Tony Song

Tony Song. Tony Song.

Finally getting to meet

I loved the sound of that tuneful name.

It appeared everywhere on the Cancer Research cancerchat forum when I visited for the first time at the beginning of 2010.

I stumbled across the site whilst sitting at home with my baldy head, on the sick from work. At first, I didn't contribute at all. I just read a few of the posts, looked at a few of the replies and clicked through the various headings. 'Symptoms, Testing and Diagnosis...' 'Coping with Cancer....'

I never clicked on 'Dying with Cancer,' though.  I was too afraid to look in that room. The door stayed firmly shut.

It became clear to me very quickly that cancer chat was quite a remarkable place. It was an anonymous place where people would post questions, write about their worries and their fears. It was a place where people could discuss cancer issues without worrying their family, with friendly strangers who did have an idea how they were feeling - offering genuine words of comfort and plenty of decent advice.

Tony Song. Tony Song. There were plenty of other regulars, but he was everywhere. He seemed to be the 'meeter and greeter' of cancer chat.

His replies were warm, welcoming, sometimes humourous and always reassuring. He wrote beautifully and honestly - somehow turning his words into something very tangible and real. I imagined many of those he conversed with on cancer chat feeling like they'd received a much needed hug.

When I finally plucked up the courage to post on cancer chat, it didn't take long before the man himself said 'hi.' I think I'd mentioned somewhere how 'blogging' had helped me cope with my cancer journey. He posted enthusiastically claiming that he too had a blog. We swapped links...and that was it, we became blogging buddies.

Before long, we were joined by 3 other bloggers from the cancer chat site. Dizzie (Carole) , Harryeleri (Rose) and Cybershot (David). We all still contributed to the cancer chat forum (myself less so) but together, we formed a wonderful but sadly brief, collective friendship as the 'Blogger 5.'

Our blogs gave us the opportunity to offer each other a HUGE amount of support. And I like to think that for each of us, on our individual cancer journeys, this support meant the world. I know it did to me.

David, Rose, Carole and Tony. My cyber friends.

Over the coming months, cancer finally took these people away. First David, then Rose.

In January of this year, I travelled to London to visit Carole - meeting her for the 2nd time in 'real life.' This time, we were to be joined by Tony. Neither of us had met him in real life, but when he finally arrived after his epic car journey with a tray full of doughnuts, it was as if we'd known him forever.

Carole, Tony and me in Jan 2012

I will never forget that very special day. Chatting and laughing- like old friends.

But then cancer finally managed to take Carole in March....and now Tony this month.

The 'Dying with Cancer' door had to be opened by all 4 of my friends, and they all did this so bravely.
I am the only one remaining from our gang of 5. The Blogger 5.

I am healthy, I am fit and I am happy. I am also very grateful and thankful to be so.

I don't feel like I have 'lost' my friends. They are no longer here in person, but they are certainly with me in spirit, and I like to think of all 4 of them together somewhere, keeping an eye on me.

Tony Song. I still think of his name as this rather than his real name - Tony Songhurst. 'Don't forget to see if his name really is on the back of his head,' said my 8 year old before I set off for London that day to meet him for the first time.

Tony's profile pic on Facebook

I must admit, I did look. But it wasn't there, much to the 8 year old's disappointment.

Tony Song. Tony Song. His tuneful name may not really be shaved into the back of his head, but along with David's, Rose's and Carole's -  it is definitely etched into my heart, and will be forever.

Happy Easter!...unless you're a chocolate rabbit :-)

Don't worry, only one chocolate rabbit was harmed in this photo...:-))))

The Trench

A couple of months ago, the school asked the kids to write a poem for the Young Writers Travel Back in Rhyme competition. It had to be something to do with history.

This morning, the 11 year old got a letter through the post telling him that the poem that he had written had been selected for publication in the Tyne & Wear's 'Travel Back in Rhyme' poetry book! It is scheduled for publication on 30th June 2012. His school gets a free copy.

When I read his poem originally, I remember thinking, 'bloody hell, that's pretty good!' and it even brought a tear to my eye. I am just incredibly proud of my young writer!

Here's the poem -

The Trench


I am cold and exhausted,
I see a flood of tears trickling down courageous faces,
Blood pours out of freezing hands,
The command is given, and hell is released.
Cold-blooded bodies shiver as we charge forward towards our fate.
They yell instructions as we go forward step by step.
I can hear the rattling of guns
And the odd cry of an old friend falling to his death.
I fall and feel the squelchy, sticky mud
Squeezing through my fingertips.
I gaze down and see a pool of crimson,
The boom of the guns fades,
I close my eyes and see my mother,
I smile with relief as darkness, peace and sleep finally come.

Farewell dear friend

The warm sunshine filtered through the forest's trees, and when we looked up, the sky was a brilliant deep blue. We sat in the courtyard, warming our faces, enjoying the peace and listening to the birds. Only the occasional roar of an aeroplane overhead gave any clue that we were on the outskirts of London.

We had set off from Corbridge at 5.30am. It was still dark as my dad got himself comfortable in the back of my car. He'd wanted to come down with me to keep me company. :-) The weather forecast was great. Another beautiful day ahead.

We soon ate the miles up on the A1 - and stopped at Peterborough for a bacon sarnie, a coffee and a rest. Only one hour to Epping Forest - our destination for the day to say a final farewell to my dear friend Carole.

We arrived very early at the forest, but some others were there too - also enjoying the sunshine and the peaceful surroundings.

After some time, and with more friends gathered, the black car drove slowly into the courtyard followed by Carole's close family. We followed them in to the ceremonial hall - a beautiful, modern hexhagonal timber structure - filled with light and with a window to the sky at the peak. This was in no way a religious service, but sitting there in that lovely space, you couldn't help feel 'something.'

The hall was full with Carole's friends and family, but gazing up at the 'window to the sky' I knew that there were also hundreds of others with us in that room from all over the world. People that Carole had never even met, but people who Carole had helped through her blog and her contact on the Cancer Research Forum. Everyone she'd touched was packed into that room.

The service was led by a lovely man - quietly spoken and gentle. He said some comforting words and we listened to music that Carole and her family had chosen.

And then, Carole's eldest son, James, came to the front. He spoke about his mum and shared some wonderful childhood memories that had the audience laughing one minute then reaching for hankies the next. It can be such a cliche sometimes to say 'Your mum would have been so proud of you,' but I can honestly say that had James been my son I would have completely burst with pride. What an amazing son you have Carole :-)

After the service, we followed the procession into the woodland. Our feet crucnched over last year's oak leaves and a carpet of pine cones. Djamel had chosen his mum's final resting place, and what a perfect spot! He explained to me afterwards why he had chosen that place above the others. A great deal of thought and consideration had clearly gone into his decision, and, once again, I know Carole would be beaming with pride for her youngest son.

We all walked back to the hall for tea and coffee afterwards. A chance to relax, dry our eyes and chat. I finally got to meet Rab...(though I felt I already knew him!) and some other members of Carole's family. I also met Louise - an old friend of Carole who often commented on the blog. It was so nice to meet her in 'real life.':-)

And so, it was soon time to leave. I hugged a few people, said goodbye, and strolled off back to the car with my dad.

Last time I came down to London to see Carole in January, I remember feeling fairly bewildered as I left. A feeling of 'how the hell did I get here?' I thought about the twists and turns in life that lead you into places that you would never imagine arriving in. Why was I there in Clapham that day? 'Because of cancer, that's why,' I concluded...

Carole - After I left Epping Forest, I didn't feel that bewilderment any more. I didn't ask myself why and how I was standing in a forest in London. I didn't have to. I was there not because of cancer. I was there because of our friendship. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be standing there amongst all your lovely family and friends. Cancer put you and I in the same place at the same time...but our friendship grew far bigger than the cancer ever did or could.

Here's one of the poems read at Carole's farewell. Its perfect -

After Glow
I’d like the memory of me
to be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an after glow
of smiles when life is done,
I’d like to leave an echo
whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing
times and bright and
summer days.
I’d like the tears of those who
grieve, to dry before the sun,
Of happy memories that I leave
When life is done.

~Helen Lowrie Marshall

Sleep well, dear friend :-)

My friend Carole

'Friendship is the golden thread that ties the heart of all the world.' -- John Evelyn

Joining the Cancer Research Chat Forum wasn't something that I thought I would ever do in a million years.

But back in 2010, whilst sitting at home 'on the sick' with a baldy head, I read through some of the posts on there and I decided to register.

I observed at first. Sat on the sidelines and read about people's fears, anxieties, worries. There were sad stories but there were also some happy ones. I made sure I steered well clear of the topic 'dying with cancer,' as I didn't want to frighten myself too much back then.

What soon became clear after a few days of observing, was that a handful of people on the forum popped up all the time - answering questions, offering advice, sympathy, words of comfort to anyone who needed reassurance or just someone to talk to. They were ordinary people - not doctors, nurses or counsellors - just people who had been touched by cancer in some shape or form and wanted to help others. Most of these people were undergoing treatment for cancer themselves. The forum seemed to be a good place to go for help, and a good place to lend a hand or a listening ear.

I chipped in myself when I thought I might be able to help out, and I also threw in the odd question for debate - like 'Why are there so many bloody leaflets about cancer in cancer hospitals...'

Over the months, I became 'cyber friends' with a couple of people on there. We all had cyber names. Harryeleri (Rose), cybershot (David), Tonysong (Tony) and Dizzie (Carole)

We all had blogs, and we all supported each other by reading each others blog posts and leaving comments. We had never met in 'real life' but we learned so much about each other through the blogs, and we affectionately named ourselves the 'Blogger 5.'

I guess that the problem with meeting people on a cancer forum is.....well, cancer.

The 'Blogger 5' lost Rose and David to cancer last year.

As a result, Tony, Carole and I vowed to meet up in 'real life.' At this stage I had finished treatment and was back to work - meanwhile Carole and Tony were still struggling with their cancer treatment. Endless scans, waiting for results, treatment, worries...

In the summer hols last year, I finally got to meet Carole in London. We had the most wonderful day. And it felt like we had been friends forever. We shared stories and had lots of laughs. Our boys became friends, and I came away that day feeling so glad that I had met Carole, so glad to have her friendship, but also so bewildered with the twists and turns of life that lead to these moments in time...

In January this year, I met Carole again - this time with Tony for the first time. It was a magical day where we also got to meet some of Carole's family. We shared chicken and chips and sticky doughnuts. We chatted, laughed and hugged.

After that day in January, Carole soon became very poorly, had to go to hospital, and then finally the hospice - close to her home.

Last night, I heard from Carole's sister, Sarah that Carole had passed away. Peacefully, pain-free and surrounded by the love of her wonderful family. She fought her cancer so bravely and showed such strength and determination. She was a small lady, with the heart of a lion.

Carole helped hundreds of people around the world on the Cancer Research Forum and on her own blog 'What a Pain in the Bum,' which attracted followers from every corner of the globe.

I have lost a very special friend. Along with many others, I will miss her very, very much.

A French Fish Tale

The fish looked up at me with a wide, goggly eye.

It stretched right across the plate with its tail flopping limply over the edge. I stared back at it, my mouth hanging open in horror as I studied its glistening scales and its crusty little fins.

A slice of lemon shone like a sun over its lifeless body, and the smell of garlic, herbs and...fish, hit my nostrils for the first time.

'Voila,' said Janik, beaming with pleasure.

She smiled, waiting for me to gush with joy about the culinary delight that lay before me.

But it was breakfast time. I'd only ever had cornflakes at breakfast. With cold milk and a sprinkling of sugar.  I had woken up that morning thinking that I would enjoy a change - fresh croissants, warm baguette, butter and jam...but here was a fish. A whole one. Oh. My. God.

I laughed. Quite a high pitched, nervous little laugh. My mind was searching frantically for the right words.

She clapped her hands. 'Voila - Andre attrapé ce poisson hier. J'ai fait cuire juste pour vous,' she beamed, breaking the awkward silence that hung around the room along with the smell of my breakfast.

I considered the idea of eating just the lemon and leaving the fish, but thought that might look bad. So I came up with a plan.

'I....don't.....usually....eat.....anything for breakfast,' I managed to say. It was the best I could do. The only fish I'd ever eaten before was in the shape of fingers - no choky bones and coated in golden breadcrumbs with chips. I'd never seen a whole fish on a plate before. I didn't think it was possible.

But this was France. I was only 14, and I had just stayed the night with Janik and Andre, the owners of a campsite in Les Arcs in the south. They were our friends and we visited every summer - a three day epic drive from Newcastle in dad's Citroen 2CV.

He had thought it would 'do me good' to experience a taste of proper french life. I cursed him in my head as I gazed at the fish, and imagined him chortling with laughter over his breakfast of croissants, baguette and red wine.

Janik's disappointed face was unbearable. Andre's prize catch had been prepared specially for the awkward, skinny little English guest. She looked at me - hurt and crestfallen.

I begged her in my head to take the ghastly creature away. I knew it was incredibly rude. I felt dreadful. Anglo Franco relations destroyed in an instant by a 14 year old girl over fish for breakfast.

Silently, Janik removed the plate. 'Voulez-vous du pain?' she asked kindly.

I desperately wanted du pain. Bread. With butter. And jam. But I had said that I didn't eat anything at breakfast. If I suddenly said 'ooh yes please,' it would have looked really bad. So I stuck to my story...'Oh no thank you. I just can't eat anything at breakfast time...'

I starved for the rest of the morning, and counted the minutes to when my dad would come to rescue me.

Unsurprisingly, and thankfully, I was never asked back...but whenever I see a fish, I think of that morning in the South of France, and have a damned good laugh - just as my dad did, and still does every time we recall my embarrassing French Fish Tale....

I Just LOVE India

I'm awake early and everyone else is fast asleep...a good chance to catch up with the blog...

'I just LOVE India,' said the 7 year old yesterday, as she got dressed to go out for another plate of shark tikka. Her new ankle chain jangled like sleigh bells, and I smiled as she admired the henna tattoo on her hand for the 40 millionth time. 9 little bangles on her wrist, a bindi dot on her forehead, a lovely necklace and that beautiful dress from Panaji market...'an Indian Princess,' the man at the restaurant had said, kissing her hand.

Its wonderful how both the kids have 'settled in' to the heat, the hustle, the noise, and the smells (not all nice!)

The Ashram. Spot the little white boy!

One of the little lads from the Ashram. He was trying to make one of those spinning toys

We have an Ashram over the wall of our apartment where a load of boys live with one lovely, cheerful lady. We think its some kind of orphanage. Every morning - early - we hear them all getting ready to go off to school. Chattering, laughing, teasing. They're all back in the early afternoon to do jobs and to get showered under one outside tap. They shout for the 10 year old each day at 4pm - 'Tom! Tom! You come now!' He climbs over the wall, ducks under the washing line that groans under the weight of their drying clothes, and they all play - football and cricket. One of the older boys took Tom inside yesterday and showed him round. They have a telly, and they sleep in a dormitory. The lad showed Tom his artwork, and he was very impressed. There never seems to be any trouble there. They live a simple existance, have very little possessions, and yet have the biggest, beaming smiles.

It is Saturday today. When everyone is up and ready, we're planning to catch the bus to the ferry and sail across to Panaji again. Our mission? Haircuts for the scarecrow boys. Last year, they both had a haircut there in an amazing little sidestreet 'hair saloon.' We ALL ended up having Indian head massages. Eddie and I also had our faces covered in a green cream which left our skin feeling lovely and soft. It was a brilliant experience, so we're off to see if we can find the same place again...

I just LOVE India! :-)

Indiahhhhhh (not Windermere!!)

Panaji market. A people watching paradise, and a glorious feast of colour.

When John the posty handed me the visas it was like the weight of the entire Indian High Commission building lifting off my shoulders. We were going. The holiday was on.

And we are here. Visas in our hands, no puking on the plane, no snow...

We're back in the same place as last year. It is hot, the skies are blue and there is the unmistakable smell of India in the air. Spices, incense, woodsmoke.

Since we got here, Eddie has slept a million hours. Whilst the mesh doors keep the mozzies out, all his stresses and worries are escaping as he sleeps. This is what a holiday does to him - especially a holiday in India. He is becoming soooo much more relaxed.

So we aint done an awful lot up to now. Whilst Eddie has given it big Zeds, me and the kids have had a whole swimming pool to ourselves. T has made friends with a gang of lads from an Ashram (which we think is an orphanage) over the wall of the apartment, and has been playing footy and cricket in the shade of the tall green trees.

In the late afternoons, as the heat from the sun subsides, we either make our way down to the beach or the football field and join in the many games of football and cricket with all the local lads we met out here last year. T has been so pleased to find them all again. And L has enjoyed showing off her new Corbridge United footy skills.

We have eaten well. Toast, bananas, and spicy snacks through the day, and big Indian feasts at night in the many lovely restaurants.

Today, we ventured out to Panaji market, drank in the wonderful colours and watched the hustle and bustle in this amazing little place. T even tried his hand at a bit of bargaining with a banana lady. She thought he was lush (but didn't let him get away with a bargain!)

He tried again later with a tuk tuk man....'how much to Candolim?' he asked, '250 rupees' came the reply.
'Yeh that's fine,' he said without hesitation. Eddie cringed. 'Why didn't you say 200?' 'Because 250 is a fair price,' said the 10 year old confidently. (He'd also chosen the old geezer which meant that he must have been a good driver as he was still alive - so I was happy!)

More adventures beckon - Anjuna, Mapusa, elephants, crocodiles...but for now I'm signing out. Hot and sweaty, but completely chilled...:-)

Liza Goes to Windermere

I've discovered that the best thing to do for me in a waiting room is to write. It takes my mind off things, it keeps me busy and I love writing so much that even after a long wait I tut when they finally call my name - especially if I was in the middle of a sentence.
It was my 6 monthly check at the oncology department today. I went, armed with writing materials...

It's deathly quiet.

The posters on the walls are the same as they were 2 years ago - 'catch it, bin it, kill it.'

The leaflets are the same - 'are you worried about cancer...' 'Cancer, the facts...'

The faces are different, but the expressions are the same. Tired, pale, worried.

The doctors come out and shout (and I mean SHOUT the names of their patients.) Last time I was here, the nice Indian doctor whispered my name. It took 3 goes before I heard him. Maybe its my fault that they all now SHOUT.

I've just noticed some colour. Some artwork on the wall - greens, yellows, blues. A bit of sunshine to brighten the gloom.

I can't believe it's two years. Sometimes we say 'God - it only feels like 5 minutes ago since...' But with this, it feels like a lifetime ago. Like it never even happened.

There's conversation now. A few more people have arrived, and there's some chat - but mostly there's silence - exchanged glances, sympathetic smiles, sighs.

One of the male nurses comes out. He looks as scary as hell. He's a tall, thin baldy fella with a permanent frown that frightens you to death. He's always here. I've just seen him laugh for the first time. He's sitting with a patient and cheering her up. Looks can be deceiving. He looks so nice when he laughs.

I wonder if I'll see the 'main man' today, or one of his little helpers. The Indian guy was lovely. He smelt of spices and I had wanted to ask him all about India. If I see him again this time, then maybe I will.

There's an old dad just come out with his wife and daughter. The wife is biting the inside of her cheek, trying to look brave. The daughter has been crying.

Come on, call my name now.

The room is filling up now. Mostly oldies. A sea of white heads with a couple of baldy ones covered with brightly coloured hats. I seem to be the only young'un.

2 wifies have struck up a conversation. They're sitting miles apart and talking so loudly that everyone else is looking up and listening. They're comparing notes on treatment, hair loss, hair dyes, lymph nodes, lumps...

30 minutes late now. Come on, shout my name.

A doctor yells, 'Margaret somethingorother.' She leaps off her seat - more from the fright of hearing her name said so loudly. Everyone has been called Margaret today. Seriously - she was the 4th Margaret. Amazing.

A male nurse comes out and shouts 'Liza Scott,' as in Liza Doolittle, as in 'Liza that rhymes with Tizer.' I actually laugh out loud because it sounds so funny. He looks at me strangely, saying 'this way Liza.' I chuckle again, and don't correct him. I like being Liza here. It makes it even more unreal - like I'm just acting in a play.

I get to see the main man. The man with the big bushy beard and the white hair. I think briefly that he should have a sign on the door saying 'Mr B's grotto.'

I'm in for 5 minutes. He does his inspection, has a little chat and I tell him I'm going to India on Friday.

'Ooh,' he replies, 'I think there's snow forecast there next week.'

'Eh?' I say, 'Snow in Goa?'

He laughs. 'Ohhhhh, India!' he exclaims, 'I thought you said Windermere!'

We both laugh. He tells me I'm fine, have a great time, and he'll see me in another 6 months.

I book my appointment for June, thank the receptionist very much, buy a little Charlie Cancer Bear in the shop, then get the hell out of there.

Happy Christmas everyone :-)

Liza and her family - soon to be enjoying the 30 degree sunshine of Windiamere

Live from the Freeman

A little while back I wrote about the awful experience I had at my local cancer hospital. It's a brand new place - clean, bright, airy - but I hated the fact that I was surrounded by posters and leaflets about cancer. My point being, I KNEW why I was there, and I didn't want to be constantly reminded about why I was there. I didn't want to know that while I was being treated for breast cancer there were loads of other cancers I could have too...

I had a little cry that day in the waiting room.

Anyway, today - here I am, writing this LIVE from the same hospital. I'm here with my mum while she has some routine scan done for her back fractures. We've been here since 11.15 and we're due to leave at 2.30pm

Got to admit, we weren't looking forward to spending half the day in the hospital, but....wow! What a pleasant time we've had! The coffee was excellent in the cafe, and we had a delicious (and cheap!) lunch in the hospital's restaurant - fish and chips for mum, curry for me (in the hope that it will make the india visas come quicker). We even spent money in the cancer shop - (I bought a woolly hat) and now, here I am with Internet access too - I'm able to write and publish a blog whilst she gets her scan done!

AND thanks to the efficiency of the staff etc, I will be home in time to collect the littl'un off the school bus!

Marvellous. And so much different from that awful day when all I could see was the word 'cancer' staring at me from every wall and every leaflet rack.

And yet, it's all exactly the same here as it was that horrid day...so something else must have changed...I think it must be me. :)



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:The Freeman hospital, Newcastle.

Capturing the Moment

We've invested in a spanking new camera and lens because I am obsessed with capturing moments in time.

Every weekend has the same activities in it - gymnastics, football, rugby, bacon and egg sarnies at the tea room...

...but despite the fact that the activities are the same, each weekend has slightly different moments of time in it which I try and capture with the lens, and yet enjoy in 'real life' too.

Here are some of my moments from this weekend...

I was crouching down at the corner flag hoping to get a good photo, when this lad on the 10 year old's team broke free and started charging towards me! He scored a great try. Its ALMOST a great shot, but not quite as I didn't manage to get the try-scorer in focus...but still pretty chuffed with it!

The 10 year old has the ball...

And still has the ball!...just!

Looking mean!

Meanwhile, here's the littlun in action from this weekend.

A Weekend in Pictures

I saw something on the telly that said that everyone in the world had to make a video of their day on 12th November, upload it to youtube, and then someone was going to compile it into a film - a sort of day in the life of the world...

Well, I didn't do that.

Instead I've been snapping away with my new camera as I ALWAYS do. Trying to capture moments in time. Moments in time of my family's life - not particularly 'special' occasions, just 'moments,' that are uniquely special to me, and to my family.

Here's a couple of shots to share with you from my weekend...

The 7 year old went to a remembrance service at the local church with her school. The parents were invited along,  and during the 2 minutes silence outside, the village, for once, fell completely silent. Even the traffic stopped.

Friday night is gymnastics night, and the 7 year old is training hard for her trip to France in  January.

Team talk. Saturday morning.

The Big Game

A stint in goal

Hot. Sweaty. Tired. Happy.

Post match analysis in the tea room. Bacon sarnie, glass of milk - perfect.

Sunday morning is rugby. Need some persil!

And yet MORE gymnastics!

FINALLY a chance to do some homework

And some final touches to the visas for India

The Night Mount Tarawera Erupted

The noise was unbelievable.

A room full of every nationality on the planet - all lined up in sleeping bags on the floor of a little hut in New Zealand...and I had managed to lie next to the snorer.

Me and my pal, Peta were on our travels. It was 1991. New Zealand was our first stop and we were doing one of the country's most beautiful 3 day walks - along with a load of other young travellers.

Pete and me - hitch-hiking around New Zealand.

We were tired. Our feet were nacking, our legs were aching, we were fairly hungry and cold, but most of all we wanted to sleep.

But we couldn't. The big German guy next to me was on his back creating a noise that was so loud I thought it was Mount Tarawera erupting.

'I can't sleep, Pete,' I whispered. 'Can you hear that guy next to me?'

'Of course I can bloody hear him. I wish he'd shut up. Give him a nudge.'

I was horrified at the thought of giving a complete stranger a shove in the middle of the night whilst he slept. I lay and watched him for a while instead. It was pitch black, but some of the other young explorers were using torches and candles to read, so I could just make out the profile of my snoring tormentor.

He was big. He was hairy. And I guessed that he'd be smelly too. His mouth was wide open and his head was back. With each intake of breath, he emitted a noise like a pneumatic drill, before breathing out like a drone of bagpipes.

I willed him to stop. I wanted the snoring to end. As I lay there in the darkness I even thought that if it meant that he suddenly stopped breathing altogether, at least the snoring would stop. I would be happier lying next to a dead man than a snoring man. These were the weird thoughts that went through my head as my tired eyes watched him snuffle, snort and roar.

Minutes later, urged by Pete, I plucked up the courage and leaned across to push him gently on the shoulder. I quickly wrapped myself back up in my sleeping bag so that he didn't think it had been me.

There was absolutely no reaction from the loud, grizzly German bear-man.

'Do it again - harder!' said Pete, trying not to laugh.

I shoved him a little harder this time, and for a nano-second he stopped snoring....but then started up again, like a lawnmower.

'Again!' Pete hissed from the comfort and safety of her sleeping bag.

Another shove, harder this time. No effect.

'Pleeease make him stop!' wailed Pete.

It was then that I'm not exactly sure what came over me - sleep deprivation, yes - helping a friend in need, yes - survival instincts, most certainly...

...Under my head was a pillow case stuffed with my clothes. T-shirts, jumpers, jeans, socks...a 'do it yerself' pillow. I sat up, and held one end of the stuffed pillow case in my right hand. Then, just as the snoring man breathed in on one of his pneumatic volcanic eruptions, I whacked him. Hard. On his face with the home-made pillow, now an effective anti-snoring weapon.

Without delay, I quickly buried myself in my sleeping bag. I was innocent. It wasn't me. I pretended to be asleep, watching the big German guy in the darkness - sitting up, rubbing his head, looking around.

The snoring had stopped. Hallelulia!

I closed my eyes and smiled...savoring the silence that I had created. Then...

....WHACK!

My moment of peace was over. The big, hairy, noisy, (and probably smelly) German guy had taken revenge. He had whacked me in return - hard on my head with his own home-made pillow case weapon. He muttered something German-ish, that sounded like 'do that again and I'll kill you,' before settling himself down again, on his back...

As I lay there, rubbing my head, slightly bemused, all I could hear now from Pete's sleeping bag next to me was the sound of laughing.

In our nice cagouls

My journal - describing 'that' night in the little New Zealand hut in 1991 :-)

Half Term Highlights

We've survived another October half term. Lots of sport, lots of lie-ins, and cheap trips out...all captured by my new camera - an early Christmas present and late birthday present from my lovely hubby. Here's some of the highlights...

A one day rugby course with the Falcons. Can't believe how grown  up my little lad looks!

Enjoying the Autumn colours at Belsay

Looking through a window at Belsay Castle

Cycling

Getting beat at footy...

...But we did score 2! (Note the hairstyle of the oppositions's defender!)

And Spook Night in Hexham...and yes, that IS a stuffed hush puppy dog in the man's arms behind the kids!

All in all, another busy, but nice week had by all :)

Seize the Day

'Seize every day as an adventure and your spirit will soar when you discover the wonderful surprises life has to offer.'


Its tricky these days to 'seize' each day by the scruff of the neck and make it into one big adventure. Sometimes, there's just too much washing to to do, cooking, tidying...


Yesterday, however, without making any effort whatsoever, my spirit soared sooooo high, and it was all thanks to my 7 year old.


'Do you want to do a rugby coaching day tomorrow with your brother?' I asked her on Monday. She's never played rugby in her life and she's never even watched a game on the telly.


She considered the question for half a second, and without even asking 'Will any of my friends be there?' or 'Will I be the only girl?'  she said - 'Yeh, ok.'


When we arrived at the rugby place the next day, there were 93 boys and my 7 year old girl. The only person she knew was her brother, but he had abandoned her as soon as we'd got there. Great big lads lumbered around like bears, alongside squeaky, excitable, skinny-legged, 6 year old man-cubs.


I hung around and watched as the smaller boys chased each other around the tables and chairs. I asked the 7 year old if she was okay. I expected her to reply with, 'Did I say yes to this? Sorry, I meant no.' But she didn't. She nodded, smiled and took in the scene thoughtfully. She quietly took her footy boots out of her bag. I tied the laces for her, and the coaches gathered everyone together for a briefing about the day. Relieved, I noticed another little girl in the group. They gave each other a little smile. My 7 year old looked so tiny against all the others, but she happily followed them outside with her new friend to the training pitch giving me a little wave before disappearing out of the door.


I fretted and fidgeted at home for the rest of the morning, until finally heading off an hour early to catch the end of the coaching day. I hoped to God she would be alright.

When I pulled up alongside the pitch I caught sight of a little blond child, caked from head to toe in mud and clarts. She was shouting 'pass, pass!' A stocky little lad chucked her the ball, she caught it before running like the wind to score a try. She tackled, she kicked, she passed and she ran. She even got felled to the ground a few times...always getting back to her feet and always with the biggest smile in the world across her face....


'Seize every day as an adventure and your spirit will soar when you discover the wonderful surprises life has to offer.'


It can be so difficult to seize the day as a grown up. Adventures? What adventures? We are always holding and juggling so many things in our hands at the same time that we just can't manage 'adventures' as well. Surely not!


But after watching this little bundle of happiness in action today - seizing her day, surprising herself and simply loving life, I realised that nowadays I don't have to go too far to experience the wonderful surprises life has to offer. They are often right in front of my eyes....

Pockets Full of Sand

With the 10 year old away all day at a friends party, and the 7 year old rested from this week's football action, I decided to take advantage of the fine weather and take her up the coast to Bamburgh for the day.

I chucked the buckets and spades in the boot and threw in a couple of chocolate tea cakes. We had all we needed for a day on the beach.

When you arrive in Bamburgh, the castle is the first thing that you notice - you can't miss it! - It dominates the little village from the top of its perch on the Whin Sill outcrop. Tomlinson, in his 'Guide to Northumberland' describes it beautifully -

 "A more impregnable stronghold could not be imagined, for rugged strength and barbaric grandeur it is the king of Northumbrian castles."


We parked up, and set off on the short walk across the dunes to find the beach.


The 7 year old bounced off ahead and scrambled to the top of the last dune. 'It's here!' she grinned waving madly from the top.


I caught her up at last, and finally clapped eyes on her view. No matter how many times I have visited Bamburgh, this view always takes my breath away.  

As always, the beach was fairly deserted. The tide was right out so we could explore the rock pools, and rummage through the other treasures that the beach always provides.

Rockpools full of treasure!

Winkles!

The beach was all ours for the day

Thats me on the left, and the 7 year old on the right :-)

Thats the 7 year old on the left and me (needing a haircut) on the right

When we felt a bit peckish, we set off to find something to eat in the village. We stopped off at the loos in the carpark, and I had a little chuckle when the 7 year old didn't know which door to go in.
'Mum!' she exclaimed, 'Its either gents or laddies!'

The loo for laddies

A quick ice cream...

...and then a lovely stroll back along the beach...

...with a few cartwheels hoyed in...
...before collapsing back into the car for home.

 Our lungs were inflated with fresh air and we had a bucket brimming with shells. Later that evening, I also discovered that I'd brought half of the beach back home too - in my pockets and turnups - (thanks to all the 'dune races' we'd had!)

Happy days at Bamburgh Beach

A wonderful, wonderful, happy day.