A promise

 I realised as I lay in bed last night that the end of my previous post might have made out that Tall was controlling, that he tried to tell me how I should be. It couldn't be further from the truth.

Tall championed me. He always had faith in me, even when I didn't have faith in myself. He never tried to change me, unlike my first husband, he simply loved me for who I was, warts and all. In return I loved Tall in exactly the same way. It's one of the reasons that I know we were soulmates, we loved each other, never wishing to change a single thing about the other. So I feel I owe it to Tall to explain what I meant about not being the woman Tall had wanted me to be. 

We had months knowing that Tall's health was declining, months that Tall used to get his affairs in order. One of the things he wanted was to make sure I would be okay. We had many conversations about what would happen to me when he was gone. Many of his plans didn't work out as friends and family, that he was sure would step up, simply stepped away. Along with his plans on how to continue the business was the plan that I should find someone else. Despite my repeatedly tearful replies that I could never love someone else, Tall insisted I must try, saying I had too much love to give to spend my life alone. Eventually I agreed, if only to stop him talking about it so often. Three years on, and with the clarity of reaching a different place in my grief, I can see that my acceptance of Tall's suggestion wasn't so much for me, but for him. He needed to know that I would be okay, even if he was leaving me. I realise now that the guilt he was feeling must have been awful for him. We had spent so many years joined at the hip, and he knew how hard it was going to be, having to continue our journeys alone. The promise that he made me give him eased his passing, and I know that he would understand that in my own way I have kept that promise. I have rediscovered the Good Cheer Pixie, and with her help, I don't need anyone else to love me.

The path to nifty sixty

 Three weeks in, and the job seems to be going well. I find myself dreaming of Tall most nights, I guess because I can't tell him about my day any other way. There are so many things I want to tell him. One of the real pluses is that the walking there and back has helped with my aim to be a healthy BMI by my birthday next year, hopefully it will be sooner.

 As part of my healthier lifestyle I looked back at the possible reasons why at the start of this year I found myself heavier than I had ever been. Eleven years ago, when we were planning our wedding, losing the weight was easy. I managed to keep the weight off until our very dear friend P. died, just before our first wedding anniversary. In 2017 I lost some weight again and vowed I would never allow myself to to put it back on. That lasted until Tall and I realised that he wasn't going to recover from the second SCT like he had after the first, and it was clear his health was going to slowly deteriorate. After his death the weight continued to creep on, little by little, not helped by the isolation of lockdown in 2020. 

Clearly I am a comfort eater. I use food to console myself when grief strikes, be that the loss of a friend, the loss of a future or the loss of a soulmate. I have come to realise over the last couple of months that, in reality, eating and drinking to excess doesn't actually make me feel any better. I still wake up the following day with a massive hole that can never be filled by wine or cream cakes. I need to find my happiness elsewhere. 

I have realised too that the changes I have made are so much easier without Tall. There's no one adding hot cross buns or Easter eggs to the trolley. No one suggesting we get a bottle, or two, of wine. No one asking for sausage and bacon sandwiches whilst on the dialysis machine. I thought that I would miss my crutches, yet in reality I am finding life without them quite easy. I can walk past the things Tall would have picked up and smile, remembering fondly what he would have said and done. 

 I think it might just turn out that I'm going to be alright on my own. Not quite the woman Tall told me I should be, but a woman that I am content with. 

 

New beginings

 As I approach the three year anniversary of Tall's death I am finally starting to feel more at peace. There is a sense of being content, not the heady over excited feeling of complete giddy happiness, but it is a massive change from the way I was feeling two years ago, or even last year. I often think about Tall and reflect on the good times we spent together, and the bad times too. Life was a roller coaster during what seemed like far too short a time. The bad years made the good ones all the better, and even the last two years were a bonus given how we thought Tall was going to die in 2017. 

I am still having to learn how to stand on my own two feet. It is strange how much I relied on just having another person's opinion on life, someone else's take on world events or the best way to do something. As I have probably said before, I might not have actually followed the advice, but it was always great to have another point of view. I now manage to do little jobs for myself, today I changed the saddle on my bike. There was a lot of cussing and I could have done with another pair of hands as I struggled to hold the spanner on one side of the bike while I tightened the one on the other. Tall would have managed with his long arms!

Next week I start a new job as a receptionist at a doctors' surgery. I have to confess when I sent off my CV I didn't think I actually had the experience or qualifications. As it turns out it was the years of being self-employed with Tall that actually helped. The years of dealing with customers and keeping the books paid off. I know that Tall would be really pleased for me. He always said I had people skills and that I underestimated myself. Life is going to be so very different, I haven't had a job with set hours for fifteen years. I have had the luxury of being able to shop when I like, walk the dog when I want and please myself about almost everything. I won't be working Mondays and Tuesdays as I'll still be looking after my granddughter, the rest of the week is anyone's guess. 

I think Tall would be proud. I am going to believe he would be with all my heart, and that he would be happy that I seem to have reached a stage of contentment and peace.

My first, my last, my everything.

How are you?

I'm okay I guess.

You don't sound too sure.

Well I still burst into tears in the middle of the street. 

Today I did just that. As I was walking the dog a neighbour drove past in his Lotus 7, he's older than Tall and has quite a collection of cars, all of which Tall adored. I reflected internally on how unfair it all was, but resigned myself to the fact I couldn't change things.

As we neared home a different neighbour was polishing his 1967 Mini, I just burst into tears. One of Tall's first jobs was working as a mechanic on Mini's, it was also his very last job.  A month before he died he helped out "the lads" at the garage he always used. They had had an old Mini sitting there for over twelve months, unable to work out why it wouldn't start. The mechanics, who are both in their thirties had no experience of working on older cars. Tall knew exactly what the problem was. He got them to take off the carburettor and he brought it home. He ordered the parts he knew he needed online and then sat, with his oxygen on, fixing it. He took back the carburettor and got them to refit it, he was then given the honour of starting the car up. It started first time. I cannot express how proud he was, knowing that he could still make a difference even when stuck in a wheelchair on oxygen. Me, I'm just so incredibly sad that he isn't here to still make a difference. 

No matter where.

 Yesterday West Brom. lost to Arsenal. It isn't the first time and hopefully we will have a chance to beat them or get beaten again. For next year at least that opportunity will only happen if we are drawn against each other in one of the cups. West Bromwich Albion have been relegated to the Championship. I can't be sure what Tall would say, but I can imagine. I learnt over the years how passionate he was about his team. His euphoria when promoted and disappointment when relegated. Through it all though he was a supporter. He would always tell me of the time when they were in the third division and hardly any fans turned up. He would proudly say that even if they were relegated to the fourth division he would still support them. 

That really sums Tall up completely. He was loyal to his team and his friends no matter where they were or what they did. Boing boing Baggies.

The garden

 I have been trying to spend as much time as possible outside when the weather allows. May has so far been the complete opposite of April, he have had days of rain and days of heavy showers with sunny intervals. The temperature has dropped considerably and so for now many of the plants need to stay in the greenhouse. I'm not keen on being out in halestorms either.

The year that Tall died I couldn't bear being in the garden, no matter what the weather. Every tree and plant reminded me of him, of how he would never taste the fruit from the trees or simply sit until the stars were out, enjoying the summer evenings.  In the midst of my grief I couldn't sit outside and i couldn't sit inside, I forever seemed to be wandering between the two, tears streaming down my face. Last year was better, although I didn't know what to do with it other, than cut the grass. I put up the pool and spent a few of the warmer days cooling off in it. Tall loved sitting in the cool water, although it wasn't something he was really able to do after 2017. Unfortunately, in my solo attempt to put it away at the end of the summer, I ended up tearing it, so I don't have one for this year. I think the decking might be better left clear in case I can have people around. This year I am planting hanging baskets for the first time since 2018. I still have to buy more plants and snap-dragons will be one of those that I will buy. Tall loved them. 

I will probably always get a little sad in the garden, Tall created so much of what it is now. Some of it I wish I could change. Maybe next year I will have the greenhouse moved to the wasted space on the drive and use the concrete pad where it sits now as a dining area. I remember back in 2019, a few months after Tall died, that the neighbour across the road, who lost her husband over twenty years  ago, was telling me that she still got sad in the garden. There's something about the continuing of life in the plants that acts as a reminder of the life that is no longer lived. Tall will always be in the trees.

I can't help it.

 I woke up this morning and the first thing I did was remember what we were going to do this evening two years ago. Tall was an avid fan of one particular football team and on 3rd May 2019 the were holding a Question of Sport type event with two teams of former players in aid of the club's charity foundation. Tall knew it would be his last chance to visit his beloved ground and his last to see players he admired and adored. 

The evening turned out better than he could ever have hoped. Whilst he was sitting there alone, I had gone to the bar to get myself a drink, the compere of the evening came across to talk to him. Tall it seems told him exactly what his situation was. He then arranged for some of the players to pop across during the interval to say hi. Tall was overjoyed, even more so as his number one hero actually stopped and talked to him the whole interval.  

I will be forever grateful to Bomber Brown for the immense kindness he showed Tall and to those other players who spent the time talking to us, without fear despite Tall explaining he had just weeks left to live. 

I am trying to make happier memories, today just isn't one of the happy days. 

The second is worse.

 I had read other people saying that the seconds can be harder, yet up until today that hadn't been the case for me. My second birthday, my second Christmas and Tall's birthday had all been easier. Today being my second Valentine's Day without Tall has been much harder. 

As I said last year we never really went in for all the roses and chocolate stuff. Yet reading what I wrote last year feels surreal, I can't believe how unfazed I seemed to be. I wish I was feeling that laid back this year. May be the whole pandemic and lockdown are taking their toll on my mental health. May be I am just feeling a bit more raw. I'm not longing for a card or a dozen over priced roses, and I can buy my own chocolate and wine if I feel the need.  I am longing for my Valentine to be here next to me, to have him holding my hand as we watch the world pass by. 

The last of the first.

 As the first month of 2021 reaches its end I find myself wondering where the days went. One minute it was a new year, the next it was Tall's birthday and now it is the final day. In these strange times it is difficult to look back and see any thing that has actually been achieved, life feels like walking through treacle. No matter what time I get up in the morning I still get to the evening many days without a meal prepared or even a clue what to eat.

The same is true of the time since Tall died. It doesn't feel like it was only yesterday, but it does feel like it was only last year instead of it being 2019. Twenty months without his company. There's still a lot of things I cannot do. Some of them are very practical things like getting the Christmas tree down from the attic, I had to make do with a small one that used to be in the kids' bedrooms. I am very wary of getting jobs done around the house and garden, jobs that I am no longer young enough or strong enough to tackle or that I'm even capable of doing. Tall once tried patching up some missing plaster and he couldn't do it either. 

Then there are the emotional things. The things I cannot change or get rid of. Tall's razor is still on the bathroom shelf. There are still tins of rice pudding in the pantry. The bed needs a new mattress, something Tall told me I should buy when he was gone, a fresh start. I cannot let it go. 

A few months before Tall died my youngest son and his then girlfriend came to visit. Everyone knew what the situation was, Tall wouldn't let anyone be under any illusions. We went out for a walk with my youngest daughter and granddaughter, and the dogs to a small local park. Whilst my granddaughter played we talked about death and what to expect. My son's girlfriend told me about her grandfather's death at home. How the family had all been there. She told me that even though he had died around lunchtime her grandmother had wanted to keep him there and spend one last night with him. The family told her she couldn't. When I was told the story my initial reaction was that I couldn't possibly sleep next to someone who had died. It was only when I found myself in that situation that I realised that is exactly what I wanted to do too. I didn't want the body taken away. I wanted to keep Tall next to me forever. If I could have had him stuffed I would. The best I can do is keep the mattress that he died on. I can lie in his dip before moving over to my side of the bed and that gives me comfort.

It may not be for everyone. I know from widow's groups that there are some people who cannot use the bedroom after their loved one has died, who cannot use a loved one's chair or bear to see their things. We all deal with death in our own way. How we cope is as individual as our fingerprints.

For those whose loved ones have been cremated there seems to be many ways of dealing with death. There are those who have the ashes buried in a special place they can visit. Some people have ornate urns so that they can be kept in pride of place at home, waiting until they too die and the ashes can then be put together and left for next of kin to deal with. Some ashes are scattered, and some are turned into fireworks. I have heard of people getting their loved one's ashes tattooed into their skin. Whilst some of these things might not be for me I realise that everyone has to be free to deal with their grief in a way that suits them. I have learnt to be less judgemental. If their choices are hurting no one, not even themselves, then they should be free to get themselves tattooed or sleep in a dead man's bed.

Confession

 Hello. My name is Pixie and I have a confession. I am glad Tall isn't here for the pandemic. 

Yesterday the UK added another one thousand, eight hundred and twenty people to the toll of those who have died from covid-19. 1,820. Which brings the government's running total to 95,829, a figure which is probably below the reality as they only count those who died within 28 days of a positive test. In reality the number is probably over 100,000!

The truth is if Tall had still been alive the last ten months would have been awful. He would at some point had to visit the hospital, be it for a blood transfusion, dialysis or a lung drain. Probably all three several times. Even if he hadn't caught covid-19 there, there's a chance I might have caught it at the shops, for all I know I have had it asymptomatically. Tall hated being told what to do, hated being shut in the house and if he had been stuck in for the last ten months chances are he'd have broken his shielding and caught it outside somewhere. We would have argued and fallen out as I would have tried to wrap him in cotton wool and he would have done the exact opposite just to be awkward.  

I miss having him here to talk to, having him around to lift my mood when I'm feeling down, yet I know that life would have been even tougher with him here and I feel a bit guilty for being glad he isn't. 

Still here.

 I've been meaning to blog since the 1st, so I'm only sixteen days late. Firstly, I am obviously still alive. I have managed so far to avoid catching covid-19, hopefully that luck will continue. Like many other people in the UK there's a feeling of Groundhog Day about our lives. Currently in yet another lockdown that prevents us meeting up with people socially, including family from outside the home, yet allows millions to still go to work. I'm not talking about the truly essential workers, but all those people who have other reasons to carry on working, the ones the government should be helping to stay at home in order to help society. During the first lockdown only ten percent of children were in school, this time it is over fifty percent. 

The pandemic has left me pretty much where I was in January last year, only this time I don't have a trip to Australia to look forward to. With time I have become used to the loneliness, I have no other choice. I get angry some days that I haven't been able to move forward with life, luckily I have the virus to blame rather than myself. I do worry that I am going to spend the rest of my life alone, and that no one will even notice that I am longer around. 

I have been dreaming about Tall a lot since Christmas, almost every night. The dreams are of Tall before 2017. We are on holiday, going out for a meal or meeting up with friends. We are having a wonderful time until Tall says he needs dialysis. We drive home, me apologetic that I haven't set the machine up, that he'll have to wait the twelve hours until it is ready. We get home and I rush upstairs, the machine isn't there. I turn to Tall and say "You died, we'll have to call the unit at the hospital and ask if they can help you." Tall smiles at me. At this point I awake and cry quietly to myself. I miss his company so much. I miss the man he was before he became so ill in 2017. 

Covid-19 has brought to the public eye what intensive care is like. Tall wasn't ventilated, but he was heavily sedated. He had tubes everywhere. The stories of what it is like have brought back all the memories, a reminder of just how much intensive care stole from Tall. I know that it gave him more time, time that Tall wouldn't have wanted to miss. That last visit from his best mate in Australia, the chance to put his affairs in order, the time to make sure he had done his best to ensure I would be okay.  He tried desperately to rehabilitate himself. He joined a gym and bought equipment for home.  He tried high protein diets and high fat shakes, anything to put weight on and rebuild muscle, but nothing worked. I think the staff at the hospital could see it, in hindsight I knew too, Tall was never going to recover from his treatment in 2017. Tall was stubborn though, he tried everything he could think of to regain strength and fitness, and I loved him.

The terrible 'T's

The global pandemic and the measures to contain it have caused mental health issues in a lot of people. There will be many people who are grieving without having been given the chance to say goodbye, living with a guilt that their loved one was without family at the end. I can only imagine how awful that must be.

For me it has meant the terrible two 'T's, trapped and terrified. I feel trapped alone in the house. There are no phone calls, no family dropping by to wave through the window. All the connections I made outside have been lost, and the support services have abandoned me. I feel very alone. Everyone I know has somebody, a physical being to hug, someone to talk to or argue with, someone to interact with.

I tried getting out the house, tried walking a bit further to shop. My anxiety was off the scale. So many people outside, so many cars. The constant crossing the road to avoid those who had no intention of keeping their distance was mentally exhausting and by the time I got home I was in tears, terrified of the outside world. I am trying to be kind to myself, but it is hard. I hate myself for going backwards, I worked at getting myself to a place where I could travel to Australia, but all that has gone.

The anxiety inevitably leads to grief, the grief that I don't have Tall to hold my hand through these difficult times. Yesterday was the anniversary of his funeral, and I thought about him all day. I want to be strong for him, I want to be all the things he wished for me, but at the moment all I want is to be with him.

I have tried.

I have tried to keep myself busy, to occupy my troubled mind. I spent last week making a bird table from an old wooden pallet, using tools that Tall claimed were his. In truth he was faster and possibly more skilled, but as the only machines we were allowed to use at school were the ovens and sewing machines, it is hardly surprising. 

During the time that I waited for the glue and filler to dry the dark clouds descended once more. Thoughts of what Tall would have said heightened my sense of loss. I tried knitting, but I couldn't sit and concentrate. 

I bought a second rainwater butt and installed it without Tall. I cussed the fact I hadn't checked the size and had to drill a different hole lower down and buy a different pipe to fit on the 'T' piece from the first. 

I know I should be proud of what I have achieved, yet all I feel is empty. The current pandemic has me trapped within my four walls alone, the steps forward I had taken have been dashed away. There's no volunteering, no groups to attend. The reality of watching people talking on TV about getting back to normal once it is all over leave me recalling that my normal is exactly what I have now.

A new year.

As you will all know, the last couple of weeks have not been easy for me. I will never know how much of my anxiety and depression was due to grief and how much of it was due to the pandemic, I suppose that having to be locked away alone was only ever going to heighten my sense of loss. 

The grief is still with me, bubbling away at the back of my mind, but I realised that now the anniversary is over that I am setting out on a different year, a year of seconds. It will be interesting to see how I feel on our second wedding anniversary and my second birthday without Tall. The situation in the UK as regards the pandemic is still not good, so although the government in England has eased some restrictions, I'm going to try and stick to Scotland's advice and stay at home. The anxiety is here to stay for now.

So for now I will stay at home and watch comedy, make cake and try and work out where I am going. 

Selfies

Selfish, self-absorbed, self-interested. I wonder if by the time you have finished reading you will agree that I am all of them, think I am only partly guilty or disagree completely. 

I am still sad that my much anticipated trip to Australia didn't go to plan. A friend asked me via email if it had helped with the grieving process for Tall, in some ways yes, but there was so much more I should have done. I know I should have been braver, more adventurous. It feels like unfinished business, as if there is something I should have done, but didn't. May be one day, when the world feels more settled, I will get back to finish my trip. I should think myself lucky I got there at all, but I feel cheated by the current pandemic.

The memory of Tall currently fills my waking moments and my dreams. I am trying via Instagram to find something every day this month that is positive. There has been a history of Mays being less than perfect. Illness and hospitals seem to block out the good ones and I need to try and alter that. I should be celebrating my daughter's birthday and that of Toni my faithful companion, not wallowing in sadness and grief and yet I am struggling.

My anxiety is really bad at the moment. I take Toni for a walk, but the noise of the cars passing makes me want to curl up in a ball. It sounds as if they are all revving their engines and driving ridiculously fast. I wonder where exactly they are all going and whether they even need to be out. Other people walking about, clearly not members of the same household, make me angry. Imagine how I felt at the conversation I have just heard. A mother walking with her two children, one about two the other four. I overheard her talking to her four year old,  she said they would go home, have something to eat and then visit nanny for a couple of hours. I wanted to scream "how come you aren't obeying the rules? What makes you so different from the rest of us?" Like so many I long to hug my grandchildren. To play with them and be part of their lives once more. 

Taken last May

 

Missing

Dear Tall.

Last night I dreamt about us. The two of us getting on with normal life, nothing special, just the boring stuff. You were walking alongside me, but I'm not sure now where we were. It felt so real, so real that when I woke to find you missing my heart broke into a thousand pieces once more. I wish I could tell you how much I need you to hug me. How much I miss having you to talk to. How much I miss you simply loving me.

I try to visualise how it felt to have your arms wrapped around me, I try to trick my mind into believing I can feel it, but today the mind trick won't work. I know all the analogies about the box with the pain button and the one about glitter (to name but two), I recite them to myself in the hope of calming my head and heart, but ultimately what I am feeling is normal. I must be kind to myself and just let it all out. 

The enforced isolation caused by the virus does little to help, the news articles on intensive care only reminding me of the awful events of almost three years ago when I thought I had lost you. You never did truly recover, and I worry for all those who have left intensive care, with many months of recovery ahead of them. Will they struggle too? 

I watch the TV and see people's lives and stories unfold. People who have found love again, a new happiness, and I am pleased for them. For me there will only be you, the love we had can never be repeated, and I know that no one would be able to match up to you, I'm far too picky. 

You will always have my heart.

Good Cheer Pixie

Glitter

As I begin another week of lockdown, I find myself being sucked down the plughole of grief. The anniversary of Tall's death in May is already dragging me back. The lockdown has left me feeling very alone. I know there are other people cut off from family and friends, front-line workers who have made a conscious decision to move out of their homes so that they don't make their family ill should they become infected, I know there are people who like me will never see their loved ones again, people who cannot even give their loved ones a proper funeral, but although my head tells me to be sympathetic, my heart is breaking for Tall. Having never been in this situation before I don't know if what I am experiencing is "normal", whether next year will be the same. My world is full of reminders of "this time last year". The seeds germinating, my granddaughter's birthday tomorrow, the garden springing to life, they are all reminding me of "this time last year" and I know that May will probably be full of tears. 

I have tried to occupy myself. I take Toni for a walk every morning, but the days then seem to drag. There is so much housework I could be doing, and yet I simply cannot motivate myself to do it. The only thing I have done is make my granddaughter a card and a cake. Last year Tall bought her a cuddly unicorn, her wanted to give her one last present. She probably won't remember where it came from in the years to come, but I will know and I will always remember. 

 If my granddaughter had her way it would be covered in glitter, personally I hate the stuff. 

"Grief is like glitter. You can throw a handful of glitter into the air, but when you try to clean it up. you'll never get it all. Even long after the event, you will still find some, tucked into corners, it will always be there..... somewhere."

A surprising week.

A week has passed since my last post and things feel a little more normal. The sun has been shining allowing me to spend time in the garden. I haven't been able to get hold of my normal seeds and so I improvised with using seeds from a tomato I had bought, seeds from a capsicum I was using for cooking and some seeds that I saved last year from a butternut squash. The tomatoes and squash have both produced seedlings in less than a week and I am patiently hoping the capsicum won't disappoint. I hope all those panic buyers are as green fingered. 

 The time in the garden helps my mood and I think myself extremely lucky that I have a space in the fresh air, surrounded by nature, when there are people in lock down in flats, unable to get out. I still can't get my head around many of the jobs that need doing, jobs which should have been done last year that now feel like mountains, jobs that only this year have become obvious. I still miss the second opinion and second pair of eyes. The current situation means I can't even get my own family over to help. 
 

   

Tall seems to be back with me. How do I know? Well, I have a spooky tale to tell. Two days ago I changed the bedding. After Tall died I bought new bed sets, a fresh look that didn't mean I expected to see him every time I walked into the room. The following day I woke to find a blood stain on the pillowcase on Tall's side of the bed. I checked myself from head to toe, no signs of injury on me. I checked the dog, she was clear too. The blood had just appeared, it wasn't there when I put the pillowcase on and it wasn't there when I went to sleep. There's only one explanation........

Home is where the heart is.

As you would expect ruby slippers are very expensive, but despite that, I decided the UK was where I needed to be. Unfortunately my journey wasn't quite as quick as Dorothy's, but I made it back home eventually. The stress of the situation in the UK was clearly on the minds of the people who I saw at the regulation 2m distance after I had landed. They all seemed stressed and bad-tempered, not a smile amongst them. The weather in Manchester was grey, matching the mood around me and I looked forward to just being home. 

It wasn't how I expected it to be. A wave of disappointment washed over me as I sat and had a cuppa, things just didn't feel right. I put it down to jet lag, or simple tiredness. I hoped that the next day the world would seem brighter, even if I could only view it from my window for the next fourteen days. The following day the feeling was still there, a sense that something just wasn't right. Now at this point you might all think I have gone crazy, but it feels like I left Tall in Australia. I wish I could express what I mean better, I just sense that there is a hole in my world, a great big hole that wasn't there when I left. 

When I arrived in Australia it was night and so it wasn't until the next day that I saw the front garden. As I helped get the shopping out of the car I spotted a plant below L.'s office window. I commented on it and she told me she had planted it a few years ago, but it had not grown back before this year, when it had reappeared and flowered again. Tears started rolling down my face and I hurried inside. The plant? A simple snapdragon, Tall loved them, they were in his funeral flowers. Tall had been there before me and I fear I have left him behind.

 

Safely arrived - check.

I'm a day late, but I am happy to report I arrived safely. The journey from Birmingham to Dubai was very pleasant and I watched both Last Christmas and Yesterday during the eight hour flight. I was lucky enough to have a row of three seats to myself and so I was able to lie down and snooze. I didn't fall into a deep sleep, but the power naps seemed to help the time pass quickly.

The journey from Dubai however wasn't quite so pleasant. It all started very badly when I realised too late that I had lost Tall's watch. I had had it made smaller so I could wear it so was wearing it when I came to security. I was told to take it off and put it in the tray, which I did and then in the rush created by the person on security I thought I had picked it up and put it in my back pack. It was only later that I realised I hadn't. As Tall would have said, there's no point crying over spilt milk, so I have taken it on the chin, but it is strange not having the weight around my wrist.

That was followed by a flight that was delayed by practically the last person on the plane who almost instantly informed the steward he had left his jacket in the airport. Ground staff were called, but no jacket was evident, he spoke to them himself and then after that he went back to his seat, grabbed his bag and left the plane. This caused the staff to have to do a security check, all the overhead lockers had to be checked in case he had left a bomb behind. It took so long that the man had time to get his jacket and return to the flight! Personally I would have been tempted to shut the doors and refuse him boarding. 

The long thirteen hours flight wasn't nice, not helped by the fact I had a seat on the last row before the galley. The constant chatter from two particular members of the crew could be heard over the sound from the film I was trying to watch, spoiling it. The space behind my seat was used for the second half of the journey as a place for people to stretch their legs, something I did myself so I do understand, but their chatter became annoying. The person in front had their seat reclined from the moment the take off was completed until we came to land, I had to eat at a very strange angle, his seat angled over the tray. The final straw was the fact that as the last seat I was constantly ignored by staff, their eyes on the prize of getting back to the galley I was left without drinks and with my food tray uncollected. In the end I had to go to the galley and ask for drinks and return my own rubbish. I just hope the flight back is less eventful!

Tomorrow I'm off to the Gold Coast, and I will fill you all in on my adventures when I get back. I'll leave you all with a photograph of Freddo's Australian cousin, though he is here too.