Once upon a year ago....

It was this time last year my life did a 360.

What is quite enlightening is I thought I had it all. I was in a routine of cigarettes, cheap wine and early mornings. Empty nights would be filled with a visit to my local and as I have admitted before, there was a deep routed feeling of loneliness that I had learnt to subside. It was only when I met Ross that I let this feeling rear its head and I let him heal it. This proved to be the wisest move I have ever made and I'm so proud of myself for letting him in and I am eternally grateful for him doing the same.

I look around this flat, I close my eyes and I am transported back 12 months and I realise what we have created together. With no offence to Ross, before these walls was simply an abode. Somewhere to rest a weary head. It was a far cry from a home.

I've never built a home with someone else before and this time a year ago, I would never have put my name on the home building waiting list.

I've been on a long journey. A turbulent road with many cruel twists of fate. A year ago, I knew this journey was impending and like I do most of the time... I think to myself... 'I'll deal with that later' this time I thank the hands of time for forcing it upon me. The person I was a year ago, is someone I no longer recognise.

I miss what I had, I miss my dog, I miss my friends , I miss my family and I miss the fields in which I used to roam looking for answers.

At this time of year, I miss all of the above but I am also reminded of the day I learnt to love myself and for that reason Winter is my favourite season. This season holds many a memory but it also gives me warming glow.

Sometimes it's hard not to want to go back, but then I look at Ross. I look into his eyes and I realise how much I love him and how he has helped me so much on this journey. How could I go back and be without him? Be without his love and guidance. I can't.

Once upon a year ago... There was a lost little girl; she was so very lost and on a dark and winding road. She held out her hand in the hope it would be held. To her surprise, someone looked beyond the tired eyes and worn out shoes and held her hand. The little girl went on to learn some valuable lessons. She now lives in the castle of Penrith with her handsome prince and has only one dream...
That they live happily ever after. Come what may.


P.S For the person who knows who they are: I'm sorry he took my hand and not yours.

I wish I was a fish

Sometimes I think life is too complicated for its own good. People do say what doesn't break us will only make us stronger.

Have any of you ever reached this 'breaking point'? The point where you think... I simply can't carry on, carry on this path...

Would you like to hear my views on this..?

Trouble and upheaval is merely a tunnel in your life, similar to the Dartford tunnel... when you first enter this tunnel, it feels alien. Halfway down this tunnel you think to yourself 'Is this ever going to end'? Before you know it, you out in the sunlight.

A tunnel wouldn't be a tunnel if there wasn't an exit. If there wasn't light at the end.

So keep on keeping on.. Your light will appear soon enough.



A x

To lose a life....

I woke one morning and felt a deep and passionate love for my life. I had my house, a dog, a car, a career , prada shoes, gucci handbags, loyal friends, and a very active social life and as I sipped on my deliciously sweet tea, I felt content.

I didn't realize that something was missing and deep within myself I was yearning for it. I had covered this feeling over for many years and I would only let it out when I had fed it with a healthy dose of Pinot. I was missing love.

I was days away from marrying someone. Forcing myself to love my husband to be. Digging so deep to find something to love in him. For work reasons.. ( or at least thats how I phrased it) we didn't live together. After paying for the wedding We would of bought a house in the big smoke. We led so very different lives and not that I was ever unfaithful but I would often forget of his existence. How awful is that. I mean.. I am about to commit my whole life to this man and I shudder at the thought of spending the weekend with him. With a week to go before the big day, I called it off. That was it. He was gone.

I tumbled along with my life and I woke most mornings with a smile but there was still that emptiness. An emptiness I refused to acknowledge.

In my old job, they used twitter to communicate within teams. I had an account but it was strictly work soI decided to open a personal one. I had little followers and often used to tweet about all kinds of shite. By shite I mean utter shite... I would tweet each morning if I liked the tea my housemate had made me. It was like talking to yourself and it didn't matter if anyone heard. Perfect for my crazy world.

When I least expected it.. He appeared. On the mornings that my hangover was almost to much to bear... one eye would glaze over his time line and a small smile would creep across my face. I plucked up the courage one Sunday morning to reply to him. To my surprise, he replied back. I treasured that reply.

From the moment we made contact, my life started to change. Over a period of months I packed up my old life in boxes, sealed them shut and put them out on bin day.

Without thinking about it, I said adiós to one life and embarked on a new one. I went from having everything, to having fuck all. The confident girl that once strutted her stuff down oxford street in killer heels was now washing her clothes in the bath. It was when I was singing my heart out whilst washing my knickers it dawned on me. 'I don't have a bloody pot to piss in but bugger me am I happy' All because of one man. He was the missing piece.

I love everything about him, I love the way his eyes meet mine and lock together. I love the way his lips form perfect lines. I love the way he holds my hand and tells me everything will work out.

Some might say I have paid a high price for my man. I gave up everything to be with him and thought nothing of it.

Now, I would be telling fibs if I said I didn't miss my old life. I often can get forlorn at old memories, but then I look at him, I feel his soft skin against mine and those feelings of sadness slip far away.

I don't think he will ever know how thankful I am to him, he may never understand how he makes me weak by smiling and how he has taught me how to love.

In the words of my dearest friend.. 'you may have lost a life my girl, but you have been taught life's most valuable lesson - How to love oneself and how to be loved'

I hope everyone, however old or young gets to learn this precious lesson.



Ciao for now


A x

Past Times..

After joining the FaceBook game many years after it was fashionable, I am shocked at what I joined.

I just typed in my old school, and up came a list of old school 'friends' and as i sipped my coffee I browsed recent status updates and was shocked to read that if they aren't all getting off their faces and taking ridiculous pictures of themselves to post on 'the wall'... they were having kids.

Since when did... 'I'm going to be a mummy' become a fashionable status update. Most of the profile pictures were of them draping themselves round some randoms neck whilst he/she looks on rather bemused.

The more I clicked on the next button, the further my jaw dropped. I am old fashioned and and have very firm views on how to bring children into this world. My friend Claire is my ideal role model. She found a man, She fell in love, they had a few years of un- adulterated fun, they studied, they married, they bought a house, they partied AND then they bore the most beautiful child my eyes have ever seen. when you walk into Claire's house, you feel content.

Whilst I understand that this route is not every ones cup of tea and it is not always possible to do the above, I feel we should try.

I often have to remind myself that life is to short, and making sure the bed is made and the dishes are done is not important but making sure that I invite my child into this world is a choice and one that comes easy to me. I thought my closest school friends would have shared my views and maybe just maybe enjoyed being an adult and enjoy the simple things. Getting hammered is fun... but every weekend whilst you shove a tenner to some adolescent to watch your kids?!

Am I being a snob?



Rant over. As you were.



A x

Welcome...

So, here I am I have succumbed to the world of blogging. I've spent many a sleepless night contemplating what I would write should I ever get myself a blog and as I sit here sipping luke warm coffee, I cannot for the life of me think what I should be writing in this here blog. I have written in a professional compactly for a period of years and find it slightly amusing that I'm scraping my soul for words to embed here.

It often used to make me chuckle when friends of mine would respond to a simple 'How are you' question with the phrase 'I'm going through a bad patch’. I would smile sweetly and say...'well it won’t last forever, keep your chin up' and I would move quickly off the subject of their turmoil. That was until now.

Since the 18th of January my life has been turned upside down. The roots to this are planted a few weeks before when I made the rash decision that I had enough of getting a regular wage and commuting to London , so in one phone call I expressed my concern to my boss and he advised that if I should wish to resign, then he would need it in writing. With an air of positivity I typed out my resignation and put my best foot forward. I totally blame the old romantic in me for this little moment of madness as it was made with the intention to move closer to the prince charming I had just discovered. The very same night that I had pressed the send button, my prince charming returned home to tell me he had just been made redundant. It was at this point we fastened our seat belts and exposed our white knuckles as we knew we had just hopped on board a wild roller coaster, We were also unaware of the twists and turns that lay ahead.

I had to return south to tie up loose ends work wise and to face a few demons that were eagerly awaiting my return to reality.

As I loaded my car I had an odd feeling. The feeling that something major was wrong, but I could not put my finger on what it was. This feeling encased my gut and at times prevented my concentration from being on the road ahead. I loaded a mix CD that had been made for my journey and began to belt out Roxette at the top of my voice. If anything it was to mask this feeling that was railroading me. When returning home from being north I always used to go via Uttoxeter as it was quicker than going through the centre of Birmingham. This journey was different. I didn't want to be at home and the longer I was on the road the better. Fate decided to take this thought to extremes. As I passed my usual exit on the M6 at 80mph ping went my cambelt. My foot pressed firmly on the accelerator to clarify the shout of 'oh fuck' To make matters worse, I was in the fast lane and the hard shoulder seemed to be a million miles away. I took a brief look over my left shoulder and quick glance forward, then I closed my eyes and pulled the steering wheel to the left, towards the direction of the hard shoulder. The judder on crossing the road markings gave me the nod to open my eyes. I rummaged in my glove box as I briefly remember putting a small card with the bold writing 'Breakdown cover information' some where safe within my car and like a little ray of light there was indeed a crumpled coffee stained card with three lovely words in bold on the front.

I waited two hours for a pick up truck to arrive. I was told to take myself to the top of the bank and wait there. It was -4c and I had ballet pumps on my feet. I was not going to be waiting on any bank. I defiantly opened the passenger side door and smoked a cigarette. I then remembered I had a blanket in my boot. Without delay I wrapped myself up in said blanket and proceeded to sing 'What shall we do with the drunken sailor' at the top of my voice. After receiving further advice from my twitter followers, namely @sinkingducks I proceeded to do the 'cockney moon walk' and as if by magic (well 15 cigarettes and a bottle of Lucozade later) the pick up truck arrived. He confirmed my worst fear, my car was dead. It was at this point that for a spilt second I was going back into the safe arms of my prince charming and even discussed such activities with the driver, but my good old faithful friend reality tugged my ear and reminded me that I really should be going home. I reluctantly clambered into the pick up truck and we proceeded with my journey 'home.'

It was only when I got home and opened post, I realised that this was merely the incline on this evil roller-coaster.

In my next instalment I shall include tales of psychopathic best friend and my gay next door neighbour and it gets much worse! Stay tuned.

Ciao for now

A x