Apparently I DO miss the Army!

Steve and I aren't given to disagreement, in fact we pretty much sing from the same hymn sheet all the time but the other evening we got into a minor squabble. It was my fault really, I was tired, the office politics had been running riot all day and if I am truthful - I picked a fight with a sitting duck.

Steve has a HUGE life, he always has had. He's immensely dynamic and there are always dozens of balls in the air. Between the Army and his current job as CEO of a large charity he is always travelling and that's what I chose to pick the fight about. I should seriously hang my head in shame. For a start, I LOATHE travelling. If I could gather everyone I love into a square mile, I swear I'd never leave it. Secondly I completely understand why he has to travel so much, and thirdly I am immensely proud of what he does - what made me decide to tell him that his being away amounted to neglect of me (utter tosh, he's a devoted husband and he's hardly abandoning me - I have a job, family and friends nearby) defeats me - however I did - and what emerged from the brief exchange which followed was surprising.

In an effort to justify and defend himself he said ' If I haven't given you enough attention and time, you might take into account that my whole world changed 18 months ago. I spent 33 years in the Army and all of a sudden I have had to establish myself in a big new career, buy a house, move and learn how to operate in a civvy world' to which I replied 'well I left the Army too remember!'...and there it was. It was the first time in 18 months that we had looked back and the subsequent discussion was truly revealing. He has adjusted better than I have and I had no idea that I had any adjustment to make. Here's what it transpires I miss:

• The camaraderie with other wives. Sure I have a full time career and I was never a coffee morning kinda gal but there was always someone around, of a similar age with whom I had something in common.
• The status. I am being very honest here. My husband was the big cheese. He's still the big cheese but amongst civilians whom I barely know. I am ashamed to say that I liked the status that came with being the Colonel's Lady.
• I miss the dressing up. Him in Mess Kit, me in a posh frock. Soldier's saluting...
• I miss the social life. I didn't join in much of it, I didn't even like most of it - but there was always something going on.
• I miss the formality and the etiquette. The flood of thank you notes when you hosted an event, always knowing what to wear because the invitation would always define it. The inbred politeness and good manners. Civilians are so casual. It feels.....lazy to me.

There you have it. I have clearly defined myself as a snob who has had her silver spoon stolen.

 There is no road map for 'the wife' when a Soldier leaves the Army. He has about a year of 're-settlement'. Future career advice, financial seminars, dining out... and she, well she has to close the door on the world she inhabits alongside him, without so much as a goodbye - and it was easy for me! I didn't move far away from our last posting, I moved closer to a job in which I was already well established and have many friends. Steve went straight into a fantastic career, we bought a lovely house...it must be so much harder for those whose men are depressed or flailing, who don't have a career, who have lost touch with their friends. There is no established support network, no veterans wives organisations. Those who have been so closely tied drift apart. It's like being an actor. You have great friends on the film set and then when someone yells 'wrap' you all disappear off to other projects.  I like the new film set, and of course this film can run and run which is lovely but it seems I missed the last one more than I thought I did - and that's the truth.

Welcome Baby Cambridge!

23rd July 2013

We're having a heat wave and as we're Brits and heat is always unexpected, as a nation we're not best pleased - however - we won the Men's competition at Wimbledon, we won the Second Test (fab game Cricket), we won The Tour De France and to top the whole smashing lot off, we now have a new baby Prince.
There is a general air of pride and happiness about with everybody joining in the guess the name conversations (my money's on George) and enjoying the ringing of church bells, gun salutes and general revelry. Now...if only it would rain! 

A bad eye and a good man

I am lucky enough to work for a big Publisher and their response to my sight loss has been absolutely corking. Their efforts on my behalf have enabled me to continue with the job I love and I am so grateful. My eye is finding some sort of level. A couple of weeks ago it had been so consistently painful that I all but begged the Consultant to take it out - but with some tweaking of drugs, I am now doing much better. Most people with this level of Neovascular Glaucoma eventually lose the eye and I suspect that the Doctors keep going in their attempts to keep the pain under control partly in order to allow the patient to get their head around the end stage situation. My eye is trashed. There is no possibility of it ever functioning as a sighted eye again - they keep gently reiterating this to me as if I have not taken that information on board. Somewhere my pragmatism is being lost in translation. I'm not 25, or a model. I have the happiest marriage, which as my husband has always worked in bomb disposal/mine clearance has always included the understanding that our abiding love would survive any loss of body parts! It's kind of ironic that it looks like it'll be mine rather than his, but I truly don't have a problem with it. It's useless and it's trouble, a whole lot more trouble than a prosthetic would be, so bring it on I say.

Steve's organisation is thriving under his charge. His dynamism has energised the situation and has meant new funding from the UN and from several more Governments, which has translated to more projects world-wide - huge landmine clearance, victim assistance, armed violence monitoring projects, training local populations.....I am so monumentally proud of him. I was talking to my Mum the other day and in the course of the conversation said 'Frankly Ma, I am in awe of him, is that weird?' to which she replied ' No darling, we all are - he's an incredible man'. I have high self esteem (thanks to great parenting and a great husband) and it's not that I think that I don't deserve him - but I am so very honoured to be loved by him. Theoretically, we are not a match. He is sporty, academic, brilliant, funny, fair, courageous, tall, slim and beautiful. I am none too bright, ridiculously short, inclined to eat cake rather than exercise, given to making random ill informed judgements, and not very interested in the world beyond my own little universe, but work on every level, it does. We would never have been matched by one of those dating sites that are always advertising on TV as successful because ' we take care to match you with someone who shares your interests'. That always strikes me as so simplistic. It's chemistry isn't it? Actually, maybe it's chemistry and shared values. We may have different tastes but from day one we both knew that we were right for each other. We both get involved, step in, defend the small the weak and the disadvantaged, love good manners and kindness and abhor cruelty and prejudice. He has a highly developed sense of humour and I am inclined to be serious but we have an identical take on what is ridiculous and often catch each other's eye and grin in social situations because we have found the same thing barking. I didn't mean to write what I can see might come across as a rather smug love letter to Steve but my excuse is that I think it's possibly rather cool to be so wild about someone after so many years.

Glaucoma update

Nobody wants to read the ins and outs of someone elses medical dramas, so, I'll keep this really short. I'm okay - thank you for caring. The Glaucoma was caused by the previous radiotherapy. The pressure can (and is being) reduced by drugs, but the sight is gone forever and it's a chronic condition which will require management for ever. It's a pain but I thnk my lucky stars that I live in the first World and have access to the best Doctors and all the drugs & treatment I need is free (God bless the NHS), so... chin up, stiff upper lip in place..... and on we go!
Just be aware( those with CM and or TED) that closed angle Glaucoma is a possibility and if you have a bad headache, nausea, see haloes around lights, your eye is red and irritated, or any combination of those symptoms, do NOT do as I did and consult junior Doctors & GP's - it's rare and they don't know what they are looking at - head STRAIGHT for an eye consultant without passing 'Go!'

Trouble...

Well, there's been trouble....

No sooner had my Darling recovered from his illness than I was struck with dreadful headaches. I'm not the kind of woman who gets headaches and as they intensified we became anxious and went to the local hospital. The young Doctor there was pretty convinced that I had developed something called 'cluster headaches' but during testing threw a load of drugs in my (red and swollen and previously (as in 15 years ago) irradiated and therefore blind)) eye. We retreated home laden with half a dozen drugs, including antibiotics for my eye. The situation worsened and we went back to the hospital a few days later where a second Doctor agreed with the original diagnosis and prescribed more of the same drugs.

That weekend we were due to leave for a long planned family holiday in the West country. When I say 'family' I mean my entire family - parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, kids and dogs. By this time I looked terrible as well as feeling it. Facing the dilemma of whether not to go - thereby alarming everyone and meaning that my beloved girls would feel that they shouldn't go, we loaded the car and headed down. I patched my 'bad' eye and made a fist of it but had to spend much of the time in that beautiful place lying down in the dark. There was deep concern amongst my family. We cut our holiday short and headed back. The following morning I walked into my GP's office. Within moments he had arranged for me to see a Consultant at the eye hospital. I'm not a fan of eye hospitals. Fifteen years ago I was treated for eye cancer. It's rare and the kind of treatment I had for it is even rarer. Most physicians - including the vast majority of very senior eye Doctors have never seen an eye like mine and this results in some barely concealed excitement when they get me in front of them, followed by extensive tests and a queue of students 'having a look'. I don't mean to sound churlish and I absolutely know that intensely studying me could only have benefits for any future case they may come across, but hours of feeling like a Lab rat and anxiety about what they may discover, always leaves my spirit low, so I am ashamed to say that I argued with my lovely GP; 'Look Dr. C, I've seen two Doctors at the hospital, it's my head affecting my eye, not the other way around!'.

Wrong!

My beloved dragged his grumpy, muttering wife to the eye hospital and within half an hour the Consultant explained that I have something called 'closed angle Glaucoma'. It had been missed because most of the indicators required for diagnosis, require the patient to report blurred vision and seeing haloes around lights - my eye, is blind. That I had been instructed to shovel antibiotic drops into my eye and had had my pupil dilated by Dr. no.1 had exacerbated the situation. Had I been sighted, heroic measures would have been taken immediately in order to save my sight, as it was, there being no sight to save, reducing the pressure and therefore the pain was started immediately and I am so grateful to say, that after two weeks of intense pain, within hours I felt MUCH better.

Back home, this time with the right drugs and with instructions to return this week, my relief has turned to worry. The Consultant had explained that the cause of the raised pressure in my eye would need to be investigated and that growth of the tumour was a possibility. I am trying not to panic. My eye was closely inspected by an Occular Oncologist a year ago and was pronounced 'fine'. Did I have cluster headaches and that early treatment sparked the pressure to rise in my eye? Had something else raised the pressure? or is the tumour on the march? I'll find out on Wednesday.

I'm sorry to post this. Hardly cheerful reading is it? but writing it down serves to clarify to myself what has been a very weird situation. I wish you good health!

  

Worried

My beloved arrived back from a conference at The African Union in Ethiopia in a pretty bad way. Utterly exhausted, with a serious fever and a badly upset stomach. I'm starting to think I ought to be more assertive about insisting he reduce his workload. He's an incredibly dynamic man and I am examining my right to have an opinion about this - actually no - of course I have a right to HAVE an opinion, I mean express it to him - but I feel strongly that he needs to learn to delegate.
Frankly it has always been a problem. He would beast himself for fitness tests when he was in the Army. Passing wasn't good enough, he had to meet the standard expected of a much younger man. His view was alwys 'I can't ask my Soldiers to do anything I can't do myself'. I would argue: 'but you're the brains of the operation - and you are much older, you are not an Infantryman who is expected to be able to run and march miles over rough terrain'. He always smiled and ignored me.

I honestly thought when he took his current job that he would make full use of the bright young things in his organisation, when it came to these arduous trips. Of course I recognise the need for him, as the CEO to visit the mine-fields to meet and support the teams and that events such as addressing Parliaments, or UN conferences regarding treaties, require his seniority - but he accompanies his staff on virtually every trip and it's taking a huge toll. He has three incredibly competent, highly qualified and experienced Directors working under him, with motivated teams of their own. I can't believe that they aren't capable of taking on more of these trips alone - especially the conferences. He sees it as leadership, I'm afraid I think there may be a touch of arrogance in it, and maybe an inability to accept his own physical limitations. I also think that if I was one of his ambitious Directors I might see the fact that the Boss thinks that he's always the best man for the job as somewhat patronising they have after all studied for years and have greater experience in the third sector than he has!

Perhaps I sound patronising about an incredibly fine and dedicated man - perhaps I am very worried. He's lying upstairs in bed looking like something that the cat threw up but still insisting that he's off to Norway and then NY before the end of the month. Yup - I'm worried.

Truly good

I was going to post about how fed up I am, with work politics and my beloved pushing off to Ethiopia and Norway, thus abandoing us again, and how barking my Mother-In-Law is....but I got side-tracked.
If you haven't come across this blog: http://ourpursuits.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/hows-it-goin-in-there.html and you could use an example of real courage and kindness and faith in the face of enormous loss - and like me, a kick up the backside in reminder of what REALLY matters, do take a look.

Mother-In-Law troubles....

I've always been very fond of my Mother-In-Law. She has always been a simple person in the nicest sense of the word - but what do you do when the ageing process turns someone from a thoughtful, kind soul into someone whose life has become so small that they can't see the wood for the trees?
It seems quite a common scenario to me. Those who don't maintain passions and interests into old age, atrophy. In my M-I-L this has presented itself as having a seriously unhealthy interest in the lives of others and making big pronouncements about them when not in full possession of the facts. The latest manifestation of this is causing a lot of distress.

Long story v.v short.... she was as close as close to her only sister. Her sister has just died. Her sister has two 'children' (a man and a woman in their late 50's), the children fell out and my M-I-L has taken sides to the extent that she is refusing to go to her sister's funeral (some 250 miles away) because she doesn't want to 'see that awful man'. She has seen neither of these 'children' for some years but speaks weekly on the telephone to the daughter who it seems spends most of the calls rubbishing her brother. The daughter is a nice, intelligent, woman, the son is a nice, intelligent, man. That they are having some extended scrap is none of our business and Steve & I have stayed out of it.

I don't know where the truth lies, but equally, neither does my M-I-L and no amount of reasoning with her will lead her to even consider going to her sister's funeral. She's engaging in monumentally passive/aggressive stuff with us, as in ' you don't love me if you think I could see that awful man.....' 'but Mum, you only have one side of the story, and you don't even have to acknowledge him, just come with us to pay your last respects to your sister'... ' yes, but I know it's true!....' 'how do you know?'..... 'you don't love me!' followed by extensive sobbing, slamming down of phone and repeat....

So it seems, my husband's only maternal aunt is to be laid to rest without the presence of any of us (she insists that we spend the day in prayer with her and eschews my offer to go to 'represent' us all). What to do when an adult behaves like an unreasonable toddler but as they are an adult and your mother, and as you feel you must respect their wishes, you allow yourself to be manipulated and collude with her in doing (or rather not doing) something which she will undoubtedly regret. Tricky, really tricky.

Well, that was a blast!

Christmas and New Year were both great.

We hosted Christmas at home and both girls spent it with us, which in a 'blended' family, and as they are adults with partners of their own, is a rare occurence, so it was always going to be extra special, and it was. Even my Mother-In-Law has grasped the concept that as someone who has never cooked, her running commentary on my skills (or more probably lack of them!) from; 'are you really going to use that knife to peel the potatoes' to: 'He won't eat that you know' (about Melon, which as it happens my beloved loves) probably isn't all that helpful and kept a lid on it! Our great friends S&D spent Christmas day with us and then hosted an absolute hum-dinger of a New Year party which set 2013 off with a bang - literally, the fireworks were amazing. So, here we go, into a new year.... May 2013 bring you love and peace and happiness.

Thanks 2012

There was so much uncertainty and loss in my life in 2011. Life changed irrevocably and only promised more change. I'd like to say that I learned to be more flexible in my thinking, to choose joy, to embrace more closely those and that which I love - but I would be lying. What actually happened was that I became fearful and wary. When life could change so utterly and so suddenly for the worse, how dangerous is it to take risks? to be happy? to enjoy and embrace? I haven't yet shaken that off those dark thoughts entirely, but I have just been looking back at photographs of 2012 and overall it has been a much better year than I expected and a much happier year than I would have believed possible (as well as being punctuated by such delicious events as the Jubilee and The Olympics) so I am laying down my fretful, narrow mind, and tipping my hat, with gratitude, to 2012. Thanks to all of you who stood shoulder to shoulder with me through it. I owe you.

 From Army Quarters.....

 

 

To a home of our own.

 

 

A VERY happy birthday.....

 

 

and friends to share happy times with.

 

 

Darling Dogs.....

 

 

Sunny afternoons..

 

 

 

and best, best, best of all......

family.

 

 

Packing

My beloved is upstairs packing. I should be grateful that he's not off to The Sandy Place (he's going to a meeting in Scandanavia) but I still loathe seeing the frigging detritus of packing because I have never quite got past loathing seeing him leave.

When we were discussing if he should step out of the Army a year early to take up his (now) job, one of the things which sold it to him was that he would continue to travel regularly, internationally. We're such different people in that respect. If I could gather everyone I love into a mile square village I swear I'd never leave it, but my boy, well he is an adventurer.

When he used to come home bearing news of an Op Tour , a mission, or an exercise, he would don an air of regret in an attempt to soften the blow for me, but he couldn't stop his eyes from shining. He'd announce: 'Well Darling, the good news is that I'm going to get another medal, the bad news is that I have to go to..... insert hideous war zone....to get it'. I'd sob, he'd console - but I was always aware that he was raring to go and so it remains - the shining eyes, the air of regret...and the packing.

Running with 'the gang'

I have just had the kind of weekend that I thought I might never have again, and it was down to a group of women who opened their hearts to me and kept them open.

I'll try to keep the explanation brief....

More years ago than I care to remember, I met my best friend. It was simple stuff - not at all unlike that happy time when you find the kindred spirit who is to become your life partner. I walked into a new office, she was already there. A few conversations later we had discovered a mutual love of animals, joy, life, and Bloody Marys. She was searching for faith and eventually honoured me by making me her sponsor when she was Christened. She stood by me through my long years of living alone. We confided and shared and laughed our heads off. She introduced me to her large group of life-long friends, all from the same village in Hampshire where she was raised. I had moved around all my life, suddenly I had 'a gang'. Then, I finally fell in love and married a Soldier. I moved away. We kept in constant touch. She visited. I occasionally made the long trek back to her and was warmly welcomed by 'the gang'....and then she died. I had another close chum in the gang, three months later, aged 44, she had a massive stroke and died. I have documented this here before, so you know I was left reeling.

The Gang drew together to mourn, to arrange funerals, to cry. I was still geographically far away. I had not shared the life-long experiences that the rest of the gang had. I expected to be asked to weddings and funerals as in: 'we should ask Heli, Gailey and Ali would have wanted us to'. I not only grieved for them. I grieved for the loss of the sisterhood to which I had so happily and proudly belonged. I withdrew - but here's the thing, the invitations kept on coming. To parties, holidays, gatherings of all kinds. In those early days we were so shocked and stunned that we barely did more than cry. Sometimes our get togethers only served as a reminder of who was missing - but still the invitations kept coming. I proffered a tentative invitation of my own - never thinking for a minute that anyone would come - and every woman Jill of them made the long trek to be with me.

Every year for countless years we had all gathered together for a lunch before Christmas. This year, I took along a new close friend of my own. We sat at the same table where once Gailey and Ali had presided and you know what? we laughed until tears poured down our faces. My new friend was as warmly embraced into the gang as I had been all those years ago. It felt like we were honouring Gailey and Ali by sticking together, by continuing to belong to each other after a hand-grenade had exploded in our midst. We're wounded but we're walking - actually, this weekend, we were running - and wow, it felt good.

L to R: Me, Gailey, Ali.

'The Gang'........running!

A Diamond Christmas?

I am expecting an announcement. My eldest step-daughter, A, has been with her young man for ...crikey...seven years? and excitedly hinted to me the last time that we were together that a bethrothal was in the offing. Hardly unexpected, but thrilling all the same.

A's beloved is the most fabulous young man. A true Welshman from The Valleys, he has proven himself over the years to be everything her father could have hoped for his daughter - wise, kind, faithful, hard-working, honourable, familial and funny, but best,best,best of all, they so very obviously love each other. They have stood shoulder to shoulder through long separations whilst she was away at university studying to be the Lawyer he helped her to become, whilst he recently moved from the village where he had lived all of his life and the job he had held since he first went to work, to be with her.

A's parents divorce was protracted and bitter. Still reeling from the shock as a teenager, she at once accepted my place in her Father's life and even when I stepped on a mine in the minefield which is finding your way as a step-parent, our inevitable conflicts were softened by her inate kindness and willingness to extend her hand to someone she could so easily have tortured.

So - when the big announcement comes - I'm thinking Christmas - this step-mother will undoubtedly shed some very happy tears for the darling girl who deserves all the love and happiness in the World, and her delightful young man, who have enriched my once lonely life beyond my wildest dreams.

Grateful

I remember staring at a picture of Sally Thorneloe, the wife of the charismatic CO of the Welsh Guards as she stood ram-rod straight at his funeral, her face drawn with grief but perfectly composed, and thinking 'that could so easily have been me'.

I had practiced the expression her face was wearing. My beloved and I had discussed at length how he wanted his Military funeral conducted, how I should 'represent' him. It was the subject of heated discussion and debate amongst my fellow Army wives. Some expressed real confusion that we had a kind of macabre code of conduct, some felt that it was 'unnatural' - and maybe it was. Maybe it would have been completely unsustainable in the face of such enormous grief and loss, but I knew that Sally was wearing 'that' face because Rupert would have been proud of her for doing so.

I've discovered Google Blogs search - I know, it's pathetic that it's taken me so long! and I am overwhelmed by the sheer number of blogs I have come across written by Servicemen's widows. I am genuinely humbled by the strength and courage of those legions of women - all honouring their husband's memories whilst trying to find their way.

My beloved served in Northern Ireland during the troubles, in Kosovo and in Iraq amongst many other places and I have been in the ranks of those who wait and watch in fear. I know how it feels to feel sick every time the doorbell or the telephone rings, to panic when comms go down, to feel the relief to hear that it was 'someone else' and then the desperate sadness for 'someone else's' family - I have attended too many heart-breaking military funerals, but my husband always came home, and my God I am so very grateful.

Creepy!

Did you know that people LIVE at The Tower of London? How creepy is that?

My beloved recently had the honour of a 'behind the scenes' look around the Tower, courtesy of an acquaintance who is now a Yeoman Warder (all Yeoman Warders are ex Servicemen) and informed me with delight when he got home that he had been taken to 'the Pub' within the walls of The Tower!

The Tower has featured in my life, all of my life. As a London child I was taken to see the Crown Jewels, although I was far more interested in the Ravens. As an adult I drove past the Tower every day for years on my way to work, and at a dinner I was introduced to the Governor and his delightful wife. She did tell me that they had a house there, but for some reason the penny didn't drop that they LIVED there! Well they do. There are little streets of ancient houses with arrow slits for windows and a community, a real community, of those who work at and guard The Tower, their families - even their pets, all inhabiting what I suppose amounts to a village. There is the aforementioned tiny 'Pub', a Doctor, even their own Postman. But here's the thing.... at midnight they are locked behind the great walls. Can you imagine? I'm trying to.

My guess is that during daylight hours it's not unlike living on any military 'patch' (well except that thousands of tourists tramp past your front door every day which must be quite bizarre, especially if you are doing the washing up in your jammies, or trying to have an afternoon snooze) but how weird must it be at night? Locked behind the gates of one of the bloodiest places in British history. Walking back from the pub past the spot where Ann Boleyn was beheaded, knowing that you are feet away from where Guy Fawkes was brutally tortured. I take my hat off to the women who follow their men into that particular village. My imagination is running riot just thinking about it.

Here's a fantastic article from Spitalfield Life about a Day in The Life of a Yeoman Warder:

http://spitalfieldslife.com/2012/01/31/a-day-in-the-life-of-the-chief-yeoman-warder-at-the-tower-of-london/

but what I really want to read about is a day (and night) in the life of his wife!

'Stiff Upper Lip'

We were talking this morning about an injury my beloved is carrying. I said that he must be in pain and asked him why he continued in a way which was likely to exacerbate the situation. He grinned at me as he said 'Stiff upper lip Darling'.

I've just been reading the blog (brilliant blog I might add) of someone who is currently transitioning from military to civilian life and he's obviously finding the whole thing complex and a little lonely. He's taking a long time to find a new career, and I think, his way. This made me wonder if the incredibly seamless transition my beloved appears to have made, is indeed that. He's  a deep thinker and he feels deeply. There is nothing 'gung-ho' about him. When we met new people and they discovered that he took IED's apart for a living, there was always genuine surprise. His persona is that of a rather cheerful Diplomat...seriously.

I expected such enormous change to weigh on him, to impact on him in some way - but almost a year later - he seems truly happy, healthy (apart from the injury) and emotionally in tact. I don't know if the fact that he had been invited to take up what amounts to a dream job, before he left the Army, is the key to that. Whether it is because we didn't have to move to unfamiliar territory (our last posting was only 30 miles away from where we have settled), that many of our friends were civilians and we see them and our military chums often. Or maybe it's because he and I are best friends and we live close to his lovely (and my darling step) daughters. Or...is he hiding inner turmoil? Is the passion for his job, the laughter, the sheer joyfulness him employing his stiff upper lip? I genuinely don't know - but if it is, then he's kept it up for a long time.

We've seen friends flail after leaving the Army. One, terribly, terribly, sadly couldn't find his way despite love and support and took his own life. Many cling very closely to their old Army comrades and struggle to adapt to the very different working and social lives. Why has it been so easy for us? There's no smugness in that question, only genuine surprise.

Downton

Am I the only person on the planet who isn't swept up in Downton fever? It's the telly equivalent of easy listening isn't it? At the beginning of every episode you can accurately predict EXACTLY what is going to happen? I just know that the writer (Julian...Julian...Fellowes?) sits down at his desk and thinks 'Okay, how shall I re-work the formula this week? the formula is: unrequieted love, baddy gets come-uppance, cold hearted person proves not to be... insert different names....
I like junk telly. In fact I love junk telly: ' Cheaters', 'Storage wars', 'Sister Wives', anybody? what I really hate is hugely expensive junk telly which should have been good.

So Mr. 'Raking it in by producing tripe for the masses Julian Thingybob'. Take heed, for the same money (less probably) you could have made the unutterably, stylishly simply, fabulous...Cranford!

Waving not drowning

I think we have established by now that I am pretty computer illiterate - but are there really so few older Army/Retired Army wives (although not necessarily either retired army wives, or indeed wives) with lives of their own and anything vaguely interesting to say out there? - and yeah, before you tell me I know that I haven't got anything interesting to say - I can't write that kind of stuff I just want to read it!

I started my blog as a kind of diary. I was too lazy to write in long-hand and following a Soldier around is quite interesting - I didn't want to forget it - but I think I also hoped that it would help me to connect with similar people going through similar experiences and through the myriad of transitions.

All the blogs which I have managed to unearth which searches have suggested may be what I am after, are written either by breathy teenage girls declaring: 'I luv my Soldier!!!!' to which the only possible response is 'Jolly good, carry on' - or perfectly coiffured 'Mommies' who tell me on page one that Jesus is the head of their household, their husband is the best thing that ever walked the earth and that Kaycee/Macee/Mckynzee/...insert daft made up name... is the 'cutest thing EVER!'...to which I am afraid I don't feel able to contribute more than 'Jolly good, carry on'.

Where do the middle-aged, professional(ish), mildly eccentric, mildly conservative, politically left-wing, animal loving, opinionated women hang out on the internet? I know for certain that they aren't in their kitchen baking  friggin' cup cakes!

Hugo

I don't think I had ever given Greyhounds a second thought until I read an article about the utterly tragic way that they are treated when their racing days are over. Look away now if you don't know (although I'll spare you the worst)....

When they no longer make their owners money they are either:

destroyed, abandoned or in a few lucky cases, rescued.

These dogs are THREE.

The article didn't spare the worst (some of the stories reduced me to tears) and de-bunked the almost universally held beliefs that Greyhounds need huge amounts of exercise, that they cannot be house-trained and that they can't adjust to family life, that they rush about, that they need loads of space.....

We had been considering a companion for our Ridgeback X but had stumbled over it, as she was (and is) a dominant (although gentle and trained so absolutely no aggression), princess. Long story short, we ended up at our local Greyhound rescue. I'm afraid I cried my eyes out. Not because the dogs weren't beautifully cared for, because they were, but because these lucky few were just so sweet when they had had so little human kindness. I have never been in such a quiet kennels. They seemed 'resigned'. The lovely kennel Managers brought several dogs to meet us. My overall impression of their physicality was that they were odd looking and huge. My overall impression of their temperament was 'why don't people know about these dogs??'.

It took us minutes to know that one of them was coming home - but which one? They were all lovely, they all desperately needed a home. We asked 'who can't you re-home?' and were given the barmy but sadly true, explanation, that people don't want big black dogs. Apparently, the brindle and blue bitches are fairly easy to re-home and after that, it is a sliding scale down to those big, black, boys.

So - a big. black boy was led to us. It was impossible to gauge his character. His story was appallingly sad, he had been rescued in Ireland, hung around in kennels and then been shipped to England in the hope that he might fare better there. He was pretty newly arrived at the kennels. He was spectacularly smelly and his feet were torn to shreds. Hebe ignored him. He ignored her - actually he ignored everyone and everything. We figured ignoring was fine. We'd take him home and see what a bath, continued treatment for his feet, Hebe's joyfulness, a warm bed, good food and a lot of love could do. That was three extraordinarily happy years ago. Turned out, he is loving, funny, playful, gentle, loyal and sweet and utterly devoted to us and to Hebe. If he could say 'thank you' every day, he would. In fact for a while he was so desperate to ingratiate himself that he would hold on for a pee for EVER (we never had an accident in the house) and would be terrifyingly good. My father who was visiting at the time, filled up the first time that trusting lad looked him in the eye, Steve and I did the same the first time he 'stole' a biscuit. It's not often a dog gets applause and cuddles for stealing! I've met hundreds of Greyhounds since and forgive the evangelising tone but seriously people - want a dog? think 'Greyhound!'

 

He prefers our bed to his......

 

 

He likes to know what Dad is doing......

 

He loves getting together with his Greyhound buddies....

 

and Dad can't keep up!

 

Farewell Army Quarters

I was pondering today whether I miss living in SFA (Army married quarters) and came to the conclusion that although I miss some things, I really don't miss others!

I DO miss some of the social events. The Army community is skilled in going from 'fancy a barbie?' to mobilising the whole street in a matter of minutes and there is no denying that it is comforting being surrounded by trained killers Great for security!) and wives who have so many shared experiences. The other big plus is that it's so cheap. Our last house - four big bedrooms, study, big garden, garage etc. cost us less than £300 a month - I kid you not!

What I don't miss is magnolia paint, the lack of diversity (herded together by rank - I only ever met other Colonel's wives of my age), no children (away at boarding school or adult by the time their father's have achieved the age necessary to achieve the rank), no old people, HAVING to go to events at which wearing a ball-gown was a must (before you think 'that's disingenuous - try dashing home from work to get trussed up to spend a dull evening with people you wouldn't choose to be with) an unnatural number of old Etonians.....

But the thing that I found hardest (other than the lack of en suite bathrooms and the fact that doing anything with a garden was pointless because you'd always be moved on before you saw it grow) was the lack of privacy. There was no anonimity, at all, ever. One particular wife would lie in wait (she didn't work) and literally pounce when I drew up from work EVERY DAY. If we didn't open our curtains by 9.00 a.m someone would come round to 'make sure you are alright'. If someone in the close had a row, we'd all know the details. For some it spelled 'community', for me, it felt cloying.

I know women who have lived 'behind the wire' for ALL of their adult lives. They've never mowed their own lawn, painted their own bedroom, packed to move or made any friends beyond their fellow Army wives. There is a conspiracy of silence about 'stepping off' (leaving the Army), as if saying it would make it real, and oh how they feared the civvy life on the other side of the fence. Me? I'm loving it - but then we carefully planned our exit. We had lovingly maintained our friendships outside the Army, Mr. S had an exciting job lined up and we moved to our own home in the town where I had worked for two years, just a few miles away from where we grew up and where our friends and family are. Apart from being able to exercise our taste in our home and Mr. S going to work in any colour he likes, rather than khaki, remarkably little changed but now our front door is ours!

  Wills & Kate's wedding day. The 'patch' party.

Waving swords around....