He's flying in from Australia. I have to import my dates now! Not just to meet me of course, but on business.
We met on the Friends Reunited website sometime last year. Apparently we were both stranded on the same windswept Northern campus more years ago than I care to remember. We fell into a virtual correspondence when we started to talk about a book he has written, and have maintained a desultory, sporadic 'friendship' since.
There was absolutely no hint of a more intimate agenda on either side, so I was rather taken aback when he emailed recently about his forthcoming trip and proposed that either we meet in Brighton for lunch on the day he flies back, or that we 'throw caution to the winds' and that I fly over to join him for a week in his tiny apartment in South-West France. A beguiling thought indeed and it did bring a smile to my face. Imagine!
Prosaically, I am working that week and my son will be in the throes of his dreaded GCSEs, so it has to be lunch in Brighton this time round. It could be anything or nothing, but that is the intriguing thing about my situation.
You simply never know what will happen next.
Saturday 28 April 2007
Friday 13 April 2007
Transformation
The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity!
Terracotta pots are turning vanilla, pale ochre, rose madder and chambray blue under my busy fingers. Newspapers are strewn over every surface as they dry in the pale spring sunshine or wait to be stamped with hearts or stars, ready to be planted up for the summer. Tired, jaded wooden chairs have been transformed into Van Goghian subjects as I paint them heavenly blue, the same blue I shall paint the shutters of my house in the French countryside. In my dreams. Only the sunflowers are missing.
The sun is shining and I am consumed with a desire to paint things and there is no shortage of things that need to be painted. Those old 1980's pine chests of drawers and tables look very chic when reinvented as French painted furniture.
Sadly the desire to paint will evaporate as quickly as it arrived and all too soon the paints and brushes will disappear into the far reaches of the cupboard under the stairs which is their home for most of the year. Until the mood seizes me again!
Terracotta pots are turning vanilla, pale ochre, rose madder and chambray blue under my busy fingers. Newspapers are strewn over every surface as they dry in the pale spring sunshine or wait to be stamped with hearts or stars, ready to be planted up for the summer. Tired, jaded wooden chairs have been transformed into Van Goghian subjects as I paint them heavenly blue, the same blue I shall paint the shutters of my house in the French countryside. In my dreams. Only the sunflowers are missing.
The sun is shining and I am consumed with a desire to paint things and there is no shortage of things that need to be painted. Those old 1980's pine chests of drawers and tables look very chic when reinvented as French painted furniture.
Sadly the desire to paint will evaporate as quickly as it arrived and all too soon the paints and brushes will disappear into the far reaches of the cupboard under the stairs which is their home for most of the year. Until the mood seizes me again!
Thursday 12 April 2007
The Aftermath
Vikram has been banished from the bedroom but we are inseparable during the evenings.
I am now reading about the aftermath of the war when communications are restored and Henny gets back in touch with her old friends in Berlin. Seth uses the letters he found in the attic of Henny's house in Hendon as his source. She and her family were deeply rooted in the community they lived in and had a close-knit circle of friends. She was engaged to her employer's son.
Obviously, Henny is very preoccupied with the way her mother and sister were treated by this group of people during the run-up to their deportation in 1943. Lola, her sister, was among the last Jews to leave Berlin as her work was considered important but eventually the she and her mother were separated and sent to the death camps. The trail of letters gives a great deal of insight into the pressures put upon the German people living under the Nazis and the moral dilemmas they faced as they struggled to keep their integrity and to survive themselves. Some helped Henny's family more than others. Some had more to lose because of their own dubious ancestry. Henny's fiance married an Aryan and betrayed her to preserve himself. He was himself half Jewish. There are also first-hand descriptions of the deprivations suffered by the Germans in the years after the war ended.
I find all this quite fascinating as it is an extreme version of the moral dilemmas we all face as we go through life. It also shows how difficult it is to condemn another's choices without understanding their situation.
I am now reading about the aftermath of the war when communications are restored and Henny gets back in touch with her old friends in Berlin. Seth uses the letters he found in the attic of Henny's house in Hendon as his source. She and her family were deeply rooted in the community they lived in and had a close-knit circle of friends. She was engaged to her employer's son.
Obviously, Henny is very preoccupied with the way her mother and sister were treated by this group of people during the run-up to their deportation in 1943. Lola, her sister, was among the last Jews to leave Berlin as her work was considered important but eventually the she and her mother were separated and sent to the death camps. The trail of letters gives a great deal of insight into the pressures put upon the German people living under the Nazis and the moral dilemmas they faced as they struggled to keep their integrity and to survive themselves. Some helped Henny's family more than others. Some had more to lose because of their own dubious ancestry. Henny's fiance married an Aryan and betrayed her to preserve himself. He was himself half Jewish. There are also first-hand descriptions of the deprivations suffered by the Germans in the years after the war ended.
I find all this quite fascinating as it is an extreme version of the moral dilemmas we all face as we go through life. It also shows how difficult it is to condemn another's choices without understanding their situation.
Tuesday 10 April 2007
"Two Lives" by Vikram Seth
I hardly slept last night.
The last thing I do every night before I turn out the light is read my book. Last night I found it hard to put down. I am currently reading Vikram Seth's novel "Two Lives", in which he narrates the unusual story of his Uncle Shanti and Aunt Henny.
They both had fascinating lives and lived through turbulent times. Henny was a German Jew who came over to England in 1939, while it was still possible for Jews to travel. Last night I was riveted by Seth's description of what would have happened to her mother, Ella, and her sister, Lola, both sensitive, cultured women who were caught up in unimaginable horror. Of all the articles and books I have read about the Holocaust, I think this really brought home to me the gruesome reality. Seth does not dwell particularly on the details of their final ordeal, he just gives an outline of what their fate would have been, but the final description of the scene in the gas chamber is harrowing.
I was also reading yesterday the story of Leni Riefenstahl, the actress and film maker who collaborated with the Nazis and made propaganda films for them but who, herself, may have been Jewish. It is anathema to us now that this horror became normalised, yet it happened in Western Europe within living memory.
Also in the Sunday Times was a fascinating article by Bryan Appleyard describing the Stanford Prison Experiment which demonstrates that perfectly ordinary, well-balanced people can be turned into savage tyrants or cowering victims according to the circumstances in which they find themselves. That it is the situation that allows evil to flourish. That really is chilling!
The last thing I do every night before I turn out the light is read my book. Last night I found it hard to put down. I am currently reading Vikram Seth's novel "Two Lives", in which he narrates the unusual story of his Uncle Shanti and Aunt Henny.
They both had fascinating lives and lived through turbulent times. Henny was a German Jew who came over to England in 1939, while it was still possible for Jews to travel. Last night I was riveted by Seth's description of what would have happened to her mother, Ella, and her sister, Lola, both sensitive, cultured women who were caught up in unimaginable horror. Of all the articles and books I have read about the Holocaust, I think this really brought home to me the gruesome reality. Seth does not dwell particularly on the details of their final ordeal, he just gives an outline of what their fate would have been, but the final description of the scene in the gas chamber is harrowing.
I was also reading yesterday the story of Leni Riefenstahl, the actress and film maker who collaborated with the Nazis and made propaganda films for them but who, herself, may have been Jewish. It is anathema to us now that this horror became normalised, yet it happened in Western Europe within living memory.
Also in the Sunday Times was a fascinating article by Bryan Appleyard describing the Stanford Prison Experiment which demonstrates that perfectly ordinary, well-balanced people can be turned into savage tyrants or cowering victims according to the circumstances in which they find themselves. That it is the situation that allows evil to flourish. That really is chilling!
Sunday 8 April 2007
Happy Easter
A glorious Easter weekend and I have two tall, dark, handsome young men in the house, oozing testosterone and amiability. Did I say I also have shingles? Apparently the virus that causes chicken pox lies dormant in the spinal cord and reactivates when the immune system is down - just when you are about to go on a trip!
Luckily it's not man shingles, so I have spent a satisfying weekend in the kitchen. We have had roast chicken with proper red wine gravy and roasted root vegetables, steeped in olive oil, garlic and herbs from the garden. I have even made stock from the bones for vegetable soup. Rhubarb, also from the garden, has been stewed and I have made a chocolate and almond cake.
I have been for short walks in the countryside and have sat in the orchard with our pet rabbit and the cats playing tag, drinking tea and eating too much cake. Today will be spent with the Sunday Times and a roast leg of lamb studded with garlic and rosemary, potatoes dauphinoise with carrots and broccoli and more red wine gravy, followed by chocolate pudding with whipped cream.
I never said it was all bad!
Luckily it's not man shingles, so I have spent a satisfying weekend in the kitchen. We have had roast chicken with proper red wine gravy and roasted root vegetables, steeped in olive oil, garlic and herbs from the garden. I have even made stock from the bones for vegetable soup. Rhubarb, also from the garden, has been stewed and I have made a chocolate and almond cake.
I have been for short walks in the countryside and have sat in the orchard with our pet rabbit and the cats playing tag, drinking tea and eating too much cake. Today will be spent with the Sunday Times and a roast leg of lamb studded with garlic and rosemary, potatoes dauphinoise with carrots and broccoli and more red wine gravy, followed by chocolate pudding with whipped cream.
I never said it was all bad!
Thursday 5 April 2007
Into the Void
I don't think I really expected to be alone for so long. I am, after all, an intelligent, attractive woman. I think I have a lot to offer. Other people seem to manage it quite well, but it just hasn't happened for me. There have been skirmishes. I have scars.
Of course it's not easy, coming from the back of the pack, trailing damage and baggage, and it probably doesn't help that I live in the back of beyond, in established couple territory. The price you pay for being in the catchment area of a good state school. Not that they are all living happily ever after, but with house prices being sky high, and the astronomical cost of divorce for those with good careers, most of them have too much to lose to cut and run. But that's fine. Marriage and family are the glue in society.
I did wonder, when it all fell apart, if I should hot tail back to London and take my chance there and if it had been just me, there would have been no question. So I stayed but time passes, children grow up and leave home, my youngest son will leave school within the next three years. What then? I have made a life for myself here, I have some good friends whom I cherish, a job I enjoy that fits in with my family commitments.
Do I step into the void, older, perhaps wiser. Alone?
Wednesday 4 April 2007
It really is that simple
"Have I told you lately that I love you
Have I told you there's no-one above you
Fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness
Ease my troubles, that's what you do"
Have I told you there's no-one above you
Fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness
Ease my troubles, that's what you do"
Van Morrison
I dreamt last night that we broke up again, Peter and I. We spent about four months breaking up last year after a brief, unsatisfactory relationship. I'm very bad at letting go. In my dream, we were at a party in the City and I was upset about the way he was ignoring me, too busy networking, so I left, went out into the dark and cold alone. He didn't follow me. He had other priorities.
And when I saw him again, he told me that the problem was me, that when he is networking, he can't think about me at all. So I broke up with him. In my dream. Quite right too.
If you are with someone and you are serious about them, you put them first. If you do that everything else falls into place. If you know you are loved and know you are secure, you can be generous when the pressure is on, because you know he would if he could. You know there's no-one above you.
It really is that simple.
Sunday 1 April 2007
In Memoriam
"Time has told me
You came with the dawn
A soul with no footprint
A rose with no thorn"
Nick Drake
A rose with no thorn"
Nick Drake
For Anthony, who slipped way on this day fourteen years ago.
Always loved
Friday 30 March 2007
Not visiting Lille
The train to Lille is leaving now. And I am not on it.
A tiny, insubstantial part of me leapt out of bed at 7 o'clock this morning, washed, dressed, breakfasted and left the house. My long, dark hair is clean and shining, my lips are Afghan Red and I smell deliciously of my new Annick Goutal scent, Eau de Charlotte, which my mother gave me for my recent birthday. I am wearing my dark indigo Gap boot-cut jeans, which make my legs look long and slender, a dusky-turquoise, long-sleeved jersey top, slightly low-cut, with gathered sleeves. Very pretty! And black suede ankle boots; blue glass dangly ear-rings and a blue, turquoise and metal chain necklace complete the look. At the door, I put on my black corduroy jacket and pick up the dark pink weekend bag.
I had planned exactly how I wanted it to be. I had such a strong image of myself doing this. Sitting outside cafes with my book (Suite Francaise, I thought) watching the world go by, drinking coffee, eating a delicious lunch. Then wandering around the old town, dipping into shops, buying gorgeous dark chocolates for my family and friends, spending the night in a hotel room overlooking the Grand Place. Tomorrow, the Art Gallery perhaps, then more browsing, wandering, eating and drinking before catching the evening train back to London, then home.
A tiny, insubstantial part of me leapt out of bed at 7 o'clock this morning, washed, dressed, breakfasted and left the house. My long, dark hair is clean and shining, my lips are Afghan Red and I smell deliciously of my new Annick Goutal scent, Eau de Charlotte, which my mother gave me for my recent birthday. I am wearing my dark indigo Gap boot-cut jeans, which make my legs look long and slender, a dusky-turquoise, long-sleeved jersey top, slightly low-cut, with gathered sleeves. Very pretty! And black suede ankle boots; blue glass dangly ear-rings and a blue, turquoise and metal chain necklace complete the look. At the door, I put on my black corduroy jacket and pick up the dark pink weekend bag.
I had planned exactly how I wanted it to be. I had such a strong image of myself doing this. Sitting outside cafes with my book (Suite Francaise, I thought) watching the world go by, drinking coffee, eating a delicious lunch. Then wandering around the old town, dipping into shops, buying gorgeous dark chocolates for my family and friends, spending the night in a hotel room overlooking the Grand Place. Tomorrow, the Art Gallery perhaps, then more browsing, wandering, eating and drinking before catching the evening train back to London, then home.
Thursday 29 March 2007
Does pain have a colour?
I think my pain is white. I have never been in this much pain without something having to be removed or expelled. Labour was the last time. The doctor thinks it could be my appendix, but on the other hand it could be a virus. He's given me some strong pain killers with lots of codeine in them, that act like a chemical cosh, and for the first time in days I have had some sleep, but then the drug wears off and the pain kicks right back in again. It's hard to see that this is going anywhere I want to be. Certainly not to Lille. I packed my pink bag this morning in case it's an emergency dash to the hospital.
Life is extraordinarily simple at the moment. I am quite alone here in my rented farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing I can do, no work, no social life, no cooking, driving, cleaning. I'm suspended, waiting for something to happen. For things to resolve.
Life is extraordinarily simple at the moment. I am quite alone here in my rented farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing I can do, no work, no social life, no cooking, driving, cleaning. I'm suspended, waiting for something to happen. For things to resolve.
Wednesday 28 March 2007
Tea and Toast
"And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China"
That come all the way from China"
Suzanne
Leonard Cohen
Leonard Cohen
My tummy has a life of its own. It wriggles and squirms. It gurgles and grumbles. It holds conversations with itself. It probably has hobbies that I know nothing about! I'm thinking of putting it down for French lessons.
For the last three days I have eaten nothing but toast with Earl Grey tea. It's all I want when I'm not well. Very comforting but not at all substantial. I have hardy slept either and it's not getting any better, so today I have held my ground with the doctor's receptionist and shall be seen at some stage, by someone, later this morning. I expect I will be the only sick person the doctor sees this morning, because you can only see a doctor by prior appointment - at least 48 hours notice, please.
I have phoned Eurostar and the insurers to find out if I can make a claim/change my ticket, should things not be resolved by Friday. Yes to the first, no to the second. I shall be so disappointed if I can't go on my little trip. It seems very hard.
Sunday 25 March 2007
Pink Bag
I still think I am going to Lille next week - can it really be next week? It seemed so much more appealing when it was next month. This is beginning to seem real! So, I went shopping yesterday in the nearby market town which contains just one shop selling travel bags. Not a lot of choice there then. But choice makes me come out in a cold sweat, so perhaps that's just as well.
I found a lovely dark pink Kipling bag and despite the scary price tag, I had to have it, even though it cost nearly as much as my Eurostar ticket. It's so perfect and just the right size for a weekend away. The alternative would have been my 15 year old son's black school kit bag, complete with visible name tape. Not perhaps quite the image I'm looking for as I try to open my world up a little.
Today was spent washing, ironing and packing - not for me though but for my son. The reason I can get away for a couple of days just before the end of term is that he is going to CCF camp with a group from his school, so I get to holiday, too. Even if I don't go away when he does, and I rarely do, it still feels like a holiday as it's so unusual for me not to do the Mum thing. My oldest son turns 25 soon and I feel as though I've been doing this forever, although it changes all the time. Now I usually go out and about without any children on me at all, but once I couldn't move without all three boys hanging onto my skirts, often protesting vociferously. Who else was going to look after them? Even when I was married, my husband was in the City and had a mistress and was rarely home. No, I didn't know about the mistress until far, far too late. Silly me.
So being a single mum was always the way it was, I just don't have the illusion that I have a husband and that my sons have a proper father. My ex-husband came down from London tonight to take our son out for supper, because that is what he thinks being a good Dad is all about, and sporting fundraising posters for his local church in the back windows of his smart new car - good for the caring image. I handed him the leaflet about ASD which the doctor my son and I saw last week gave to me. A sort of potted version of the problems that my son and I face every day.
He always made me feel that I had failed as a mother, that I just couldn't cope as well as other mothers. That it was all my fault.
I found a lovely dark pink Kipling bag and despite the scary price tag, I had to have it, even though it cost nearly as much as my Eurostar ticket. It's so perfect and just the right size for a weekend away. The alternative would have been my 15 year old son's black school kit bag, complete with visible name tape. Not perhaps quite the image I'm looking for as I try to open my world up a little.
Today was spent washing, ironing and packing - not for me though but for my son. The reason I can get away for a couple of days just before the end of term is that he is going to CCF camp with a group from his school, so I get to holiday, too. Even if I don't go away when he does, and I rarely do, it still feels like a holiday as it's so unusual for me not to do the Mum thing. My oldest son turns 25 soon and I feel as though I've been doing this forever, although it changes all the time. Now I usually go out and about without any children on me at all, but once I couldn't move without all three boys hanging onto my skirts, often protesting vociferously. Who else was going to look after them? Even when I was married, my husband was in the City and had a mistress and was rarely home. No, I didn't know about the mistress until far, far too late. Silly me.
So being a single mum was always the way it was, I just don't have the illusion that I have a husband and that my sons have a proper father. My ex-husband came down from London tonight to take our son out for supper, because that is what he thinks being a good Dad is all about, and sporting fundraising posters for his local church in the back windows of his smart new car - good for the caring image. I handed him the leaflet about ASD which the doctor my son and I saw last week gave to me. A sort of potted version of the problems that my son and I face every day.
He always made me feel that I had failed as a mother, that I just couldn't cope as well as other mothers. That it was all my fault.
Monday 26 February 2007
Fish
A fragment of conversation
overheard in the swimming pool this morning; two middle aged ladies, tidily
coiffed heads held high above the water, sedately doing breast stroke and
discussing their holiday plans as we ploughed up and down the lengths.
"And then we're going to
Lake Garda ... then on to Verona ..."
Middle aged + middle class +
married = affluent
Middle aged + middle class +
abandoned = broke
So what do you do when you have
been left holding the baby (in my case, three of them, all boys) with no
husband and no disposable income to speak of? How do you keep your end
up, or should you just sink under the water and quietly disappear, leaving only
a small ripple? I don't know quite where I belong anymore, where I fit in.
He left 10 years ago, my husband,
although he had been absent for a very long time. We went through the motions.
And I am just beginning to resurface and look cautiously around me, watching
out for the sharks and the power boats. I'm not a strong swimmer.
So, I'm going to Lille for two
days and a night. On my own, by myself, just me. I'm really looking
forward to it. In fact, making the booking has given me a huge lift and I
go around with a big smile on my face and a quiet sense of achievement. I
have a life, I have plans. Actually, it doesn't really matter whether I get
there or not, or even if I enjoy it when I do. What really, really matters to
me is having a plan, something to look forward to. Small steps.
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