcare issues, DIY issues etc etc. All perfectly plausible but nonetheless a little lame with hindsight. Yes, we're all busy people but sometimes we get so caught up in the daily grind that we lose sight of what life is really about. In doing so, we miss out on some once in a lifetime experiences. And I'm in no way having a go, I'm as guilty as the next person and I certainly didn't intend to join him on the Three Peaks Challenge. But one of the things T has gifted me with is the insight that life can be too short. And that it's there for living. For T, it's irrelevant whether he'd painted the bedroom or fixed the leaking tap or achieved the billion and one things on his to do list. When he died he was having the time of his life. He was really living his life and enjoying it. There's a lesson there for all of us.

Anyway, following T's death, one of his best men, Rich, bravely ressurected the challenge in T's memory. It was the least we could do. Funnily enough, almost all of the friends T had originally emailed were up for it this time round. Plus me and a few others who got wind of it. It's interesting, and very wrong, how your perspective changes in light of death. But I'm pleased that it did. It turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life. I got to climb Britain's three highest mountains. I got to know my friends even better and spend some quality time with them. My parents were able to get involved (and without their support we wouldn't have been able to complete the challenge). And I feel immensely proud of our achievement. You can't beat that feeling. You faced a seemingly impossible hurdle head-on. And came out the other side grinning like a fool. It would have been easy to say that it wasn't possible/we weren't fit enough/we didn't have the time. But it was possible and we trained to ensure we were fit enough and we made the time. In this life, anything you put your mind to is possible. I'm slowly learning that.

After piling on some carbs in a pub in Fort William and preparing our bags for the various transitions, it was time to wave goodbye to Team Cox - our good friends Cheryl and Rich. As training for the national challenge, we recently completed the Yorkshire Three Peaks walk - a massive 24.5 miles that took us just under 11 hours. To say Cheryl didn't enjoy it much may be an understatement, but she resolved to be there for the national Three Peaks - for T's sake. To avoid putting herself under any unnecessary pressure, Chez and Rich started ahead of the rest of the group. I have the utmost respect for Cheryl's sheer determination. Again, it would have been easy for Cheryl to back out, but she faced her fears head on and came out the other side a better person. R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

We followed them up the mountain at 4.30pm. Thankfully, the weather was on our side. We knew we could walk in the heat as the temperature was nudging 30 degrees for the Yorkshire Three Peaks, but my biggest fear, especially being on the west of the country, was that we'd end up getting soaked to the skin. Fortunately that didn't happen and the evening was very settled. Ben Nevis was a hard slog. It took us 5 hours to complete our ascent and descent, taking us up to 1344m (4409ft). The summit wasn't in sight for most of the ascent, so it was hard to pace yourself and know what was left to come. The path was good though and it was just a case of plodding on, through one small bit of snow, to reach to the top.

Rich and I had talked about wanting to do something to remember T by whilst on the challenge, but ruled out t-shirts and clothing for practical reasons. Before T and I got married we collected about 80 stones from Bamburgh beach in Northumberland. We planned to use them as place names at the wedding but decided against it and dumped the stones in our back garden. When T died I took one of them to Brands Hatch and left it there with some flowers. Another was placed in T's hand in the coffin. I thought it might be nice to take three of the remaining stones and leave one on top of each peak. That way we were being sensitive to the environment as well as leaving a little memorial to T on each mountain. So, on the top of Ben Nevis we got out a photo of T, passed around a miniature Johnnie Walker Black Label 12 yr old single malt, poured a dram on the peak for T and placed one of the Bamburgh stones in a quiet place away from the crowds. The stipulation was that the stone had to have a good view. We also lit a candle on each peak, but it was so windy on the tops that it wouldn't stay alight for long. It felt like a fitting way to remember T and the reason why we were all on top of Ben Nevis at that moment in time. It was very poignant for me and I shed some quiet tears behind my sunnies. It felt so wrong that we were all there yet the one person who really wanted to do this challenge wasn't with us.

The descent seemed longer than the ascent. It was never-ending and quite hard on the knees. But we finally made it down at about 9.30pm. After a very quick transition we were on the road and making our way down to Cumbria. My Mum had done all the catering for the trip and on the advice of her PT served us Greek salad and chicken drumsticks followed by fruit salad for dinner. It was a bit like being on a plane (only better, I should add). She'd thought of everything - there was even tea and coffee in those takeaway cups with lids to stop it slopping around on the bus and an after-dinner TicTac. As darkness fell it was time to try and sleep. Easier said than done. I ended up popping a sleeping tablet at about 1am, knowing I would be walking again 3 hours later. It didn't really work but I guess I must have dozed. My poor Dad had to drive through the night with my Mum beside him chatting to him about anything and everything to stop him nodding off. Oh, and the other thing that none of us had realised, is that all diesel minibuses are fitted with a speed limiter. They can only do 62mph max!!!!

At 4am we began our ascent of Scafell just as the sun rose so no head torches for us. Mum had fed us again so we had enough energy for the climb. We all felt sick - probably with exhaustion and the thought of what was still to come. But there was no choice but to get on with it. Again, the summit wasn't in sight but we knew this one would be shorter as it was considerably lower than Ben Nevis at 978m (3,209ft). Only Britain's third highest mountain! Once again the weather was in our favour and it was a settled morning, although chilly in the breeze. I can't remember too much about the climb and haven't taken many photos. I think it was probably the hardest climb mentally as it was so early and you knew you still had the drive and Snowdon to come. I remember that the top was in cloud so it was cold and not somewhere you wanted to hang around. We got the photo of T out, lit the candle, had the whisky and left the stone, then it was back down to the minibus. Scafell took us just 3.5hrs in total. It was comforting to know that T had already climbed Scafell with his dad. I could imagine them being there and I know T loved that trip.

The road to Scafell is narrow, parking is bad and there were lots of minibuses everywhere so we made the decision to drive straight out of the valley and stop at services to freshen up. Here we had some warm lamb stew, changed our clothes and used the facilities. It was still only about 8.30am. Hard to get your head around. I managed to get a bit more sleep on the Scafell to Snowdon leg. Not proper sleep but sleep nonetheless. Then we got stuck in a traffic jam. There was nothing we could do. We just had to sit there. We were stuck for a total of 45 minutes. So frustrating. Eventually we made it to Snowdon and started our walk up the Miner's Track at about 1.50pm. The path is good and fairly flat until you get to the point where the Miner's and Pyg Tracks join. Then it's pretty vertical and pretty rocky. At that point you can also see the summit. We had to do lots of scrambling and the path was very busy - partly with other Three Peakers, partly with day-trippers (a sunny Saturday in June) and partly with people who'd got off the bloody train at the top and were walking down. Grrrrr. It wasn't easy but you just had to push on. Rich and Andy got me to the top where we did our usual ritual with T. The views were incredible but, as usual, no time to enjoy them. I thought the descent would be hard, but it wasn't too bad picking your way over the rocks. I decided to go back via the longer but gentler Miner's Track as I didn't know the Pyg Trail. This meant for a very long but flat walk out. I know I looked like a bit of a knob doing my fast walking with my poles, a few people commented, but at that point I didn't really care. I had to finish in the best possible time.

I eventually made it back to the car park at 5.30pm. It had taken me 25hrs but 45 mins of that we were stuck in a traffic jam. That would make it 24h15. Then there's the 62mph limit to consider. Which means, had all gone according to plan, I would have done it in well under 24hrs. And to be perfectly honest, I don't really care that I took longer. It was such an achievement and I know I did it to the best of my ability. I don't think I could have pushed myself much more. I was proud of myself and know that T would have been proud of me too. In fact, he would have been proud of all of us. And completely astonished that so many of his friends pulled their fingers out to do it for him. He would also kick himself for not being there with us. But then, had he been there, chances are none of the rest of us would have been there with him.

Bikram, boiled potatoes and bling

Today I was meant to get up at 7.30am and head off to my first ever Bikram yoga class, where you do yoga in a boiling hot room. No ordinary yoga for me. Oh no. As I've said before, I'm living a life less ordinary now! Anyway, that didn't materialise because I had one of the worst night's sleep ever last night. It was so bad that I ended up taking a sleeping tablet at 4am because it just wasn't happening. So my plan is to go on my hot date tomorrow morning instead. Today is all about swimming in the open-air pool in the sunshine. Oh yes.

I feel like I've turned a bit of a corner since Laura was here, in that I want to start doing some more things to give me pleasure. Pleasure isn't necessarily going to come knocking on my door - I have to hunt it down. So things like Bikram and outdoor swimming are little things for me to do to give me a bit of pleasure in my life. I'm fortunate to have some time to myself at the minute to do those kind of things. And it's trying to be summer out there. So I'm going to try and make the most of it.

This week is also the final countdown to the Three Peaks Challenge. I'm meant to be eating 70% carbs this week, but considering that I normally just rustle something up with what I can find in the cupboards, that requires a bit more effort. So yesterday, I actually boiled a couple of potatoes for my tea. Yay. Small steps but hopefully they are going in the right direction.

And bling.... I've moved my engagement ring over to my right hand for now. It's not necessarily a permanent fixture. Time will tell. But I just found that wearing a wedding and engagement ring together sends out such a clear message that you're obviously married. And that's to both women and men. There's no question about it. That can lead to assumptions and questions. Whether I wear either or both of my rings or not, isn't going to bring T back. If only it would. I will always be married to T. I will always love T. I will never forget T. But I need to realise that my rings, while they did represent our love for each other, are just material things whose presence or otherwise won't change a single thing about that love.

My week in Ingerland

So, the wedding was hard. In parts. But also great fun in equal measures. I lost the plot in the church during the first hymn, but the thought of clomping out in the highest heels I possess in front of everyone mid-ceremony, helped me get my act together. I danced and drank my way through the rest of the day, with a few more tears in the evening. But overall I enjoyed it. I can only just remember getting home. That's always the sign of a good night. It was easier being there with family than it would have been if I'd been with friends. You don't feel like a gooseberry when you're with your family, even if they are in couples. I wore a new outfit, painted my nails, had my hair done, put on my killer heels and generally felt quite good about myself. Which makes a nice change. They say the first time doing things is the worst. I don't know about that but I'm pleased I survived and can tick it off the list.

On Friday I met Wellington Laura off a flight at Heathrow. It was like a surreal déjà vu of what we did back in March, except the roles had been reversed. It's absolutely awesome to see her again; another thing that has made my heart sing in recent days. (The other was being asked to be godmother for my friend Sally's little boy, William. Things like that make it all worthwhile). Over the past couple of days Laura and I have put the world to rights, analysed and over-analysed our innermost thoughts and feelings, caught up on the past couple of months, drank a bottle of Veuve (thanks GB!), bemoaned the fact that we live on opposite sides of the planet and started planning a very exciting girly holiday. It's been so good for me to have Laura here, even for a few short days.

Last night we went out with our friends Lynn and Tim for the most amazing meal I've had in a while. I've been a bit slated for lavishing praise on the food and drink on my trip and not finding things in this country worth posting about. Well, last night was more than worthy of a mention - we went to Dehesa in Soho. The food was incredible. We had grilled squid and chorizo salad, confit of rabbit wrapped in Parma ham, tuna carpaccio and courgette flowers stuffed with cheese and drizzled with honey. All washed down with some equally delicious prosecco. Then we moved on to the soft chocolate cake with Frangelico ice-cream (inspired) and the creamiest, loveliest buttermilk panna cotta with rhubarb. And port. And cheese. Then brandy. We didn't do things by halves. It was a lovely night - great food and excellent company - marred only slightly by England's shoddy performance. We didn't watch the game. It would have put us off our food. But the wonders of technology meant that we able to keep an eye on the action from the comfort of our table.

Three Peaks preparation is going well - this time in two weeks it'll be done and dusted. My half marathon training is also ticking along quite nicely. My mate Graeme is my slightly-scary-but-thankfully-based-in-Paris, coach. He kicks my arse if I don't go running three times a week. Being worried about getting my hair wet if it's raining isn't an excuse not to run in his book. But then, as I tell him, he doesn't have my hair to deal with... Yesterday I upped the game and did 6.16 miles. And it felt really good.

Socialising solo

Tomorrow I'm off to a wedding. My first since T died. My first without T. And the wedding is the same family as the wedding we were at on the Saturday before T died. So same guests and all that malarky. Looks like it'll even be the same bloody weather. Fortunately my family will be there, so although I'll be solo in one respect, I won't in another. Still the only one without their partner there though. I don't imagine it will be an easy day for me. But it's not about me. It's about the bride and groom and that's why I'm going. As well as painting my nails a fashionable shade of black, I'll also be painting a smile onto my face. Not a black smile but a happy smile. I have to grin and bear it. What else is there to do?

I did something amazing today

My extreme sport of today was to donate just under a pint of my lovely O-Pos blood to someone who will need it more than I do. T and I were regular donors, in fact we donated just a week or two before T died. I haven't donated since, so figured it was about time I pulled my finger out. I have been liable to faint in the past so I like to go with someone if I can, but today I braved it on my own. And survived. So far anyway.

Amazingly 96% of us rely on the other 4% to give blood. I reckon most of us know someone who has needed blood in the past. Like the organ donation, sadly we never know when we might need to rely on someone else's generosity to help us or someone we love survive. So if you're not already a donor, please consider signing up today: http://www.blood.co.uk/

Job done

I spent Thursday night with T's mum, sister and nephew, Harry. I got there just in time to pick Harry up from school, which is something I've never done before but really enjoyed. It was lovely to see them all again and to catch up on each other's news. On Friday I drove up the road to Sheffield and had lunch with T's step-sister in one of my old haunts from 15 years ago (where has that time gone?), the Nursery Tavern on Ecclesall Road. First of all I had to walk past two other haunts, Champs and the Pomona, to check they were still the same. They are.

It was so weird being back in Sheffield, my home for four years while I was a student. So much has changed. Obviously. But it's all still so familiar. I love it there. I took poor Grace on a scenic tour of all of T and I's Sheffield houses. She didn't know such dodgy areas of the city existed. My first year flats win the prize for dodginess. It's a huge, ugly block of flats in a fairly central but rough part of Sheffield. Student flats were interspersed with normal flats. But the people who lived in these normal flats were typically drug dealers and thieves. Or both in some cases. Our neighbours burgled us over the Easter holidays. We obviously called the police when we got back. They took prints etc etc. Then in the lift the next day, one of my friendly drug dealing, thieving neighbours chanted 'thief dobber' at me until the doors opened on the ground floor. Actually, it was a miracle the lifts were working that day. Normally they were closed off as crime scenes following the previous night's stabbing. You frequently had to step over blood stains. But for some reason, us students didn't seem too phased by it all. I guess it was all we knew. And we still had a great time living there. Happy days.

From Sheffield it was up the A1 to Wensleydale. The weather had been glorious all day but there was a very heavy downpour coming through the Dales. The roads were quite flooded in parts and I was beginning to think that the weather forecasters might have got it wrong for the day of our big walk. 24.5 miles in the torrential rain would not be fun. But by the time I arrived in Askrigg, the rain had almost stopped. Thank goodness.

My alarm went off at 4.55am on Saturday morning. Ouch. It was a lovely morning though - clear skies and already very warm. We set off walking from Horton-in-Ribbledale just before 6.30am. For some reason I can't really remember much of the first peak. Maybe the sleeping tablet I'd taken at midnight was still working its magic. Or maybe by the time we climbed the third peak, 9 or so hours later, my brain had already erased the memory of the first peak. Anyway, I do know that by 7am we'd stripped off to our last layer and had already started to apply the suncream. It was freaking hot. Not the best conditions to be walking in. But we had to get on with it. The first peak came and went quite quickly but there was a long walk to peak two. In fact, the ascents and descents of the three peaks don't actually take very long. It's the distance between the peaks that adds up. But at least that's generally on the flat, down on the valley floor.

Time kept ticking by and as it did, the mercury pushed ever higher. It got to about 30 degrees I reckon. We had to take on a lot of fluids and some people didn't go to the loo from leaving the B&B at 5.30am to getting back at 6pm. A combination of dehydration and sweating it out I guess. Peak two was a bit of a killer. Mainly because we chose to go up the shorter but steeper path. More than one person likened it to climbing up a black ski run. It was hard. 80% of the time I was on my hands and knees scrambling up. I tried sitting down on the slope at one point to rest, but my strange vertigo kicked in and I had to keep going. I've got a thing about sheer drops. Not heights in the traditional sense but sheer things that I'm on, that I feel I could fall off. The good thing about the short, steep ascent was that it was over quickly. Because we were scrambling, our heart rates didn't increase by too much as we were climbing quite slowly so we weren't too shattered when we got to the top.

We had an 8 minute lunch atop peak two. Well, maybe 10 minutes. Time was of the essence. I should mention at this stage that the scenery was spectacular. I hadn't appreciated what a beautiful part of the world Wensleydale is. I'm definitely going back. There's lots of walking to be done and some lovely little villages. I wish T had had the chance to discover it. There are some great motorbike roads. He would have loved it there. And he would have loved the Black Sheep ale too. I sank a pint or two for him while I was there. The other thing to note is that there were thousands of other walkers on the path with us. Like proper bus loads of them. It was a bit like the Inca Trail in that respect. I hadn't expected that and it spoilt it a bit. I like the peace and quiet of walking in remote areas. You don't even need a map to complete this walk. Just follow the hoards ahead of you.

The descent of peak two was hard on the knees but we were soon clear of that one and had our sights on peak three, away over in the distance. We stopped for refreshments at a little stall in a barn. They were doing a roaring trade, not least because they weren't trying to rip walkers off. A pint of iced orange squash was only 80p. They could have charged £3 and they would have still sold like hot cakes. It was nice to see. Peak three's ascent was hard. There was a very steep set of zig-zagging steps/rocks to climb. And it was really really hot. And we were really really tired. But we ploughed on and eventually made it to the top. Three Yorkshire peaks in the bag. Get in. Pleased as Punch we were. There were pats on backs all round and a thought for T, who was greatly missed. The euphoria soon wore off during the 6-mile walk out from peak three. It was the longest 6 miles ever. We were exhausted and hot and most of us were out of water by that stage. Muscles were aching. Blisters were rubbing. Skin was burning. We'd had enough. We eventually limped back into Horton after walking for 10h40m, cursing T for making us take up his challenge. But I don't think any of us had any regrets. It was an amazing day and we felt a huge sense of achievement. No pain no gain as the old adage goes.