12 for 2012 - a review

At the start of this year I set myself the challenge to do 12 new things this year.  To be truthful, I wasn't sure that I would manage it - it doesn't seem like much (one new thing a month), but it did get tricky after a while.  But I did it!  (Even though one* is cheating somewhat)

1. Circus skills (terrifying but fun)

2. Burlesque dancing "taster" class (something I would do again, if I can persuade Goth Girl to come with)

3. Bollywood dancing course (the taster class was so much fun that I signed up for a 12-week course. By myself!  The course was excellent although I'm not sure I retained that much, alas)

4. Quad-biking in the Arabian desert (seems mild but it was exhilirating and I've never done it before)

5. Archery.  After the "taster" class (I love taster classes!), I signed up for a 12-week course, which was I think the best thing I did this year.  I loved it, I turned out to be good at it and ended up with my certificate of profiency.  I still have to join a local club, but have to wait until my hand recovers, hopefully soon.
6.  The train from Oslo to Bergen - a 20-year-old dream realised
7.  For my birthday Goth Girl and Rock Chick paid for me to have acrylic nails done.  I know that this seems like a strange thing for 12 for 2012 but I've wanted to have them done for ages (can't really explain why) but have held off because of my job.  But this summer I had a clear 2 months where I wouldn't be patient-facing or taking charge of samples so:

8.  Back in June, my former boss took me to Lords to watch England play Australia in an ODI.  This was another ages-long dream realised, I was beside myself with excitement for weeks beforehand and the day itself was just as wonderful as I had hoped (especially as England won!)

9. In August I took a cocktail-making masterclass.  It was great fun, especially as we were all encouraged to have a pre-class cocktail. This here is my very own Moscow Mule :-)

10. In March I took a photo a day.  I thought that this was going to be easy, I had no idea of the commitment it takes to do something like that.  I had thought that in 2013 I would take a photo a day for an entire year but I realised pretty early in to the March project that would never happen! There was much cheating as I took lots of photos of my darling little cat when I suddenly realised late in the evening that I hadn't taken that day's picture...

11. In April, the BT Tower had an open day of sorts, selling tickets to the top in aid of a charity.  Rock Chick and I were lucky enough to be able to nab a couple of tickets, and doubly lucky that the rain held off for the time we were up there.  The views over London were amazing, we were so lucky!

12. Bob!* Cheating, I know.  But of all the things I did this year, my adventure with Bob gave me more confidence and made me more smiley than anything else in a long, long time.

And there you have it, my 12 for 2012!

Christmas wishes

Merry Christmas, everyone xx

the one with the rant

Last week was my work's Christmas party and as usual I was pressed into service as our unofficial photographer.  I put the photos on my department's shared drive but my friend Goth Girl asked me to post a couple of photos of her onto her FB page so that her friend overseas could see.  Goth Girl has disabled her "Wall" so I had to post the photos onto my own page and tag Goth Girl - which of course meant that my friends could see the photos too.  One of them also had me in it and it gave rise to a few comments (thank you, Rach!).  It also prompted another "friend" to send me a private message, congratulating me on still looking so young for my age, and expressing her admiration of my "expensive" dress and shoes and my opportunity to drink vodka martinis in the middle of the week.  She ended her message with "I guess that you can do that when you are single and don't have to get kids up in the morning, eh?! Lol! :-)"

I know that message came from her being stressed and perhaps yes, a little envious that I was drinking martinis in a little black dress (incidentally $22 from F0rever 21 in Atlanta) and satin sling-backs with diamante clasps (admittedly not $22) on a Wednesday night.  However, I am suddenly in no mood to forgive this, or even give her any leeway.  She knew I lost Starchild and Tilly, although she didn't know about the IVF and subsequent loss of the Little Stars.  She knew how much I wanted children and she knew how my life almost crumbled into dust after A left.

I know how lucky I am; I don't get paid a whole lot (I work for the NHS after all), but I do okay.  I can keep a roof over my head, pay my bills, go on holiday, buy a new pair of slightly expensive boots every winter because I want them even if I don't need them, and dammit I can afford vodka martinis in a central London bar.  I can also stay out until 2am and not have to account to anyone and I can spend the weekends in bed with a book and my cat if I want to. Sometimes there's nothing in the flat to eat except a tub of ice cream and a jar of olives, and I have glass ornaments which won't get broken on my Christmas tree.

But the little red and white backpacks stuffed with toys under my tree are for my niece and nephews.  The glass ornaments are four glass hearts, one for each of my children. And there is no-one to phone and tell not to worry that I will be home at 2am.

My life doesn't suck, in fact I'm pretty happy right now. Nonetheless, as Ms Bradshaw once said "It's really hard to walk in a single woman's shoes.  That's why you sometimes need really special shoes"

Bob

I couldn't think what to call this post, so I resorted to what I've been calling anything I can't remember the name of / for since the 80s after seeing this episode of "Black@dder":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLTR8qYWJbQ

Anyway, it's not only handy as a post title but also as a pseudonym for someone who is going to feature in the post itself.

So, I met "Bob" about eight years ago when he was a junior academic working with one of my bosses.  We were thrown together for a small project and got to know each other a little over the weeks when we had to stay late or go in early so that we could meet a deadline.  He is a year or so older than I am, and at that time had been married for about two years to a fellow academic. After the project was done, he went back to his academic institution in the north of England and a year after that, he got a grant to set up a research study in Africa. We kept in sporadic touch via email, mainly for work purposes, and we'd always go out for a drink and a gossip when he came to London to keep my boss up-to-date on the African study.  Around the time that A and I split up, Bob and his wife seperated, his research study came to an end and he temporarily went back to his old post in the north of England.  Six months ago I heard through the grapevine (doctors are terrible gossips) that Bob's divorce was final and that he'd got another grant to replicate his study in another African country starting next year.

Which brings us to a month ago.  A few days after I wrote this post, Bob came to London for a meeting and a bunch of us went out for a drink afterwards.  Those with partners and children to go home to sloped off early on and Bob and I went for dinner in Soho, which was followed by more drinks, the sudden realisation that Bob's train had left without him (how cliched was that?) just five minutes before we realised the time and me offering him my spare room.  By the time we'd lurched up to my flat, though, the thought of making up the spare bed was too daunting so we both fell into mine and were out like lights instantly and chastely.

The following morning was not so chaste.

Afterwards we talked about it, decided that it was just what we both needed to salve wounds and boost shattered self-esteem following our respective relationship breakdowns.  We realised that neither one of us were ready for a relationship, even though we are fond of each other, and anyway Bob is going back overseas after Christmas.  We also decided not to tell anyone about what happened (this was my request to which Bob readily agreed because as I've already said - doctors are terrible gossips, and ours is a very small community... BFG and Rach, you are the only people IRL who will ever know!) We kept in slightly less sporadic email contact and then Bob came back down to London the weekend before I went to America.  Definitely not chaste this time either :-)

And this time we are sticking with the "one-time, no sorry, two-time only" thing.  Neither one of us wants to be a long-distance booty call during Bob's remaining weeks in England, and while we are fond of each other and clearly find each other attractive, we both know that there's nothing long-term between us.

So those are the facts, now for the feelings.  I feel great! Before A left in April 2011, we hadn't had sex since January 2010 because this was the (ironic when you think about even a little bit) equation in A's head: sex+Illanare=dead babies. Someone saying that sex with you is synonymous with heartbreak is quite shattering to the soul.  Infertility and loss had already made me think destructive things about my body, the fertility treatments and subsequent comfort eating had piled on the pounds, A's rejection compounded all the feelings I had of not being a real woman, much less a desirable one. Bob made me feel pretty, and desirable.  Womanly, in fact.  Bob said that I made him feel attractive, wanted and powerful, which was so lovely to hear.

I really and truly aten't ded!

age gap

Yesterday afternoon we held our session and gave our lectures and, after the conference closed for the day, my group decided to blow off some steam by going out for dinner. Do you know what makes someone in her mid-40s feel her age when going out with a group of 30-somethings?

It wasn't the decision to go on after dinner to a bar for dancing (I was in complete agreement).

It wasn't that I was the only woman not wearing skinny jeans and a sparkly top (my LBD is suitable for any venue).

It wasn't that I was the only one with a bag, and had to put the other women's purses and lip-gloss in it (I always carry a camera so I always have a bag).

It wasn't that I was the only one to have enough cash for the cab-ride back to the hotel at 3am (that just makes good sense).

It wasn't the young-feller-me-lads swarming round the other women like bees round a honeypot (I got hit on twice myself).

It was the music.  I had already danced to 99% of the tracks which were played during their first lifetimes - as a teenager back in the 80s, while most of the group I was with were still in their nappies...

carbon off-set

I am going to have to make a sizeable contribution to a carbon off-set charity this year, as I once again boarded a plane and took off into the London sky.  This time, I have landed here, home of the Braves:

trick or treat

Tonight, in a fancy restaurant deep in the heart of London's Soho, my friends and I saw something that shocked us. Four young children, the oldest not more than eight or nine, came in trick-or-treating. They were on their own and it was obvious that there wasn't an adult outside waiting for them. The staff were in a dilemma, clearly they didn't want to send the kids back out onto the street but they also couldn't have them trick-or-treating the customers. In the end someone whom we presumed was the manager took the kids to the back and I guess she must have tried to find out how to contact the parents. My friends and I left pretty soon afterwards so I don't know what happened in the end.
I honestly do try not to judge others, but I couldn't help it this evening. Why would you think that it was a good or safe idea to let a kid do that?
Even now I still can't stop myself from thinking that sometimes the wrong people get to be parents.

un-captcha'd

Finally remembered to take captcha off my blog - thank you for the prompt, Tireegal!

I aten't ded

Last week I briefly met a man at a work thing.  It was just a quick "hello, nice meeting you", hand-shake and move on type of thing and I am never likely to meet him again.  In fact, I can't be sure I remember his name correctly as I met a lot of people at this event, in a short space of time.  I just mention it because for the first time since A left, I looked at someone and thought "gosh" and felt a teeny, tiny flutter of interest.

It's nice to know that I'm still alive under the layers of hurt, confusion, fat and unflattering clothing I've been covered with for the last 18 months.

predictably...

...and yet I failed to predict it. Today I posted a couple of photos I took of baby L yesterday on FB. And got a host of (thankfully private) messages congratulating me on the birth of my daughter. Even though I had tagged my cousin on the photos. So now I have to reply to them all and say "actually...". My fault, I should have thought it through properly. I am an idiot!

mixed emotions

Yesterday afternoon my uncle died. He was my mother's brother and also my father's best friend. He used to call me (among other, more rude, names) his "other daughter". He had a good life with not a single day sick until 3 months ago when he was diagnosed with cancer. He died peacefully at home with his family and for that I am truly grateful. But it still hurts that he's gone.
But in the midst of it all we heard that my cousin from the other side of my family gave birth to her first baby last night. She's in the maternity unit of the hospital where I work and where I was for my pregnancy with Tilly. This morning I went to see them and I was the first person other than her parents to hold this new life. Less than 12 hours old and already baby L looks like her mother, which means she looks a little like me. Baby L's father is caucasian, like A, so I really had no trouble imagining what Tilly would have been like. In fact I've had trouble stopping.
I am beyond happy for my cousin. But I am so sad that my uncle has gone and that my daughter died before I could hold her and say "I am your mummy".
Today is 15th October:

summer reading 2012

I have been on a real crime and thriller kick this summer, with the Amazon daily deal for Kindle aiding and abetting my addiction.  Well, at 99p a book, it would be rude not to.  Since the beginning of June I've read 26 books; some good, some fair and some frankly hardly worth the space they took up.  As I don't want to lose your friendship, I've selected highlights to share rather than all of them :-)

June and July were taken over by chain-reading five Jo Nesbo books.  I read the first one - "The Redbreast" while I was in Oslo and was completely gripped.  The hero Harry Hole is flawed, to say the least, but nonetheless he's compelling. It's the third Harry Hole book, but the first to be available in English (although the first in the series, "The Bat", was published in English this week).  Even when I was back in London, I couldn't get enough of Harry and read "The Devil's Star", "The Redeemer", "Nemesis", and "The Snowman" in quick succession.

While in Italy last month I swapped one flawed hero for another, albeit slightly less flawed: Lee Child's Jack Reacher. Slightly more restrained, I have only read three of the series so far :-) "The Killing Floor", "Die Trying" and "Tripwire".

I did manage to read some non-crime books too, my favourite of which was "600 Hours of Edward".  This was brilliant: funny, moving, entralling.  Edward is in his late 30s, has Asperger's, obsessively records data and is slightly fixated on the old TV show "Dragnet".  His days follow a pattern until new neighbours move in across the road - I won't say any more in case you want to read it (and you should!).  And finally, "The Last Werewolf" by Glen Duncan.  I'm not usually a big reader of vampire / werewolf / Twilight-type but I read about this book on a books blog I follow and it sounded intruiging.  It's about a 200-year-old werewolf, the last of his kind.  He's tired of life and is welcoming death until something remarkable happens and everything changes.  Again, no spoilers in case you want to read it (and again, you should!)

Sicily

Twenty hours on a ferry from Genoa and we fetched up in Palermo. If you haven't been to Sicily, and even if you have, come as soon as you can. It's gorgeous. And Palermo is even more chaotic and crumbling and charming than Genoa. Mali, I'm looking at you in particular. Come here and fall in love for yourself!

Genoa

After a full day of travelling on three trains, we've fetched up here in Genoa. It's a mad, crazy, lively and distinctly edgy city. Just crossing the street is a bit of an adventure, as is playing dodge-the-street-hawker.
But it's wonderful! (Sorry no photos, am blogging on my phone)

three meals

Yesterday I had breakfast at St Pancras station in London.
Then I had lunch in Paris, in a little cafe close to the Gare du Lyon.
And dinner was in a side street in Zurich.
I'm travelling again :-)

"you are allowed to take care of yourself"

The above words were said to me over a year ago by Lovely Therapist, shortly after A left.  I feel rather ashamed of myself, but I applied those words to my Weekend of Double Whammy.  I couldn't get out of the Big Family Do, as it was held at my parents' place but I did sidle out of the couples-and-me lunch with friends.  I sort of lied - I said I had a migraine when in truth I only had an ordinary headache which would have gone away with a couple of over-the-counter painkillers.

Instead, I spent the day reading on the sofa, complete with my Darling Little Cat on my lap and endless cups of tea at my elbow.  And I have to say, I felt so much better equipped next day - which turned out to be extremely lovely and fun and full of food and noise and laughter.  My heavily pregnant cousin didn't come, which made the day easier for me, and the gods intervened and made my aunt not ask me about when I'm going to find someone new and did I want her to introduce me to so-and-so ("very nice man, darling, I was at school with his mother, divorced now of course and has two children, 10 and 13 I think").

And I came home with the remains of one of the desserts and a bottle of wine my mother pressed into my hands :-)

weekend double whammy

Some friends of mine have invited me to lunch on Saturday.  It's a sort of house-warming+his 45th birthday combined event.  Three married couples and single me.

And on Sunday I have a Big Family Do where cousins with children, pregnant cousins and bursting with pride grandparents will abound.  Because I have to drive there (I'm taking three desserts) I won't be able to have a glass of wine to take the edge off.

Meh.

Ouch

Migraines suck :-(

180

I was not in favour of the Olympics coming to London.  The UK, sure, but not London.  In 2005 we were all being urged to "back the bid" but I was one of the many sceptics who thought that it was a Bad Idea.  On 6th July 2005 I, like many Londoners, just shrugged instead of rejoicing.

And then came 7th July 2005, and the games went from everyone's thoughts for quite a long time.

And then there were the years of preparation. Lots of my friends became involved, JJ is an assistant for one of Team GB's sports and Rock Chick and four other friends are"games makers". 

My "bah, humbug" about the games just kept increasing, especially last week when it took almost twice as long to get to work.  To add insult to injury, London buses started to play recordings of London's buffoon's mayor's voice reminding us to allow for travel disruption over the PA. And don't get me started on corporate sponsors or on tv advertising (especially this sponsor of the games and this wretched ad campaign).

Even when I knew that some of my colleagues were going to be in the opening ceremony I couldn't get properly enthused. And then two things happened in quick succession. First, I met the cousin of someone I vaguely know, who is a member of Team GB and just listening to how hard he had trained and how beside himself with joy he was at competing in London 2012 chipped a huge whole in my cynicism. Then I watched the opening ceremony and cried in a very un-British, uncynical way.

I may be easily led, but I've been completely converted (apart from the corporate sponsors but that's another story).  And, dammit, I'm proud of my city :-)

another year

Yesterday was my birthday, I turned 44 (gulp) which I find inexplicable because surely it was only three years ago that I was 21...?
I had taken the day off work and had many lovely things planned (aromatherapy massage followed by a picnic lunch with my cousin then out for dinner with a friend).  Instead I woke up with a migraine which made me feel like the inside of my head was on fire, so things had to be called off and I lay in my darkened bedroom, when I wasn't worshipping at the porcelain altar.
However, I was recovered enough by evening to be placed into a cab, taken off to a posh bar for some superior pub grub (which for me was a pail of extremely delicious chips) and then placed in a cab back home.  By this time I was feeling in very fine fettle and was able to partake of a cocktail and open my presents, one of which was this splendid item - a solar-powered, royal-waving Queenie!

slip of the tongue

It was 7.45 this morning and I was coffee-deprived when the following conversation took place while waiting for a meeting to start.
Junior Doctor: Hey, Illanare, I'm sorry I haven't got back to you about when I can commit to a week of teaching.  I wasn't sure what my availability would be (lowers voice) as my wife is pregnant.
Illanare: Oh, congratulations!
Junior Doctor: Thanks!  Yes, I didn't feel like I could commit to teaching until we had the 12-week scan.  That was last week and everything is fine, actually she's 13 weeks now. It feels like we had to wait forever for the 12 weeks to pass.
Illanare: (whose few functioning brain cells are only thinking about coffee) yes, the first trimester can feel like it goes on for twice as long.
Junior Doctor: Ah, so you have children!

I was back in the moment with a bang and had no idea what to say.  After what seemed an eternity, I mumbled "er no, I don't" and then thanked a god I no longer believe in for the meeting chair calling us all to order.

I was off my guard and so ended up blindsided.  What would you have said?

Norway

Before I bore you with holiday snaps, I have to first explain something.
I like trains.  Or, more accurately, I like train journeys. When I was 20 I did the obligatory inter-railing trip around Europe and since then I've been taking as many railway journeys as I can.  Like the Carlisle to Settle railway, the Duoro Valley line in Portugal, the amazing Indian Pacific in Australia and a few more. All very lovely but were not on my list for as long as the train journey between Oslo and Bergen.
So anyway, a friend wanted to go with me and so the two of us took an early morning flight to Oslo.  We were only there for a day and a half (been before) but took the opportunity to hop onto an Oslo fjiord cruise.  It was very cold... (I wasn't wearing a feather mask but I was wearing a fleece, waterproof and blanket)

 Happily, the sun came out as soon as we got back to the city.

This photo and the next were taken at 10.00 at night :-)

After a day and a half in Oslo, we took our sleep-deprived selves down to the station to catch the early train to Bergen.  My friend thought that perhaps we'd have some time to catch up on sleep or to do a little reading but in fact we spent the entire 7 hours glued to the window.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If that wasn't enough beauty, we had arrived in Bergen.  An UNESCO heritage site, which is ridiculously lovely, even in overcast weather.

 

 

  The next three photos were taken around midnight, thanks to the midnight sun

 

 

 

On our last full day in Bergen, we took a boat trip through Sognefjiord to Flam. Again, not the sunniest of days but it reminded me of the South Island of NZ...

 

    

  

 

And then from Flam we took the Flamsbana, to continue with the railway theme.

 

 

Norway is so beautiful I wish I knew more poetry!  I want to go back again and go further north, but that is a trip for another year.
I wasn't going to include any travel on my 12 for 2012 list as I do travel often.  But I have to put the Oslo to Bergen train on there because I have wanted to do that journey for 20 years.

this and that

I've been a bit slack at posting this month but a couple of things have happened.  In bullet points:

• I "passed" my archery course, got a certificate and everything!  It means that I can now shoot at any club in England, but I think I will go to the one run by the people who ran the course.  My next free Saturday, I'm going down to an archery shop to get myself a bow and some arrows :-)
• I got taken to watch England play Australia at Lord's yesterday. Wonderful seats in the covered part (kept dry), picnic lunch complete with champagne, England won.  Who could ask for anything more?!
• I went away for 6 days the week before last, to Norway.  This bullet point deserves a post to itself, and it's going to get one.
• I fell down the stairs a couple of weeks ago, somehow managing to do so on my bottom instead of on my head.  Apart from being a bit shaken, I was completely fine. One of the advantages of having an arse the size and texture of a sofa I guess. Anyway, I mention it because, as I was bouncing bottom-first down the stairs, it flitted through my mind that if I broke a leg during that little mishap, I would have to go and stay with my parents. One of those "you're single and you live alone" moments that come out of the blue and sucker-punch me, just as much as those "you're childless and always will be" do. Meh.

a safe place

I was pregnant three times but there is no evidence of that to the outside world. I saw Starchild’s heartbeat twice. I saw Tilly’s heart beating, saw her legs and arms, was starting to see evidence of her under my clothing and started to feel the fluttering which was her tiny movements.  I saw the Little Stars in a Petri dish and as tiny patches as they were put into their all too short-lived home inside me.  Their existence changed my life and I loved them, and I still do.  I would have done anything, anything for them because they were then and always will be, my babies. But I never met them or saw their faces or held them.  I could never present them as whole to other people.

Perhaps this is why, when I mentioned them in a conversation with a friend last week (part of a conversation which is a topic for another post), she told me that I was “over sentimentalising”. She didn’t expand, but then she didn’t have to.  I knew what she was thinking.

I make no apology for feeling as I do about Starchild, Tilly and the Little Stars.  But perhaps I shouldn’t expect to be able to talk about them outside of this community.

goodbyes

We said our final goodbyes to Songbird this week (there was a delay arranging her funeral for reasons too lengthy and distressing to explain).
Songbird was a woman of deep, but quiet, faith and the service was held in the church where she had been an active member for the past 40 years.  Her fellow choir members were there, the vicar had known her for 19 years, friends from her past and present jobs were in attendance and all in all, it was a wonderful and personal service.
Afterwards we gathered in the church hall for tea and sandwiches and I sat with Too and other friends; we've all known each other upwards of 20 years.  I am the youngest of the group by 7 years and even I had known Songbird half my life.  We shared stories and songs and tears and smiles, then raised a glass in salute and farewell.
Songbird's "work" friends found out about her church life - flower arranging, chief launderer of linens, shopper for the elderly or sick, first port of call for anyone needing a shoulder to cry on.  Her church friends learnt about her professionalism, her kindness and her calm, her insistence that nothing, but nothing, came before patient care (even, famously, a full bladder), and the gratitude of decades' worth of people whose often fraught and frightening wait for a diagnosis was slightly eased by Songbird's gentleness.

This week some of us from my current job (Songbird and I met while we worked together at a different hospital) also attended a memorial service for a former colleague who passed away last month.  This man died while working abroad, having spent 30 years dedicating his life to helping those who lived in unimaginable poverty or in the middle of war zones, or indeed both.  His life touched more people than anyone can count and it's not hyperbole to say that his loss is felt on an international level. 

Songbird was a part of my life; I only knew my former colleague briefly and not well.  But if I had even half the courage, vitality and gentleness of either, I would be lucky indeed.
And finally.  Neither one had children.

slings and arrows

Last week was mainly blue.  Apart from the death of Songbird (thank you all for your lovely comments), and the anniversary of losing Starchild something else happened about which I cannot blog.  (Readers who are my friends IRL may see some links to a page from my FB profile which would explain).

Anyway, before all that happened, I had already booked my next 12 for 2012 event, and last weekend Rock Chick, Goth Girl and I took ourselves off to south of the river (gasp! shock!! the horror!!!) to take a lesson in archery. I've wanted to try archery since I fell in love (aged 15) with this chap, on this show. (What?  I never pretended not to be shallow).  The 90 minutes hurtled by, it was such good fun.  It turns out that, unlike the circus skills, I don't suck at archery.  I mean, I'm no Katniss Everdeen, but I was the only one to never miss the target :-)

In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I found a club in north London (phew!) and have signed up for a 12-week course.

losses

Last February a friend of mine, Songbird, had a massive coronary and lapsed into a coma.  She was on the high dependancy unit of a London hospital for months, and I would go and visit her a couple of times a week.  It's tough when you can't converse with someone, but sitting and silently holding her hand doesn't seem to be enough either.  I ended up reading bits of her favourite newspaper out to her, looking for the lighter stories and also segments about London 2012.
Last Saturday, she died.  It's so sad that I'll never see her again but in truth - for me anyway - she died 14 months ago; it was the outside shell of Songbird I was reading to.  The essence of her, her laugh, her melodic voice, her expressive eyes, the sheer force of her personality, was gone.  But it's still sad.
Also, 28th April 2008 - I lost Starchild.

a year in music

A year ago today A and I parted company.  A whole year!

When he first left I was all http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iY17nf6kvw4

Then, a few months later I went through a phase of http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I

And now http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx2u5uUu3DE&ob=av2n

isn't it ironic

I was aged ten-and-a-half when I got my first period and thereafter had one of those perfect, light, mild discomfort only 28-day cycles you read about until I was 14.
Then it was still a regular 28-day cycle but not so much with the light or mild discomfort.  They were so heavy I became anaemic, and so painful I sometimes had to miss school and spend my days worshipping at the porcelain altar.
Then, aged 16, my periods almost completely stopped.  I would have one every 12-18 months or so, sometimes going as long as 2 years between cycles.  This lasted until I was 38 and started on fertility treatment and a whole different party went on in my innards.
Since A left last year, guess how many times I've been visited by Aunt Flo? Twelve. A regular 28-day cycle, still heavy and painful, but a regular cycle.
Now.  Aged 43, single and no longer TTC.  I am finally ovulating.
And that, Ms Canadian Singer, is irony for you.

holiday

I am back home after a week away here.  It seems at first like a strange choice of destination for a holiday but I have never been to the UAE before (well, apart from a couple of hours to change planes on the way to Australia two years ago), and it is also a 90 minute bus-ride away from here.

We stayed in a beautiful hotel which had sea views and a stretch of private beach from which I plunged into the Persian Gulf for the first time in my life (point of interest - it's freaking freezing in March).

On our first full day we took the bus to Dubai, which looks in places like a film set for a science fiction movie:

We didn't get to see the famous Palm Islands or World Islands that day but as we had tickets for the top of the world's tallest building for a few days later, we thought we'd see them then.

Sadly, we had not allowed for the sandstorm which hit the UAE the next day, and stayed for the remainder of our trip. The temperature dropped (but we're British - it felt like a London summer to us), visibility was reduced dramatically and there was sand and dust everywhere: on surfaces, in hair, in eyes, in ears for crying out loud.  Reading by the pool (again, we're British...) meant sand in the pages of books or, in my case, settling on the screen of my Kindle.  Sand also would have settled in the cocktails we treated ourselves to, had they hung around long enough...

If you can't beat it, join it so we took a trip to the desert.

And did embarrasingly touristy things (yes, that is me driving a quadbike* and wearing traditional dress)

A couple of days before we left, we went back to Dubai to go to the top of Burj Khalifa.  Well, they call it "at the top" but it's only (only!) 124 floors up, which is actually about half-way up the building.  The city below looks like a model, although visibility was still hampered by the sandstorm.

While it might be cheating a little bit, I am counting the quadbike driving as one of my 12 for 2012 as I have never done it before and have wanted to for years (I am a woman of simple dreams, apparently).  And I did it in the Arabian desert, which has to count for something!