Jenny Burrell

Last Saturday I had afternoon tea with two very dear friends. We have known each other for over twenty years and have been through a lot of ups and downs together. We discussed a number of topics which finally moved on to religion.

Now, religion, like politics, should always be avoided at all costs, certainly over dinner tables, yet on Saturday we were so comfortable in each other’s company that this wasn’t a taboo subject. A really good debate ensued. I relish good debates! What I find most enjoyable is an open mind. It’s so enlightening if we can just accept that we are all different and each of our opinions matter. We might feel passionate about a topic but not to the point where we fall out and friendships suffer.

I am so lucky. I have some really good, close friends who I love dearly and know that I can rely on their integrity, honesty and support. Not to diminish the support and love that I receive from my husband and children, but having a variety of friends brings more diversity and mental stimulation. This has got to be good for overall mental health, of which I am very aware.

My father returned to England with my mother in 2001. They were both in their seventies. They left sunny, warm South Africa and all their friends behind to start a new life. My father was an artist and very comfortable with his own company, a bit of a recluse. My mother was the exact opposite. She was a published author of children’s books and soon contacted schools to arrange visits to read excerpts of her books and encourage aspiring young writers. She had done this in South Africa and thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the children. She joined the local church and made friends with her neighbours, inviting them for afternoon teas.

My father had one good year before he became ill. This restricted my mother and she soon had to curb her outings to care for him. Eventually it was only me visiting after work in the evenings and at weekends. I’d take my mother to the supermarket on Saturdays where she’d chat to those waiting in the queue or anyone else who showed her some interest, much to my embarrassment!

The deterioration was slow at first, but eventually I noticed that both of them were becoming forgetful and their conversations very limited. My father kept on painting but, for example, he’d paint a lion in three parts, the head, middle and tail end and not have the ability to join them all together. Sadly, they began to look quite comical which I found very upsetting

My mother sent stories to an online publisher who printed them each week. She would also send a photo of one of my father’s paintings. Over the years these stories became duplicated and photos of their house and places in South Africa replaced my father’s paintings yet still showed him as the artist.

Looking back I realise that lack of friendships and communicating with the outside world hastened their spiral into mental health problems and significantly affected their quality of life. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. My siblings and I should have tried harder to encourage them to stay in South Africa. It would have meant trips out there at times when necessary but that would have been a small price to pay. My mother had her family close by and a large contingency of friends and acquaintances who would have given them both the extra support and companionship that became sadly lacking in England.

Nothing beats the enjoyment of meeting friends for dinner, a drink in a pub or a long walk. Joining social gatherings, doing exercise classes, generally meeting people and sharing experiences or just having a good laugh is so important as we get older. It’s a frightening world out there and the older I get the more I like to feel that I’m not alone. As I navigate through my seventies, the same age as my parents were when they emigrated to what was, for my mother, a very foreign country, it can be a daunting experience.

I give thanks for all my friends and wonderful family and hope that I can always offer them the same kind of support, love and friendship that they offer me. Hopefully our qualities of lives are enriched and none of us will ever feel alone. 👠

Having heard about cabin fever over the years and never paying much attention, I unfortunately succumbed to this unpleasant malaise last week. It was when we had snow and ice and freezing cold for days!

Being a romantic, I have often thought what fun it would be if I was snowbound! Our freezer is that full that we could live off it for months. We have tinned food of every kind in our cupboards. My husband has his mother’s ‘food stock pile’ gene. Perhaps it was because of the war that my mother in law’s freezer and cupboards were always packed to capacity. So are ours! We are prepared for a holocaust!

I got an amber weather warning on my Met Office app. We were in for some nasty weather. I checked my diary. I deferred appointments and got really excited. Not working I didn’t have to worry about getting up our hill. After years of waking up early to clear the drive and then scrape and grit the hill, my husband and I could relax. It used to really annoy me when no one helped. They just waited for the two early bird numpties to get on with the task so they could reap the benefits a few hours later!

The snow was a day late. I had almost begun to think that it had passed us by. But no, the following morning I awoke to a winter wonderland. It looked beautiful. The temperature wasn’t freezing so the snow had begun to melt. With each drop falling from the roof I felt let down. What about this amber weather warning? Where was the predicted snow and ice?As usual, an over reaction by the Met Office and nothing would happen.

The next morning, however, was very different. The melted snow had frozen and we had had another few centimetres. This was more like it! We had our roaring fire and the car remained in the drive as we weren’t going anywhere! Whatever the condition of the hill, it wasn’t our problem! I share my office at home with the television room. I abused this privelage. During the day I sat and watched a movie, staring at the snow falling outside instead of sitting at my desk writing a blog. What a rebel! No guilt, just pure pleasure!

That was Tuesday. That evening I rebelled again. I had a cheeky glass of red in front of the fire. My weekend treat had come early! I could get used to this! I looked outside. It had started snowing again. Perfect. Tomorrow was going to be just as good!

Wednesday morning dawned. The trees were white, their branches covered in snow. I had set the alarm, as usual, to do my exercises. Later, I walked outside to go to my dance class and almost slipped climbing up the stairs. I went back inside and got my husband hand made, very robust, walking stick. I carefully made my way to a friend’s garage for the class. We usually dance in her driveway but that was out of the question. I cautiously made my way back home, feeling smug that I had done two exercise classes and could now, guilt free, watch a movie while I had breakfast. I wasn’t going out. I didn’t feel like working on my blog. This was a rare occasion and I was going to enjoy it! It had begun to snow again. Great! I’d sit in the TV room with the radiator on full and a blanket over my legs. Snug as a bug in a rug!

My husband suggested a walk later that afternoon. Trying to show some enthusiasm and not wanting to feel too wimpish, I did my Mr. Bibendum impersonation and waddled out to face the elements. Wood Lane was awful! I hung on to my husband’s hand for dear life. I had his stick in the other and still slipped while walking across particularly bad stretches of road. When we got home I made a decision. I wasn’t leaving the house until the snow and ice had melted.

I didn’t. That was when Cabin Fever reared its ugly head. By Thursday afternoon I’d had enough of sitting inside, hardly moving! Alexa became my next go to entertainment. I sang and danced to Gold Radio. Unfortunately that had a lifespan as well. After a couple of hours I had to move on! I started writing a poem. Later I made our evening meal and did some puzzles.

That got me through Thursday. Friday dawned, cold, snowy and icy. My husband cleared the driveway and the car. I managed to get up the stairs in my heavy duty boots and we went to Waitrose. The hill wasn’t too bad. We’d done the round trip and got back home unscathed. It was after lunch that I began to feel very restless. I did some housework. A walk was suggested but I didn’t want to dice with death. My husband went out on his own. I sat down at my desk but couldn’t write anything. I also didn’t feel like watching a movie. I wanted to go outside without fear of falling and get some fresh air. But I couldn’t!

I felt restless, irritable and, bizarrely, lonely! This must be how so many people living on their own feel every day! It was awful. I tried to concentrate on the positives. Our home was warm. The weather would soon change. I wouldn’t starve. My husband would be back from his walk and I’d have someone to talk to. Neither of us are used to me being at home for days on end so he’s probably risking life and limb to have some peace and quiet. I’d begun to show a bad tempered side of my personality which I usually keep well under control.

I turned to my old mate, Google, for advice. Follow a healthy diet. I do. Stay physically active. I do when I can. Spend some time in nature. If only! Find a good work, life balance. I don’t work. Control news consumption. I do, I never watch the news! Try to focus on positives. I am. Have enough sleep. I do. Go easy on yourself. How? By trying to relax and focus on what I have done! But what have I done? Not a lot! Thanks Google! Not particularly helpful.

Saturday morning dawned. Friends had invited us out for early evening drinks. Something to look forward to but with a caveat. I’d have to go outside! That morning I nit-picked over a few things my husband was doing and realised that it would be in my best interest to retire to my office and keep opinions to myself. I watched a romcom movie, made lunch and worked on a poem. We did have a most enjoyable evening with our friends after surviving the walk up and down the hill. I begun to feel a bit perkier.

Sunday was sunny. I could forget that the ice was still treacherous. I stood outside our back door and breathed in the cold air. It felt exhilarating. Having cabin fever made me realise how lucky I am. I put on my wellies and walked around the garden. The amber weather warning had been removed. The snow was slowly beginning to melt. I fed the birds and checked that they had unfrozen water. I would make the most of this last day in isolation. I went inside, sat down at my desk and started writing this blog. 👠

We left England one grey, mizzling, bleak cold day in November and landed in Fort Worth, Texas, blue skies and sunshine in abundance. The car hire company was badly managed and very busy so unfortunately my son, husband and I lost three hours of our lives waiting in a queue with other disgruntled customers. Finally, cases loaded, satnav set, we headed for our hotel. Greeted with a glass of fizz we got the lift up to our rooms. No unpacking necessary because we would be on our way to Big Bend National Park the following morning

After some Google searching we found a restuarant for our first taste of a Texan steak. It didn’t disappoint! The meal was superb and, lying in bed that night, fed and watered, I slept like a baby!

After a walk around an area of unnatural beauty where houses must have cost many millions of dollars, we loaded the car and headed for Odessa. Now my idea of Texas, after watching umpteen cowboy movies, was a mixture of cattle ranches filled with longhorns, occasional rocky outcrops and miles of flat desert. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine mile after mile after mile of nodding donkeys with not a longhorn in sight! The scientific explanation of a nodding donkey is ‘the overground drive for a submersible pump in a borehole’. I’m having problems explaining what a nodding donkey looks like. So is Google, but here goes. It looks like a donkey’s head at the end of a long shaft balancing on an a frame. The head moves slowly up and down. We saw masses, all different sizes, some mobile, some rusted steel wrecks.

We arrived in Odessa early evening. We walked across a strip of wasteland to get to our restuarant. The next morning the wasteland was completely submerged in water. I’d slept through torrential rain which luckily blew over by the time we continued on our journey.

I’d vaguely heard the story about aliens landing in the desert in New Mexico many years ago. Apparently they landed just outside Roswell, our next stop. A large flying saucer welcomed us into the town, a good photo opportunity. Driving down the Main Street we passed a cannabis drive through which was an eye-opener. Cars drove up to the window as if it was Mc Donald’s and bought their bags of pot. Cannabis is banned in Texas but not New Mexico. The cars we saw waiting in the queue all had Texan number plates. Just a few yards from the drive through was a big sign offering guns for cash. Perhaps this was a way of getting money for dope?

We visited the alien museum. I left still very sceptical. There were impressive models of aliens lying in incubators. They looked like foetuses, quite disturbing. Their faces were small yet they had large, bulbous heads and slits for eyes and mouths. I saw no visible signs of ears. Their bodies were short and emaciated with large hands and feet. Apparently five were killed and only one survived the crash. Those who saw them were sworn to secrecy so that the media couldn’t get hold of the story and cause world wide panic.

Leaving Roswell the next day we headed for Fort Davis. On our way we stopped at the Carlsbad Caves, 700 feet below the ground. They are found in the Chihuahuan Desert in New Mexico. They are cunsidered by some to be the eighth wonder of the world. It’s fascinating to think that the those magnificent stalactites, stalagmites and flowstone began their formation from just a single drop of water 250 million years ago. These caves are very unusual in that they were formed from sulphuric acid instead of carbonic acid! We were warned that the acoustics in the caves were amazing. The staff could hear what every visitor was saying so we were advised to whisper. My son and I kept on forgetting so must have caused some amusement when we described sights as we walked along. We both have vivid imaginations!

Arriving at Fort Davis we had booked a lecture at the observatory. Warned to dress warmly we made our way to the arena that evening, miles away from any light pollution. The moon wasn’t visible and not a cloud in sight. The lecturer introduced himself and started a laser show of stars and constellations. That meant looking up at the sky with my neck periodically locking. Very painful, but not as painful as the extreme cold seeping into my bones, producing involuntary spasms. Eventually I had to curl up in a ball, hearing and seeing nothing! When the lecture was over I had to uncurl myself and stand up. This was easier said that done. Still shaking, I had developed cramps in my arms and legs. Movement became a huge challenge. My husband, who had been standing up, fascinated throughout the evening, had to help me by holding both my hands and easing me gently off the stone bench. I have never been so could in my whole entire life! As if that wasn’t enough. I still had to shuffle along to look through five telescopes. I stood in queues, shivering, trying to show interest when peering up at some or other planet or star. All I wanted was to get into the car with the heater on maximum and thaw out. We ended the evening with a round trip of forty miles to the only restuarant open at 9:00 pm on a Sunday night. All they could offer me was a chicken salad! At least the glass of Shiraz was warm!

The next day we left Fort Davis, getting closer to Big Bend. We had stayed in a hotel which had rooms above a saloon. I bet our room could tell some stories! Would have found us very boring! Walking along the main street we passed a hotel called the Soda Fountain with three bullet holes in the window! We were now just over a hundred miles from the National Park and our next adventure.

The landscape had changed again but still not as I had imagined. No more nodding donkeys but still no cattle. And no cowboys! The terrain was quite mountainous, the sky, a brilliant blue and it felt quite warm. We were definitely driving through semi desert and very close to Mexico. Great excitement when I spotted the Rio Grande! The name of my all time favourite John Wayne movie. I should really get out more! We went for a walk, crossed over the river which was barely a stream and almost trod on a giant tarantula! Very impressive! We walked into a canyon and I have a beautiful photo of the golden sun shining down on a mountain at the exit.

We managed a number of hikes in Big Bend with, fortunately, no further wild life excitement and, gratefully, no snakes! The scenery at times was magnificent, helped by the ever present blue sky. I have a photo of a roadrunner which was smaller than I expected and which caused much excitement with some of the people walking behind us! We spent a couple of nights in Terlingua and then headed back to Fort Worth, Dallas, a round trip of two thousand miles.

My Dallas highlight was a rodeo show and the John Wayne museum. The rodeo was huge fun watching brave young men riding bucking broncos and wild bulls, I finally saw longhorns being herded down the street with cowboys on either side expertly twirling their lassos.

The museum was unusual. They had the stuffed horse, Trigger, who appeared in 188 Roy Roger’s TV programmes and movies. Bullet, the German shepherd, who portrayed Roy Roger’s dog, was also there. Buttermilk, the horse, used by Roy Roger’s wife, Dale Evan’s, completed the exhibition.

We had a wonderful time and I could have filled many more pages with our adventures. America is such a vast country and it’s fortunate that we visit my son each year and spend time in so many amazing places. We’re already planning our trip for next year! I feel another adventure coming on ………👠

We have had some adventurous holidays over years. Now I say this with tongue in cheek. My husband is the adventurer, I’m not! Some holidays have been more challenging than others. I’m going to share a day in Namibia that I genuinely thought would be my last.

It was our 25th wedding anniversary. We decided to spend two weeks in Namibia on a glamping holiday. I booked the holiday from a company in South Africa. I checked all the accommodation to ensure that glamping took priority. We wouldn’t be staying in standard tents. Some nights we’d be in chalets and others looked like canvas structures fully fitted with electricity, four poster beds, en suite bathrooms and outside balconies with views over waterholes. Hopefully there’d be minimal adventure, just a fun packed holiday.

We landed in Windhoek late one evening. We had booked a hired car so went to collect it at the airport. Namibia has a lot of dirt roads, only a few are tarred. We were not travelling in a convoy as suggested but going solo. We needed a decent, reliable four wheeled drive car. We were given a two wheeled drive truck which did not inspire confidence in either of us. There was no replacement. That truck or nothing. That first night we stayed in a five star hotel behind high walls and security fences. Sirens kept us awake all night as did the meal. Even though I stressed gluten-free it wasn’t so the holiday didn’t start off well. In discomfort we set off after breakfast the next morning heading for our first stop, still in civilisation. We arrived in Swakopmund, a once German protectorate. There I had one of my best meals ever! Crayfish Thermidor! Two and a half crayfish coated in a delicious cheese sauce, gluten free. Absolutely delicious!

A couple of days later we headed into the desert in our truck, no satnav, and me in charge of directions. Even offering me a compass would have been a waste of time! Suffering from car sickness didn’t help. Occasionally glancing down at a map, hoping it was the right way up gave the odds of us arriving at our destination at best one hundred to one! We were travelling alone, as mentioned earlier, but we did have a safety net. All our destinations had my phone number and we’d agreed that they would make contact if we hadn’t arrived by night fall. We later discovered that finding a signal was like trying to find a needle in a haystack!

Over the next two weeks we saw some fantastic sights and had a luxurious glamping experience. Every night I checked under beds, in bathrooms and toilets for snakes. It had been known for snakes to get into the drain and come up through the toilet bowl. I still never use a toilet in the dark. One of my South African legacies.

We arrived at our final destination, a nature reserve owned by a member of parliament and really out in the sticks. On our first night my husband and I lay down on the ground outside our chalet and stared up at the most amazing sky. The Milky Way, in all its splendour, sparkled down at us. Photos didn’t do it justice.

So, our penultimate day in Namibia dawned, greeting us with a brilliant blue sky and temperates forecast to soar. My husband looked forward to a final trek into the bushveld. The holiday so far had been relatively easy going and he needed some excitement. The manager warned us to stick to the track and to be back within a couple of hours. It was going to get very hot. We needed to keep hydrated and watch out for zebras wildebeest and any wild animals we’d come into contact with. I sincerely hoped that would be none! It was September and the mating season. The males were very protective of their herds and could become dangerous. And then, of course, there were the snakes and lions. I remember questioning the safely of this walk at the time.

We set off, my husband in high spirits and me in silent trepidation. We had a compass but no map, just verbal directions. And no satnav. My husband had his rucksack with pockets on either side which held our water bottles. We turned right out of our chalet, walked down the dirt road then turned left at the bottom of a hill. We followed a path up the hill, veered left again then, still following the same path, carried on along a marked track. Dead, long, yellow grass, rocky inclines and occasional dark, spiked thorn trees dominated the landscape. Silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky, a yellow ball hung motionless. It was as if time was standing still. I hardly dared breathe. It was so quiet. Too quiet. The lull before the storm?

We continued on our way and gradually the path became less clear. Soon we had to choose which path to take because there were a few. Out came the compass and we headed in what we thought was the right direction. On we walked. The heat became oppressive, almost unbearable. We stopped for a water break. I don’t sweat but had passed the ‘glow’ stage. We eventually reached a dirt road and I tried to relax. Roads are good because you can avoid snakes and vehicles travel on them. Perhaps we could hitch a ride back to camp.

In the distance we saw what looked like wildebees crossing the road. It seemed as if they were headed towards us. Suddenly, about a hundred yards away, they all stopped and faced us. It looked so weird seeing a long row of huge black antelope silently staring at us. I froze. My husband grabbed his camera and started taking photographs. Still the wildebees didn’t move. I began to panic.

‘They’re going to charge’, I whispered. ‘They’ll kill us.’

‘Nonsense,’ came his reply. ‘They’re just being curious. I’ve taken some fantastic photographs. I’m going to change the lens to get a wider view then I can get them all in. ‘

With that my husband knelt down in the road and started rummaging in his rucksack. I spotted a small thorn bush and gingerly moved across the road and crouched behind it.

‘They’re not going to kill and eat you,’ my husband said. ‘They’re herbivores.’

‘They’ll trample and kill us and then the hyenas, vultures and other scavengers will eat us! Or we’ll be eaten alive by lions as we lie here seriously injured!’

I’m not sure how long I crouched behind the bush while my husband took photos but it seemed hours. My legs and feet were numb and I couldn’t move even if I had to. Finally the huge animals must have become bored and, as one, turned, crossed the road and vanished into the bushes.

I fell back onto the prickly grass and stones and lay for a while in the baking sun before feeling returned to my lower extremities. I fetched my now boiling bottle of water, had a sip and we moved forward in silence.

A good while later, following the road, we came across a few houses with high fences and dogs guarding the perimeters. They barked or snarled as greeting so trying to get help from anyone living in one of the houses wasn’t going to happen. If it wasn’t for the dogs making such a noise I would have sworn that they were all empty.

A bit further down the road we heard what sounded like horses galloping towards us. A few yards ahead we saw the first zebra crossing the road, followed by many more. One stayed behind while the others vanished into the thick undergrowth. Being so close, the zebra looked huge, very powerful and, with black eyes focussed on us, very threatening. I could hear him panting and waited for him to begin pawing the ground.

‘That’ll be the male protecting his herd,’ I could barely whisper’. ‘He’ll attack us as we walk past.’

‘Nonsense, just ignore him and he’ll go away,’

‘No’, I whispered back. ‘Let’s just stand still and wait for him to go away’. I wasn’t going anywhere!

As I’m still here telling this tale, the zebra did move off and we finally arrived back at camp, about six hours later, exhausted but very grateful to have survived. The manager said he was about to send out a search party as the last couple who got lost had to be rushed to hospital with heat exhaustion and severe dehydration. He was so relieved to see us that he gave us free ice cold bottles of delicious sparkling water.

I really enjoyed our holiday in Namibia, more in retrospect than at the time. Watching animals in the wild is extraordinary, but only when I’m sitting in a car with windows closed, doors locked and the engine running to make a quick getaway. That’s the only way to go on a safari! 👠

I would like to share one of the greatest adventures of my life! I spent four days and four nights exploring the wonders of Australia’s vast interior on a train. But, not just any train!! It was the Ghan train and it was epic!

The Ghan is an icon. It runs from Darwin to Adelaide or vice versa. We set off from Darwin, on Australia’s northern coast. We travelled into tropical countryside going south through the Northern Territory and across the vast desert landscapes of the Red Centre. The dramatic Flinders mountain range was our back drop as we headed towards our final destination in Adelaide.

But that description is far too brief as so much detail, excitement and adventure filled those four days. I’ll start at the beginning.

Arriving at the pick up hotel in Darwin very early one Saturday morning we made our way to the desk to register for the journey. My husband had his ruck sack mainly filled with cameras and a suitcase. I had a small case as my hand luggage and a larger suitcase. My hand luggage contained mainly shoes.

We were given labels and told to attach them to our luggage. We were then informed that the large suitcases were not allowed in our cabin but would be loaded into the luggage carriage to be collected at the end of the journey. This took a while to process. I looked at my husband.

‘So we can’t take our suitcases with us onto the train?’ I thought of my six pairs of shoes, some make up, a jacket and a book that consisted of my hand luggage. I went into a blind panic! I needed clothes, not shoes!

‘You should have read the instructions’, a sanctimonious old git offered his two penny worth!

After sharing the contents of my suitcase with crowds of interested onlookers, I managed to exchange the shoes for clothing. Carrying my little suitcase, still in shock, I boarded the bus to the station. I was sure that I’d forgotten some really important items so paid no attention to the buzz of excitement building in the bus. My husband looked chilled, leaning back and staring out of the window.

At 8 a m we arrived at the platform to be greeted by a carnival like atmosphere. Tables were laden with food and a man serenaded us with ballads. There were smiling faces all around but I wasn’t smiling. I felt a bit shell-shocked. It seemed surreal. I was offered and took my first glass of champagne. This was to be the first of many! For the next few days champagne would flow like water.

Finally, after walking up and down the platform a few times with my husband to get some exercise, we were allowed to climb on board. Debbie greeted us and ticked us in. We were shown our cabin number and told to ‘settle in’. However, my husband wasn’t ready to ‘settle in’. He decided to go back outside and take more photographs. One can obviously never have enough photographs! A couple of minutes later he was back. Debbie had informed him, that, once he had been ‘ticked in’ he had to stay on the train until he was ‘ticked out’! A while later she knocked on our cabin door to reiterate her warning just in case my husband tried to escape again!

Every day we went on an excursion. There was a choice so everyone was catered for. We sailed through a gorge, went on a tour around Alice Springs and had dinner under the stars. We were taken to the opal mine capital of the world where people actually lived underground in homes called dugouts. The town was called Coober Pedy and was fascinating where temperatures can reach as high as 52C! The homes were wonderful and cool, just without windows and pitch black when the lights were turned off. The landscape around Coober Pedy appears moon-like, most unusual. It’s dotted with shafts and mullock heaps from opal mine activities. There was a dingo fence near the town which apparently is one of the longest structures in the world, over 5,800 kilometres.

We were also involved in a collision with a road train carrying three carriages full of cattle. Fortunately no one was injured but our trip had to be extended for another day and night. The second engine had been damaged so health and safety being foremost, the decision was made to continue with only one engine. This decision wasn’t made lightly or quickly. It took twenty four hours and many rumours until we were fully informed. The staff were really good and very helpful, treating us to fancy meals and lots of champagne!

In fact, during the whole trip we were treated like royalty and the meals, of which there were many and varied were absolutely delicious! This sounds like an advertisement for trip advisor or a brochure for the Ghan, but, if anyone is planning a trip to Australia, I can highly recommend this train journey. It was the highlight of my holiday and definitely one I shall never forget. 👠

Last Tuesday I went to Cheshire Oaks, the big outlet village in Ellesmere Port. I had to spend a few days psyching myself up for this shopping trip as a couple of things were bothering me.

Firstly, the parking. I drive an SUV and parking spaces in this country in general are not spacious. Cars have got bigger but parking spaces haven’t. Thank heavens for power steering!

My next challenge was trying to find what I needed. Cheshire Oaks is a large complex and I’m only going to park once. I’ll need to find the best spot so that I don’t spend my time clocking up steps. Under normal circumstances this is a good thing but not when I want to get finished as soon as possible.

The reason why I’m going shopping in the first place is because I’m on a five week holiday in a few day’s time. For twelve days the weather will be hot, for the twenty odd remaining, the weather will gradually change from summer to winter. Every packers nightmare!

I needed a few shirts for layering, shoes for a wedding we’ll be attending in October with a matching handbag and other bits and bobs not worth sharing.

I had the parking area planned and a shopping list. I did the early exercise class on Tuesday morning, had breakfast and was about to set off when my phone rang. It was the travel agent in Chester letting me know that the holiday pack had arrived. My initial reaction was to ask her to post it.

‘The travel company have sent a large box with different goodies inside, gin, chocolates,’ she explained. ‘Posting will be difficult. Would you be able to collect them?’

Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t be a problem. My husband and I would go together. He’d park the car in the Tesco car park and I’d use this as an opportunity to visit Boots, M&S and perhaps pop into Zara. I’d get a chai latte from Costa before heading back to Tesco to spend £15 so that we got four hours free parking. It’s never a waste. We always need groceries!

My husband had another idea. Because I would be in Ellesmere Port, just down the road, I could pop to Chester on my way home. Really?

Yes, I know on the surface this makes perfect sense, but please let me explain. I really dislike shopping so want to get it over with as soon as possible. I struggle with parking so only want to do it once. I hate trying on clothes. Nothing ever fits properly and I seldom find what I want. I get very impatient when battling my way through browsing crowds intent on holding me up. It’s school holidays so was bound to be busy. And then, can you believe, people bring their dogs? Now why would you want to bring your much loved pet to Cheshire Oaks? They are restricted by tight leads, get knocked about by passers by looking in shop windows and not where they’re walking. Some dogs are tiny enough to fit into handbags, then yap at me as I push past.

By the time I was finished shopping at Cheshire Oaks I’d have to get onto the M53, with its roadworks and restricted speed limit, have another parking challenge, collect a large box and walk back to the car to deposit it. Spend £15 in Tesco to pay for the parking and drive home in peak hour traffic.

I voiced my concern to my husband who didn’t ‘get it’.

‘Take the other car,’ I told him. ‘It could do with a run’.

‘I need to mow and you’re almost in Chester so it doesn’t make sense!’

‘It made perfect, logical sense to me.

I did over ten thousand steps in Cheshire Oaks alone. In Chester I did another three thousand. I felt exhausted by the time I got home. It had rained for most of the day so had to include holding an umbrella on my parcel laden trek back to the car. There were two little bottles of gin amongst other goodies in the large box containing the travel documents. One went down very well with a fever tree tonic.

Sometimes, however, one just has to bite the bullet and get on with it. I did that last Tuesday. I found what I needed, achieved a really good reverse parking manoeuvre and enjoyed a chai latte and chocolate brownie while sitting people watching.

Luckily I very rarely have to do big shops. Christmas isn’t that far away so will begin psyching myself up to pay Cheshire Oaks another visit. Perhaps I’ll be able to convince my husband to join me. That way he can park the car, carry the parcels and keep control of the purse strings! Win! Win!👠

I’m not crazy about tattoos. In fact, I really don’t like them. This is a very personal preference and I’m not being judgemental. It’s the same with jeans that some men wear which expose most of their underpants. Another personal preference because a lot of men, young and old, wear them.

When my children were teenagers I warned them against tattoos. Have as many piercings as you like because you can change your mind. The holes will grow closed. With a tattoo you’re stuck with it forever!

When my son was seventeen and had finished his A Levels he went with a few of his friends to Spain. I wasn’t happy about this. My husband, always the pragmatist, told me to stop worrying. Everything would be fine. He’s almost an adult and needs to take responsibility.

My son came back sporting a tattoo. I was horrified and ‘went off on one’! That was probably an understatement! I flipped! My husband, not a tattoo fan either, was quite blasé which upset me even more, if that was possible! My daughter shrugged her shoulders and went for a walk for some ‘peace and quiet’! The saving grace was that it was on the top of his arm so could always be hidden. But what if he decided to get more! It didn’t bear thinking about! Weeks later I was shown the arm again. It had been a henna tattoo and had worn off. He found it hilarious! I wasn’t amused!

Our summer hasn’t been great but we have had some rare warm, sunny days. This is when bodies come out and tattoos are proudly on display. Years ago when I lived in East London in South Africa, the town had a natural harbour. Many ships docked and the place was regularly filled with sailors. As young girls we were warned to stay away from them at all costs! Sailors had girls in every port and could never be trusted! A nice girl never went out with a sailor!

That was my first sighting of a tattoo. Many sailors sported them and they were proudly displayed as they wandered around the town centre. I don’t know what it was about a man in a uniform, or perhaps it was just part of being a teenager and wanting to push boundaries, but my friends and I never found them as awful as my mother had warned. We didn’t go out with any, but smiled coyly back at them when they greeted us, then rushed into the nearest shop!

But I wasn’t enamoured with their tattoos and could never understand why someone would want a picture of a girl, some barely dressed, on their arms! Maybe it was just to pass the time away.

But now we have people of all walks of life sporting tattoos. Sportsmen, many of them icons, have bodies covered in different hues, not only black or navy. The sad thing is that many of these celebrities are role models and, if it’s okay for David Beckham to have tattoos all over his body, then that must be the way to go.

I was speaking to my granddaughter a while ago. Like me she isn’t a tattoo fan. I told her about my dislike of them and we chatted for a while about how having a tattoo in your youth unfortunately will stay with you forever. Tattoo in haste, repent in leisure! I then spoke to my daughter in law and the conversation came around to beauty treatments.

My daughter in law has had her lips ‘done’, a line tattooed around the edge and a pale pink as an infill. It then struck me that, although I really dislike tattoos, I actually have them myself! My eyebrows and eyelids are tattooed! My eyebrows have been tattooed for the last six years. So, am I the pot calling the kettle black? Maybe.

I’m using them as an enhancement, not as random body painting. Does that count? Oh well, you can make up your own minds. Thankfully we’re all different. It’s what makes us unique. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Tattoos just aren’t in mine! 👠

It’s not often that I see something that i really want but definitely don’t need! We have a house full of ‘things’ collected over the years or inherited by family. My father was an artist so our walls are full of his paintings and the few pieces of artwork we’ve chosen or inherited.

A few weeks ago we went on a very rare coach outing. Being retired we have the opportunity to go out during the week but seldom join other pensioners on day trips, preferring to do our own thing. This trip sounded interesting so I persuaded my husband come with me.

Our first visit was to the British Ironworks Centre. We presumed that it would be an educational trip with lunch afterwards. It’s advertised as the only company in the U.K. to make art and sculptures using waste materials. They are also the only Centre to be unveiled twice by a member of the Royal Family. They have over 90 acres of land to display their works of art and for the paying public to explore. The weather was a usual grey, wet summer’s day so not conducive to wandering around outside. We had hoped to see where they worked and examples of how and what they recycled but this was not on the agenda.

Driving into the grounds we were met with some spectacular sculptures. They ranged from super heros to animals and insects, leaving us in awe of the exemplary workmanship and sheer size of the exhibits. The indoor showroom was cram packed with trinkets and more artwork and sculptures. Most of our fellow travellers made their way to the already heaving restaurant to find a table and enjoy the delicious lunch on offer.

Not my husband and I. With umbrella at the ready I followed him outside. There was a menagerie of animals, herds of deer, stags, pigs, dogs and some hippos. We both love hippos! ! The one that caught my eye wasn’t life size but a caricature of one. It had a huge head and smaller body and was about three feet long two feet high and eighteen inches wide. And it looked as if it weighed a ton!

When my husband left South Africa he bought himself a cast marble statue of a hippo, much smaller, which was named Henrietta. She proudly sits on our coffee table in the living room and is much admired. Years ago friends kidnapped Henrietta and posted a ransom letter through our door. I found this amusing but my husband was not impressed! He threatened serious retribution if the hippo was damaged in any way! The stunt pulled in a moment of alcohol fuelled high jinks didn’t go down at all well!

Looking at the hippo that day in the rain and biting wind I had a big smile on my face and chuckled to my husband.

‘Imagine looking at that every day. It would really lift my spirits and bring a smile to my face. He’s really cute!’ And I named him Henry. I could tell that my husband was not as enamoured with Henry as I was but that didn’t deter my enthusiasm.

‘Look, love’, I said. He’s on the sale.

‘Where would you put it’ came his disinterested reply?

‘That’s easy. He’d love your fern garden’!

Now my husband’s fern garden is his pride and joy. He has two spectacular tree ferns and a number of other ferns in a rockery which he built then expanded last year. This is the one part of the garden that I leave alone. It’s his domain and a woman free zone! I waited for his explosive response. There wasn’t one. So I bravely continued.

‘Imagine waking up to that face every morning. It certainly would cheer me up and you know that a happy wife is a happy life! You’ve mentioned that often enough!’

Silence.

You’re very fond of Henrietta who lives inside. We’d have a Henry who’d live outside! A most unusual garden feature don’t you think?’

I’d lost him so we moved on. But I hadn’t given up. ‘Softly softly catchee monkey!’

I was glad that I hadn’t made an impulse buy so thought that giving myself time to think about it was very sensible. Unfortunately Henry had got under my skin and wasn’t budging. I went on line to see if there was a photo of him to remind my husband so that we could revive the conversation. I couldn’t find one. I also felt the need to justify the purchase as he was quite expensive. I couldn’t justify buying Henry but that didn’t deter me either!

The next week I used my powers of persuasion and Henry became a topic of conversation at our evening meals. I suggested we wander over to the fern garden and see if there was somewhere Henry could live. The discussion continued most evenings.

Now I’m not really sure if I won my husband over or, out of sheer desperation, he gave in for peace and quiet, but we did get Henry. Bigger and heavier than we’d imagined. My husband managed, by using his engineering skill and brute strength, to manoeuvre Henry off the pallet left on our driveway, tied him onto his sack barrow and wheeled him carefully to the back garden. He then had to haul Henry over a large rock and on to a stone slab. He did this while I was having tea in Tarporley with friends so wasn’t able to offer any help or advice. Not that I’d have had any sensible advise or muscle power to make any difference!

When I returned from my outing I rushed around to the fern garden. There was Henry, his big head peering out from behind a fern, nicely settled in and looking smug.

He makes me smile every time I look at him. I’m sure he’ll do the same for friends and family. Sometimes a bit of frivolity is not a bad thing. In this world where violence seems to be the order of the day, a harmless hippo residing in a fern patch at the bottom of a garden in Cheshire certainly won’t be doing anyone any harm! 👠

I’m not feeling well. A few weeks ago my husband woke up with a sore throat. Said his head felt like cottonwool. I came back from a dance class and found him slumped over the dining room table. Feeling quite concerned I suggested he ring the doctor.

‘What’s the point?’ He mumbled, bleary-eyed. I’ll be better by the time I finally get an appointment!

I couldn’t argue so suggested he visit the local pharmacy. We have been given instructions that pharmacists should become our first port of call if we have a list of symptoms. A sore throat is on the list.

My husband returned with a bottle of TCP. He was told that whooping cough and a summer virus were doing the rounds. The pharmacist suggested he buy a decongestant. TCP is his go to medication for sore throats but did get a box of decongestant tablets as well.

The following day was even worse. Unshaven, he slumped onto a chair and told me that he had no energy and could hardly move. I didn’t comment but secretly thought that he should man-up!

‘Bad case of man flu?’ I couldn’t resist! ‘Please don’t share. We’re meeting the family in London in a few days. Think you will last that long?’

But he did share!

Ten days before our trip to London I woke up with a sore throat. Day one was ignored. My throat seemed to ease during the day but I had a headache. Pain pills came to the rescue. I did housework, shopping and soldiered on. Day two was different. I could hardly move my head off the pillow and felt as if my throat had been scoured with a wire brush.

By this stage my husband was on the mend. With a croaky voice I informed him that I had his lurgi! ‘Thanks for sharing!’ I whispered.

The sympathy I received was ‘you are woman, you are strong!’

Really? That was it? No breakfast in bed, or even a cup of coffee?

So, while I dragged my aching body around the house to the mantra,’you are woman you are strong’ I have to truthfully say that, barring COVID, I have not felt so ill for a long time! For two days I wore no makeup. Makeup can really disguise how I feel but I needed to share this discomfort he’d inflicted on me!

‘I look as bad as I feel’, I told him on day three.

‘I feel very sorry for you,’ my husband showing sympathy?

‘You must be feeling absolutely awful!’

As I’m sitting writing this I am still not feeling 100%! We spent a wonderful few days in London with my children and extended families. There were no hugs on the first day but by the second day I was feeling much better.

I can only presume that I had ‘man flu’. I’m not usually as pathetic as I felt a few weeks ago. All this wokeness must has created a virus gender crisis. Flu has become the latest victim! The male flu virus is now identifying itself as female! Us girls will have to fight back! If we could give men a tiny taste of childbirth perhaps that would rebalance the status quo!👠

I’m not complaining that I am kept busy and that my life as a pensioner is far from dull and boring! It’s just that I find it hard to find a balance! I have always thought of myself as an ‘all or nothing’ type of person.

Resorting to my good mate Google, I asked him for a definition. His first suggestion was ‘All or nothing thinking is especially common in perfectionists and those with mental health disorders like anxiety and depression’. Okay, not what I was expecting!

The next example wasn’t a lot better! ‘All or nothing thinking refers to thinking in extremes. You’re either a success or a failure’. Apparently it’s this binary way of thinking which never allows for grey! I can vouch for one thing! I don’t like grey!

Google was getting worse. ‘All or nothing thinking rarely matches reality and can set individuals up to feel confused or disappointed! A single mistake ruins an entire project!’ There were no positives!

I’d read enough. Maybe I should rethink the opinion I have of myself. Maybe I’m not as ‘black or white’ as I thought. I am a bit of a perfectionist, I don’t like failing at anything, but who does? I know my limitations so never get inflated ideas about winning at e.g sport. Most people gets bouts of depression and go though times of stress. Well, don’t they?

The more I read about this type of personality ‘disorder’ the more depressed I got and the more depressed I got the more my stress levels rose. I sat back in my chair and looked out of the window. It’s grey and mizzling. Yesterday, when we opened our garden for charity, the sun was shining. Our garden wasn’t perfect but we’d done our best. I didn’t feel a failure. Not a typical sign of ‘all or nothing’ personality disorder!

Another symptom was negative thinking. Ok, I could tick that box but do seem to have mellowed over the years. I’m still not the most optimistic person you’ll meet but I don’t walk around in a cloud of doom and gloom. I do set quite high standards for myself but allow a margin of error. Life happens, weather happens, you can’t control people either. Instead of having huge expectations about an outing or a holiday, I don’t expect anything. Nothing wrong with that! It’s being a realist!

I’ll own up. I have always been very hard on myself. I was my own worst enemy and can still beat myself up when certain things, often beyond my control, don’t go according to plan. But, and this is a big but, I’ve learnt to move on. I try never to dwell on disappointments, failures or mishaps for long.

Chatting to my daughter this weekend she said that, when she’s sad, she allows herself to acknowledge the pain. It’s what her brain is telling her she feels in that moment. But then she releases it, and tries to concentrate on something else. The sadness won’t suddenly go away and will probably return, but will not become the dominant emotion. I’m not talking about grief. That is completely different and I could never advise. It’s little disappointments, concerns, things causing upset outside of our control.

At the beginning of this blog I was being typically hard on myself. No surprise there! Sometimes it’s good to take time out and honestly assess where you are at the current stage of your life. I had to be ‘black or white’ in my job. Working in Treasury I had no choice. However, in my management role I definitely had to accept grey areas which I called compassion, being human.

Thank you, Google, for your assistance today. Not what I wanted to hear but you are only as good as the information fed to you. Our brains are very powerful organs and humans are so complex that we cannot be put into boxes. One size does not fit all.

We are made up of a number of character traits resulting in many different personalities. The older I’ve got the more I’ve come to realise that I am unique. As are each and every one of you. As long as we have compassion, generosity, respect and love for our fellow human beings, we should include these attributes for ourselves too.

And we should never give up trying to be our best selves, regardless of what life and genetics have thrown at us!👠