All the Halloween fuss and bother of the last few days transported me back to a previous life in which I was a nurse.  In 1976 I was at a hospital much in need of repair to the fabric of the buildings.  So, what possible relevance can that simple fact have to the story, you’d be forgiven for asking?  Between the ground and lower ground floors was a narrow staircase, accessed through a windowless door and which had about 30 steps, bound on each side by solid walls.  At the bottom, there was another solid door before moving into what was essentially the basement.  The staircase was lit by one electric lightbulb.  It wasn’t a pleasant few moments descending into the bowels of the building.  On this lower level was housed the mortuary.

 With a mortuary comes a mortician.  The hospital mortician was an eccentric looking person who quite put the wind up me.  Now, I freely admit this might be caused by association because I am phobic about such matters.  This man sensed my discomfort and homed in on me whenever he could.  Late one night, I had to enter the hospital’s underbelly to visit another department housed down there.  I opened the door and began my descent, emotionally on ‘red alert’.  Horror seized me as a hand slipped over mine from behind and a voice whispered in my ear “Are you coming to see me”?  Moving silently and undetected, the mortician had slipped in through the door without my knowledge and crept up behind me.  Every cell in my body screamed in alarm as I swung around to find myself almost colliding with a cruelly laughing face.  I shot down the remaining stairs and ran to my destination.  I could still hear laughter following me.

Some weeks later, in the Sister’s office for early morning handover, I sat awaiting an update and my instructions for the day.  My heart literally jumped in my chest and I felt I’d been kicked in the stomach when HE walked in.  He never came to the wards unless to collect someone who’d moved on to higher things.   All the ward curtains would be drawn to shield patients from seeing the departure.  I thought it was probably worse imagining what was going on from behind closed curtains, than seeing the reality.  But, as a lowly student, who was I to question time-served procedures?  Everyone was present and correct and enjoying breakfast, so why was he here?  Apparently, he needed someone to help him for the day.  NO, not me, I repeatedly said to myself.  I was gripped by unadulterated terror at 7.45am on a Thursday morning.  As if reading my mind, HE swung around and pointed directly at me, saying: “I’ll take her”.   My protestations were loud and heartfelt.  He was amused, Sister wasn’t.  I couldn’t move.  I wouldn’t move.  I knew I looked foolish.  It didn’t matter.  I wasn’t going with him.  No punishment could be worse than assisting the grinning mortician.

After what seemed an age, the Ward Sister took pity on me but I knew I had some explaining to do.   Oh, I explained alright, about being stalked down the stairs and about the way he laughed every time he saw me.  I know it was just fun to him, or some perverse pleasure, but it was deeply damaging to me.  He couldn’t understand my fear and enjoyed pursuing me.  I was 20 and he in his 50s.

When I met a friend’s husband who was scared witless by a feather, I knew exactly how he must have felt . . .

My life has been interesting, exciting and sometimes devastating but never in all the experiences I’ve shared around the globe have I ever been involved in fang trimming, until now.  Oh yes, FangsRus is up an running.  Personally, I have no direct link to a coven – oh, that’s witches, isn’t it? – but can now honestly add ‘vampire’s assistant’ to my CV.  Scary, huh?  Thankfully, I don’t have dentures either but realise vampires have similar problems with retention!  How so?  Well, it’s Haloween and vampires are out and about.  Not quite the same with a missing fang, is it?  The fangs featured in this picture are the very fangs to which I refer.   Google comes up trumps again.  So life-like.  OK, so I haven’t seen a real set but these are just as I imagine they would be.  The fang kit contains dental impression material to ensure the correct fit.  Leaving one in a vol au vent would be a tad embarrassing or worse, choking on it and suffering a real Halloween horror could be terminal.   Arriving at the home of my oldest (in time served and not years) friend on Saturday, I was immersed in a selection of wigs, eyelashes, frogs and the aforementioned fangs as party preparations reached a crescendo, pausing only to do justice to the delicious cheese board!

Now, I should say the trying-on of vampire stuff was interspersed with wedding outfits for next weekend.  I’m not allowing my mind to wander towards the mayhem which might ensue, should the very different sets of apparel become intermingled amid the laughter and hysteria which accompanied the trying on of same.

Three wigs had been ordered but the ’Goth Bride’ gave the best look, all black and purple, long and curly.  This friend whom I’ve known for decades began to transform before my very eyes, assuming the vampire act rather too comfortably, I thought!  Sadly, even had I been going to the party, I had a serious problem.  All the wigs were too small and I ended up looking like a stupid woman with a small wig on her head.  Note to self:  In the next 12 months, research how to insert gusset into Halloween wig.

You may feel that reference to the leaving of a tooth – fang or otherwise – in a vol au vent is just a little ridiculous.  So might I before I went into the offices of a major company on a normal working day to find my boss, who shall remain anonymous for reasons of potential ridicule, locked away in his pen.  That’s what they called the partitioned bits in the open plan office where the top brass were held during working hours.  He seemed particularly uncommunicative, grunting in an unfamiliar way as I cheerily spoke to him.  Had he suffered an early and sudden onset of  ‘second childhood’?  He’d been fine when I left him last night and he was heading for an in-house party.  Grunting like a teenager, I voiced my concern that he was incoherent and suggested perhaps he should sit down.  He did.  Slowly, the awful truth revealed itself as this senior executive began to speak.

As the alcohol flowed, so did the nibbles and a forceful bite into a vol au vent had resulted in the depositing of a tooth in the contents of the pastry case.  Realising a problem with the upper dentition, there was much rummaging amongst the egg filling until missing tooth was located, reclaimed and secreted in jacket pocket – ugh.

Never one to hang around nor ever short of a way to fix things, he’d staggered into his pen, located the super glue and glued his tooth back into it’s socket.  One problem.  Sadly, it was back-to-front and firmly wedged. Being only a weekend husband (as had been all his married life of 30 years), there was nobody to assist on the domestic front.    

Having once been a nurse and used to dealing with the quietly hysterical, I guided said executive out of the building, speaking for him as necessary and drove him to the nearest dentist.  Surgery full.  I know how to pull strings when I have to and in no time, the tooth was being pulled too.  The crown to restore that twinkly smile was very costly in both money and time.  Perhaps super glue should be added to this list of things to be removed from the inebriated, in addition to sharp objects and shoes?

From that day forward he was putty in my hands which, I’m sure, was a real pleasure after the damage inflicted by the glue in his.

At 15.48hrs this afternoon, Daughter flew in from Liverpool.  Not actually flew, of course, but arrived in a flurry having jumped in car following end of last lecture at 13.00hrs.  She had it timed down to the last second, having loaded bags in car this morning, and bag of Walkers Cheese and Onion as evidenced by empty bag on passenger seat.  She only went back 8 days ago and has managed a weekend with a mate in Sheffield in that time.  Lovely to see her.  Husband descends ladder from where he’s been administering first aid to aging guttering or something.  Job commenced two years ago and, after 24 months, wasn’t in any mood to stop him moving the project forward so just going with the flow on that one.  Should add he hadn’t been up the ladder all that time, having taken a 23 month break.  Now he’s making a career out of filling a few gaps; it’s taken hours of dedicated fiddling.  I believe it to be an avoidance technique – avoidance of tasks required by my good self INSIDE the homestead.  Release torpedo through front door, aka Alfred, who’s like a coiled spring  having recognised the sound of the car.  I follow at a more sedate pace.  Go round to driver’s door and look in.  Horror.  What’s she done?  Calm yourself, my dear, I think.

Now, with the greatest respect to all who enjoy wearing facial ironwork, D has never shown any fondness for it.  My eyes are drawn to the appendage at the top of the left ear which is fully displayed as hair secured behind same.  A hoop is clearly visible at about 2 o’clock.  D registers look on my face – nope, not saying anything.  She’s a big girl now, if she want’s hoops, stars and whatever else is readily available for stapling to her anatomy, I won’t make a fuss.  Asked if I like it – to lie or not to lie, that is the question.  Decide a cautious response best.  Then, the little minx announces she was just joking and it’s removable!  Just thought she’d get me going, she said.  Asked if I had palpitations.  Deny physiological symptoms of any kind.

There seems to be an age thing going on here.  D tells me she wore it to Uni this morning and peeps were saying it was so cool and where could they get it done.  Sheep, or what?  Apparently, they were gutted upon discovering it was all a joke.  This joke ironwork can be attached to nostrils, eyebrows and other places that I’m too much of a lady to speak of.  Said she did it to see what reaction it provoked.  Excuse me, Miss, aren’t they working you hard enough in those lectures?

Actually, some lectures have been cancelled so there’s nothing until Thursday moring.  She’s a black belt in Taekwon Do and has a grading for her 2nd Dan very soon, so decided to whizz home to train at her old club for a couple of sessions before driving back on Wednesday night.  Admire her energy and determination to succeed.

For all my worrying and fretting, have to acknowledge D looks really well and is blossoming.  Feel a flush of relief and a greater one of pride in this young lady.  Uni suits her and she’s happy, which is what it’s all about, is it not?

Oh yes, she came bearing a gift.  Anyone who knows me is familiar with my passion for cheese.  A huge stall selling cheese was erected smack in the middle of the Uni.  Why?  Seems nobody knows.  I’m now the proud owner of a goodly sized wedge of something blue and it ain’t Stilton so identification will be a pleasure later on.  Better open the wine and augment with a few savoury biccies as I relax and indulge.  Oh Thoughtful, Generous One, thanks for thinking of me amid phoney piercings and student stuff.

By the way, did you know that onions affect a dog’s haemoglobin levels causing the spleen to destroy the abnormal red cells?  No, neither did I until half an hour ago.  Am I to become a vet by osmosis, do you think?

Must dash, the cheese platter calleth me.

Now the last hot flush of Summer has cooled and normal service has been resumed on the weather front, I see through my window on the world that Autumn has arrived, heralding change.  No, not the end of Summer but rather the preparation for all things new – the clearing out and planning stage.  Yes, the roses have faded and dropped but the berriers are growing, promising nourishment for creatures without the comfort of central heating and chocolate.

A few weeks ago, as the sun reached a crescendo, it felt my life was mimicing it’s trajectory.  All was well and stepping stones to the future were being laid – I thought.  I don’t recall the artist but the words of a song have been playing in my mind all day: “Change is all around me, it’s everywhere I go . . .”

But the Future’s not ready yet.  I have to be patient and know that what I thought was the final plan, the  garden in full bloom, was just good to ponder and enjoy.  The planning’s still under way, meandering in avenues I haven’t considered.  I know this is true.

You know, I’ve always believed I’m a good judge of character.  No, more than that, I know I am.  So caught up was I in the top show of the blooms, I missed the infestation and scarring on the underside of the leaves.  But I wasn’t looking for flaws, simply at what presented to me.

Listening to Mrs Mason as I assisted in her Year 2 class (light years ago now), I delighted in her positive twist on everything.  One girl, having only come second in the maths test, was hysterical.  One can only assume parental expectation on her was crushing.  Mrs Mason explained that there was no such thing as a mistake, only an opportunity for learning.  Such is my present situation.

As the leaves of change flutter all around, a leaf from a most unexpected tree landed on my desk this  morning.  Yes, planning is definitely under way and the future will be ready very soon.

What was the first thought to enter your mind as you read that single word, trust, which is short in length but huge in meaning?  Did memories of secure, uplifting relationships spring to mind or was it the anger of betrayal which still has a place, smouldering quietly in your psyche?

The precious trust of babies, children and animals shows in the way their eyes shine, gently informing they are believers in all that is good; may they forever remain untouched by disappointment.

And what of trust that the Universe has our backs, that all is for a reason, absurd though that may currently seem?  A different level and type of trust, maybe, but one which gathers momentum and importance for me as time rushes by volante.

It was this trust which created a vortex within, compelling me to take action and rush to Bimini in the Bahamas during my time away from you.  The wonder of the experience changed my default settings forever.   You may be a little confused and I understand.  What on earth am I waffling about?

In August 2010 an opportunity to swim with wild dolphins presented.  Problem 1: Departure date was just three weeks away.  Problem 2: Cash.  I felt a compulsion to go, I really did.  Justified it by telling myself it would be fantastic for Daughter (who has a passion for marine mammals) and Son (who loves adventure).  Having commited to going with every fibre of my being, the organisers whom I knew contacted me saying I only had to pay the minimum to cover outlay and the rest could follow as and when as they knew it would be a big stretch.  Dear, abundant Universe, never have you let me down.

With departure just 21 days away, travel arrangements were problematic.  It was August and transatlantic flights were pretty much chocca.  The lady at Dial-a-Flight managed to find us seats to Dallas, Texas (which was going back on ourselves but, heck, I would have walked there).  From there we’d have to fly to Fort Lauderdale and then on to Bimini.  Guess what?  The dear and abundant Universe had arranged for just three seats to be remaining on the flight to Bimini, which was a propeller engined little affair.  Even Lisa, with all her experience of travel arrangements, was dumbfounded that exactly the right number of seats remained.  All this confirmed my inner belief that it was essential we went.

Far more challenging I thought would be locating fins and snorkel equipment in landlocked Gloucestershire.  Bimini is totally off the tourist map so it’s difficult to buy a postcard there, let alone fins!  Guess what?  Teenagers and I rushed into our limited Debenhams to find 3 sets available, in the sale, in the right sizes.  How?  Returned from another store, can you believe?  Didn’t even know they’d have such a thing.  Every now and again during this frentic pre-departure period the sensible self kicked in, asking what the hell I thought I was doing?  A couple of years ago, perhaps I would have caved in at this point but not now.

Fast forward behond our journey (eventful, as you might expect), to Bimini.  As our propellers whirred, carrying us over the beautiful island with the deepest blue seas and whitest sand I’ve seen, I couldn’t believe we were about to land.  It was a tiny airport.  We were soon through and onto the waterboat to take us to the southern part of the island.  I could write a book on this so, to spare you, fast forward to Day Two when we went 12 miles out to sea to await the arrival of these beautiful, wild creatures.  The anticipation was almost choking me.  I hadn’t swum in the deep ocean for over 30 years.  Anxiety underpinned the excitement; what if I couldn’t haul myself on to the back of the boat?  No matter, all would be well, I trusted all would be well.

The overwhelming beauty of the experience for me would be that these wonderfully intelligent creatures, if they came, would have chosen to come to us, to swim and interact with us, to trust they would not be harmed.  What a special gift.  Their next meal didn’t depend on performing for a crowd.  They are God’s creatures, physically and spiritually free.  Then the call came, a pod was approaching.  Scramble, scramble …

Rushing to the back of the small boat (which had a lookout tower) and in a state of excited panic, we tried to don aforementioned deep sea equipment.  Why won’t they go on as easily as they did when tried on in the bedroom?  Admittedly, I may have appeared just a little foolish in flippers and snorkel while clothed in my pink patterned jamas.  I thought I had a certain dignity, actually.  It felt a  bit like a dream when so hard to do something and it just isn’t happening as quickly as you’d like.  Deep breaths, calm yourself, try again.  A quick glance around showed everyone else in kit and ready to leap into the unknown.  FINALLY, that second flipper went on.

We jumped into the water which was so coolingly welcome after the burning sun.  Within less than a minute, spotted dolphins were swimming and spinning around us, diving with us as we went under water, coming so close they were looking us in the eye.  And then, a magic exploded all around.  Sound.  It hadn’t occured to me that we’d hear their chatter.  Sonic sounds and calls echoed through the water.  I was in such a happy and spiritual place, words cannot describe it.  Then a moment of total and absolute trust was offered to me as a priceless gift.  One of the dolphins had a baby swimming with her.  Now, I was at the surface but looking down through my mask, just floating in a delicious moment of union, when it happened.  The mother looked and me from the depths for what seemed like ages but was probably just a second, and brought her baby up to me, swimming past me with the baby on my side.  It was as though she knew me, knew who I was, was somehow blended energetically with me and, above all, trusted me with her most precious gift, her young.  I knew now why I was so compelled to go on this trip, when all the odds were against it.

Son was swimming down deep into the dark blue and, Joe, the leader videod him spinning down and then up, with the dolphin exactly copying his movements.  Daughter was in ecstacy, too, I knew.  After two very serious upsets in the year, healing was taking place before my very eyes.

Trust.  Yes, this trip was all about trust.  Trust in myself that the intuition I felt to go was right, trust in the Universe to provide the means, trust that physically I could manage and, above all else maybe, being trusted by such beautiful, intelligent and spiritual creatures that we meant no harm.  Actually, they didn’t have to trust, they knew.

Do we know so much more at a deeper level than we’re willing to admit?  Can we set aside cerebral doubt and trust our innate knowing?  Why don’t we?

PS – During the trip the organisers thanked me for going and taking my Teenagers because it made the trip viable and the other 8 fellow swimmers weren’t deprived of this life enhancing experience.  Little did I know that I was receiving a nudge from somewhere to follow my intuition, trusting all was well, and in so doing ensuring this meeting of energies in the deep took place.  I remain utterly grateful for all that is.

Apart from everything else, I admit I've been fretting.  Daughter has gone to Liverpool Uni.  Drove her up on 18th September, collected her key and located her room, expecting one of the modern study bedrooms we'd seen at other campuses.  It felt like a stake through the heart.  Looked at Daughter's face.  She unwillingly released a tear which struggled to a chin that was almost on the floor.  I smiled brightly, thinking I'd covered my shock but it didn't quite reach the eyes.  A breeze block wall painted

cream, a sink with hair in it and hair dye around it, an old single wooden wardrobe with a burn mark on the front and the desk.  I say 'desk' but it was actually a formica topped chipboard affair with black metal legs.  Such creative pieces generally redeem themselves, marginally, by having decorative beading around the edge.  It was missing.  Looks like it should be in a garage for jobs like mixing paint.  The blue woollen curtain hung depressingly from the curtain track, having parted company with the header tape.  Such decay at such an important new beginning.  Long story short, while D was out of the room, made bed, put stuff in strategic gloom-hiding places and hoped it looked like the Hilton!  Mental note to self: Investigate accommodation change asap. 

Next day, rang accommodation office to be told students are on camp beds in sports halls and sharing three to a room.  No requests for changes being taken until 31 Oct.  Make point that given lack of space, spare rooms unlikely.  Never known a year like it, apparently.  David Cameron, you reading this – fee increase from next year??

Inform D of progress.  Imagine her isolated (everyone else on her course is miles away on another campus), loney and despressed.  I have been over-texting, I know.  D says she doesn't want to move as she can't cope with another change.  WHAT?  I have it in hand.  Feel I'm at my persuasive best while extolling the benefits of moving.  I sense she's not receiving me, over.  Switched off.  I'm on a mission to move D to halls elsewhere.  Why won't she see it's for the best?  Try to back off while mentally dealing with mission-critical planning.

Being as supportive as humanly possible.  D stuns with the comment: "I thought you were going to let me go?"  Er, yes, haven't I?  Stubbornly yet steadfastly STILL refusing to move.  Says she's bought posters to brighten up (pock-marked, in my opinion) walls.  Why?  I'm working on a solution, I told you.  Report same to Husband.  He says I should let her make the decision and that I'm like Churchill moving pieces on a table in the War Room!  Am I?  Really?  Suddenly realise all this is actually about me.  The image isn't comfortable.  Decide I could risk relaxing a bit and seeing how things develop.

Fast forward to yesterday.  D coming home for weekend after morning lectures.  Offer to collect as trains unreliable and several changes needed.  Receive call en route from a happy sounding lass checking whether I've left yet.  Of course, of course, bringing you home, I think but don't say.  Arrived dead on time at 1.45pm.  Ring announcing arrival as can't enter gated compound.  Daughter appears, happy, animated and looking surprisingly well.  Talks about various friends and how absolutely everyone independently decided to go home this weekend.  We leave in search of luncheon venue.  Find Frankie and Benny's.  Stunned that she looks so well and happy.  Delighted all seems good.  Has texts from new friend wishing her a great weekend and saying she'll see her on Monday.  Why wasn't I made aware of these developments while I fretted and planned?

Now, I'd stocked up on washing powder and made sure the machine was good to go.  At dinner, she announces she has no washing, having done it all, including towels and bedding, in the week.

Blimey, how on earth is she managing without me?  Quite obviously, I hadn't thought it possible.  Must dash, off to dismantle the War Room . . .

I can hardly believe twenty months have passed since I last told you I was back and shared the joy of romance at the bus stop – not mine, you may recall – but I bathed in the beauty of the moment for a while afterwards nonetheless. 

Here I am again and, I PROMISE, I'll demonstrate rather more staying power and stamina this time.  Well, that's not strictly true since I've actually been steeped in stamina for some time now as so much has happened to the Teenagers and The Mutleys since we last spoke.  Would you like a nosey into the good, the bad and the ugly in my life since the love-in at the bus shelter?  Here goes . . .

You may recall I wrote about the Mutleys, our two working cocker (no they don't, but it's the breed name) spaniels, Susie and her son Alfred (renamed 'Alibear' by Daughter as he's warm, brown, furry and loving)?  Susie, my darling, faithful, devoted and loving lass, left us on 30th July 2010.  The date is forever with me as it was a day of such emotional extremes.  You see, it was also the wedding of my god-daughter.  We were due to leave for the wedding at 1.45 on that Friday afternoon.  The vet rang at 12.55 to say Sue was struggling.  I knew she was ill the evening before and cancelled going out  with a friend to be with her.  My 4am friend (you know, those you know you can rely on at any hour), said she'd come round to me and, as we hadn't eaten, would cook something for us.  It was comforting to be sharing the anxiety with someone. She went home and I sat with my girl all night, trying to give her water, placing my hands lightly on her tummy in the hope that I could give her healing, pain relieving energy.  My presence calmed her; we'd been through a lot together.  Sue once sat upstairs for 3 days when I broke my leg and was non-weight bearing, refusing to leave me except for a quick rush down and into the garden to do the necessary.

I'd taken her to the vet on the morning of the wedding, expecting a quick once over, a couple of injections, a week's tablets and we'd be home for Elevenses.  Michael wanted to keep her in for tests.  OK, I said, as he carried my beloved Sue into the treatment room.  She looked back at me and I said "Don't worry, I'll be back at lunchtime for you", having told the vet we were going to a wedding.  That was the last time I saw her alive. 

The vet wanted to do an exploratory operation and said that if it was bad news, it would be kinder not to bring her round.  I was in my posh frock and gearing up for the wedding but was now sweating, screaming internally and feeling I'd betrayed my truest friend.  I heard a controlled voice reply from somewhere as panic and pain filled my soul.  He was going to ring back before 1.30pm with the news.  I said OK in a grown up way and put the phone down.  I didn't know how to share the news but, somehow, the words formed in my mind.  Daughter immediately said she wanted to see Sue before she was given the anaesthetic.  I should say, not only was this about possibly losing her dog but also not being able to say goodbye.  You see, tragedy had struck just months before when her best friend found things just too much and, without any warning and without saying goodbye, had taken her own life.

By now the adrenalin was pumping and I lunged for the phone to ring the vet; I was rather athletic actually, given the restrictions of the best frock.  I hurriedly told the nurse to ask the vet to wait – we were rushing down to see Sue.  Poor nurse was shocked and almost in need of oxygen herself, I felt.  She dropped the phone and rushed into the vet.  He hadn't told me our girl was already on the table when he rang, although not sedated at this point.  It was too late.  Sue was already unconscious and it was only about 4 minutes since his call. 

Each second seemed like a minute as we awaited the news.  It came at 1.25pm.  It was dreadful.  It was necrotising pancreatitis.  Extremely painful.  Recovery doubtful.  Quality of life and prognosis awful.  For those (probably most) readers who haven't encountered this torture, the pancreatic secretions begin to destroy the tissue of the pancreas instead of passing through to aid digestion, etc.  I had to find the strength to set Sue free.  Love her enough to let her go.  To bring her round would be cruel and yet I yearned to keep her with me.  There was no decision to make really.  Michael said it was the right decision.  I felt as though I was dislocated from my emotions.  It hurt too much.  Adrenalin rushed around my body.  And we had to get to the wedding, we just had to. 

Daughter was in meltdown and just physically couldn't manage a wedding.  We left the house 15 minutes later.  Husband and son were just about holding it together and we managed to arrive at the beautiful, sun-bathed little church just after the bride and her father had joined the bridesmaids.  How stunning she looked.  Just a touch under 6' tall, willowy, blonde and tanned in a dress that couldn't have been more perfect.  I managed a quick and quiet aside to my oldest friend and mother-of-the-bride, explaining we'd be slipping away to collect Daughter and go to say goodbye to Susie between the ceremony and reception (which, thankfully, was a decent drive away).   

We smiled through the ceremony for it was a very moving occasion to see this young couple married.  My soul was touched for the second time in an hour but in such a different way.  My mind flashed back to the day the bride was born and I had rushed to the hospital to greet this little scrap, pretty even at the 'just unpacked' stage.  We'd been asked to reserve this day a year previously to make sure we could be there.  I couldn't let her down.  The last time I'd been in this church was for the bride's christening, 24 years ago.

The sun shone generously as the guests poured into the churchyard, chattering excitedly.  We were spotted by people we hadn't seen for years.  Smalltalk wasn't on my agenda but I've often been told I should be on the stage and that afternoon, I proved it.  RADA? I didn't need training.  I'm a natural at hiding my feelings.  I smiled for England for 20 minutes, chatted animatedly enquiring after distant rellies and then we quietly slipped away, telling the bride's parents we'd be at the reception on time.

Son was shocked that one day could bring such happiness and such despair, in equal measures, in the space of just a couple of hours.  Welcome to Life, young man.  He looked very manly in his new suit. 

Daughter was waiting as we approached the house at speed.  To the onlooker it must have seemed like something from a gangland film, except for the posh frock and stuff.  Daughter rushed out and off we sped to the vets.  Thankfully, there was nobody else there.  Looking back, it would make a black sitcom.  In our wedding finery (daughter wasn't at this stage), we entered the treatment room to be reunited with our girl, dread and longing intermingled.  She lay on a fleece, looking happy, calm and pain-free and was covered with a warm dark blue blanket with beige paw prints on it.  She looked cosy and snuggled in.  I thought I'd probably wake up in a minute or hoped she might.  I stroked the soft, soft fur and we all spoke to her.  Sleep tight, my very special girl.  Even now, over a year later, tears of yearning spill as I recall the moment.

You see, I can't explain it, but when we looked into each other's eyes, it was as though our souls communicated.  We knew each other on every level.  We shared something special and precious.

Happy to have been able to say goodbye, Daughter felt she could go to the reception so we screeched home again, rushed in and Daughter changed into her finery.  But Alf had lost his mother and was going to and from the door, searching for her, which cut me to the core.  She'd been with him every day for five years.  Still washed his face every night.  At that point, he didn't know who 'Alfie' was, he was Susie's son.  Never mind us, how was he going to cope? 

Arrival at the reception was timed perfectly, the guests were mingling in the beautiful hotel gardens.  The hotel was done out as a beach theme, as the Groom had proposed on the beach.  Names were painted on flat stones, instead of place cards.  It was inspired and inspirational.  Being on a table with some of the Groom's family, we chatted and sparkled, smiling and jovial.  Good job nobody looked into our eyes.  But this was my god-daughter's special day and our tragedy mustn't be allowed to seep into it, staining the moment and colouring memories.  It didn't.  We enjoyed it.  It was a beautifully happy wedding.  The couple are still blissfully content. 

Life has moved on since 30th July 2010 but Susie still lives with us.  She's in our hearts and in the way Alf cocks his head when he's listening.  A psychic asked me if there was a little rug on the landing outside my bedroom door.  I said there is.  I've never been strong enough to move it.  "Your dog still sleeps on there", she said.  She described a smallish black dog who is devoted to me.  Did you notice that?  Who IS not was devoted to me.  I know you're still with me, Sue. 

It took 6 long months, but Alfie's adjusted to life as a 'man'.  You see, he had to grow up.  On the first few visits to the park after Sue left, he didn't even know where to wee because he always followed Mum.  Now, he's master of all he surveys.  He loves long walks and confidently goes off exploring.  And yet, he now does much of the 'mum' stuff, he's even started washing the cats.  They just love it – two licks and they're done.  Heck, why keep a dog and wash yourself?  

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Hey, I know I've been away for a while but I'm back now with something truly heartwarming to share with you. 

Early yesterday morning I was taking daughter to school (she STILL hasn't put in for her test, even though instructor says she's peaked and now developing the bad habits of the newly passed!) when we stopped at a T- junction.  On the opposite side of the road was a grass verge and hedge and, set slightly stage right, was a dirty glass bus shelter.  Nothing new there then, you may have decided.  What happened next will take your breath away, as it did daughter and I .  .  .

Sheltering from the cutting wind and early morning cold was an elderly couple (OK, very elderly), both dressed in winter coats, she bespectacled and sporting a red hat.  Must say at this point I don't believe my dear Dad's theory about ladies who wear red hats (red hat, no draws!) applies in this case.  Suspect Nora Battyesque undergear.  I digress. 

As we waited a moment or two to pull out, the gentleman (in a full length navy coat) came out of the shelter so he could see through the end of it and drew a heart in the dusty coating on the glass.  Daughter and I just looked at each other in amazement, both feeling a little glow of happiness and gratitude that we'd shared this special silver moment.  The Love for whom this act of romance was intended beamed from within the shelter and, I suspect, from within her very soul . . . and then we were on our way and out of view.  How wonderful that this couple's love was still alive, playful and spontaneous.

I was thinking about this all day, on and off, it really warmed me to the core. 

This morning we repeated the journey and, although the shelter was no longer a stage for a couple still very much in love, the evidence remained.  Paying particular attention as we passed, I noticed initals had been added and I wondered how old this young-at-heart couple were the very first time they serenaded each other, via a symbol of love in the grime of the bus shelter or otherwise?

Did they have a family who, through the years, just thought of Mum and Dad as 'there', without thought to THEIR lives, shared in togetherness before the family came along and reunited in romance with the fledglings long since flown.  Would they even comprehend their father being able to act with such romantic abandon?  Or perhaps they were childhood sweethearts; soul mates, who journeying through the years bound by laughter and dreams, still delighting in the magic of each other's company.  Maybe they had met later in life, each having shared many years with their own families, finding each other when left alone during their silver years and cherishing each other as they travelled through their Autumn.

So, why did this have such an impact upon me, I wondered?  I realised that age is no barrier to living in the moment.  This couple had probably been doing just that long before it became a fashionable uttering.  Rushing around doing everyday 'stuff' can be the biggest thief of spontaneity, fun and life-enhancing laughter.

Is it a contradiction in terms to plan to do at least one spontaneous thing each day?  Answers on a postcard, please . . . or leave a comment telling me what you think? 

  Finally, today, just three days before Daughter's return, came news from the African plains.  Postal anticipation finally rewarded.  She's been gone since 7th July.  A strange feeling overwhelmed me as the coach left for Heathrow, loaded with young people full of anticipation and excitement which, in most cases, I suspected masked a certain nervousness about the challenges ahead.  It felt like that first day at school.  There was a sense that they'd be changed in subtle ways by the experience; more mature and independent, embarking upon

the next phase of life.  There was such a stillness in her room, giving a taste of how it'll be next September when she departs for Uni.  I was surprised by the emotions which rose unbidden and disturbed me.  I knew she was glad to have my little gifts, just simple things, mostly edible, one wrapped for each day with a letter of encouragement planned for half way through the Great Walk.  By then I guessed fatigue, tiredness and a desperate need for a little solitude may have kicked in.  Daughter's not a herding beast, enjoying her own space.

So, what news from distant lands?  Well, the 100 mile expedition in 10 days, walking only in their group of four, unassisted and carrying all their food and belongings was successfully completed and how!  Apparently, the maps were so bad they walked 150 miles and hitchhiked a further 50!  Wondered if it was a case of 'bad workman and tools' but they are pretty nifty map readers, having had training expeditions in Snowdonia.  They saw nobody they knew for the 10 days but all came safely back.  The leaders must have felt like Brian Hanrahan on the Ark Royal, famously saying "I counted them out and I counted them in again".  When all were safely gathered in, they partied!  She tells me it's been great fun and I could tell she's having the time of her life.

Moving on after a couple of days R & R, they moved to Lake Victoria, pulling in some white water rafting on the way.  As I write, they're coming to the end of a safari in Kenya.  As a young child I went on safari and still remember the beauty of the African sunset.  How lucky to have such opportunities, truly food for the soul.  

Thoughts are now turning to Friday at 11am when travellers return, no doubt leaner, browner, happy and totally exhausted.  A new bed stands proudly in Daughter's bedroom, offering the promise of soft, comfortable slumber.  Am wondering whether she may be so used to roughing it that she'll throw the duvet down and sleep on the floor?  OK, not as harsh as the open road but still a little firm for my liking.  I'll let you know!

 While all that's been going on, I've also been spinning in the revolving door of teenage social life and laundry.  Son's been in and out, sleep overs, visits, a week in the trailer tent with Father, body boarding and windsurfing (more about that later).  Returned on Friday, saw long-lost friends the next day and then off on holiday to Devon for a week with a mate and his family.  Phew!  That's a very quick turn around on the washing!  Yep, he's certainly living life to the full.  Just hoping he puts as much effort into the GCSE preparation next year!

Back to the water pursuits.  Well, granted it was a little chilly, but when you're wet, you're wet, right?  So, armed with two full sized wind surfers, masts and sails (found in a skip by the way, but in pristine condition) and newly purchased body boards and wetsuits – avec matching shoes – they hit the beach.  Boys on tour and all that.  After much ado (seemingly about nothing), husband retired with hypothermia after 25 minutes.  He said he had hypothermia.  Probably something on the man flu scale.  Son left to ride the waves alone.  Soon linked up with fellow surfers and rode the curl, or whatever the hip terminology is.  Eventually, son notices non-reappearance of father and trails up the hill to the car.  Not a pretty sight.  Both seats back, almost lying in the recovery position, eating a packet of Cheese & Onion, with flapjacks on the seat ready to rectify the blood sugar level which (I am given to understand) was falling faster than lead through water.  Oh yes, this was certainly 'man hypothermia'; to thee and me, a slight chill!  Son distinctly unimpressed.  He could have been dead on the rocks.  And father missed the 30' ride through the wave which was probably the best manoeuvre ever carried out by any surfer, ever, so I'm told!  Believe me, I've lived hypothermia and peak performances on boards (various) since the return of the duo on Friday. 

Why wasn't I rip curling with the rest, you may be wondering?  Well, I've been well and truly hacked, twice.  Bought new laptop.  Having to redo my sites.  Decided to stay at home to catch up.  Didn't.  By the time I'd dodged the showers (unsuccessfully) with The Mutleys, dried out and taken tea, it was almost time to batten down the hatches for the night.  It was quiet, too quiet.  

Telling myself not to conduct a military style debrief when daughter alightes from coach.  She'll need time and space to adjust, I reckon.  After the wide open plains, the month spent with mates and the plethora of new experiences, the walls of our abode may seem just a little restictive.  Hope I can hold back.  Was told upon departure that I wasn't to cry at the coach.  Let's hope I maintain a modicum of decorum upon the return.  Can't promise anything . . .