Sunflower

Today is the end of week eight and my eighth COVID Blog.

This Morning the sun is shining and it is set to be a pleasant day. It would have in fact been the perfect weather for today’s event.

My blog is slightly different, as today would have been a significant day.

It would again have been yet another Sunday when I should have been elsewhere and once more, it should have been with my ‘Drama Group Family.’
A special day for a very special person.

As a group I should be taking part in ‘The Farleigh Hospice Walk for Life’ in memory of our friend and lifelong member Claire Wilson.

When I mentioned the fact that I would have been helping to clear away the set couple of weeks ago for the production we had to cancel due to COVID 19 I alluded to the fact that the image I posted was not the image I thought that those who know me well would expect me to post and that it would take another blog to explain.
This is that blog:

Claire was my friend my ‘Bestie Thespie’ if it wasn’t for our mutual friend Margaret introducing us and a mutual love of the arts, I doubt we would have ever met.

I can not believe it will be eight years ago in November that our group first performed the play ‘Calendar Girls’ by Tim Firth, this was to prove so incredibly poignant for both wonderful, personal, and such tragic reasons.

The play is centred around a group of real life ladies in a branch of the Yorkshire Women’s Institute or WI for short who decided to raise money for a blood cancer charity, this due to the fact that one of their members husbands had died from the disease. Their intention was to be photographed for a nude calendar of the WI ladies and their embarrassment covered by various items associated with the WI.
The symbol of this play is the humble sunflower, the title of this blog and a flower that has become so incredibly important to me.

To date, the real Calendar Girl ladies have raised over five million pounds for the cause.

Claire and I played the two best friends that centre in this play, a play that without a shadow of doubt has been one of my proudest moments. Not because we bravely (like the original Calendar Girls) took our clothes off on stage every night, not just that we managed to raise nearly five thousand pounds for the cancer charity but because the story is so beautifully entwined; with courage, with friendship and with love, everything that Claire represented.

Claire was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer shortly after our production finished and she passed after a brave and difficult battle. A war within her body that she courageously fought for four years. Claire was only forty-three years old.

Claire at the front, as always, leading us all. 🌻

The incident I am about to tell of and hugely over share of which I make absolutely no apology, sums up the type of silly and wonderfully special friendship we had.

On a trip to the theatre in London (one of many) I had a very unfortunate incident.

The play was called ‘The Play That Goes Wrong’ which kind of summed up our day; we met early had lunch, took the Emirates Air Line across Greenwich, chatted, drank copious amounts of coffee, went for dinner at a seafood restaurant and then to the evening performance of said play.

During this time, Claire had been undergoing yet another round of chemotherapy treatment but had been advised that she could still socialise and complete outings with careful caution.

It was not long into the first act when I suddenly had horrendous pains in my stomach and then the very desperate need to visit the bathroom. I then caused much disarray asking people if they would kindly move to allow me out of my seat. Claire tried to insist that she came with me but I managed to make her stay so that at least one of us would get to watch the performance.

Everything really was pretty awful, stomach cramps, a very sweaty, hot, forehead and a very long period of time in the bathroom.

Eventually I managed to return, causing havoc once more and Claire filled me in on the play’s plot. My condition seemed far too quick to be food poisoning but that was the only explanation that came to mind. Claire I could see was very worried about me but I managed to watch the rest of the play, although very fearful of moving.

We both enjoyed the rest of the performance although I was definitely not concentrating as much as I should have been.
After another visit to the bathroom before we left, we then began the walk to the station and this is when both disaster and much hilarity struck.

Thank heaven my jeans were tucked into my long boots to keep everything contained, as after walking in a very bizarre stilted fashion and having to stop several times, Montezuma’s revenge struck (even though I wasn’t in Mexico, look it up) with almost every step and like any good friend Claire, could not stop laughing and despite this incredibly dire situation, neither could I.

We eventually managed to get on the tube, luckily my long coat covered any signs of calamity but I did feel extremely uncomfortable and very nervous. Claire offered to come home with me, this despite living in a completely different area and needing another train network to get home. This she offered because she was so very concerned about me, in between each giggle of course.

I did manage to allay her fears, that I would be fine even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be and so reluctantly, she left me to catch another tube connection and her train home.

Whilst on my train I received a text from Claire which read “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t want to leave you, I’m such a shitty friend.” To which I replied, “ Don’t be so silly, there is nothing you could do and I think you’ll find that I’m the ‘shitty’ friend!”

This awkward story sums Claire up, there she was going through such a cruel and heinous disease, poorly herself but worried how ‘I’ was.

Claire was simply extraordinary.

As I, we, can not walk in her memory today I have performed in her memory.
The link at the bottom of the page is a video link to the poem I have written about Claire.

Sunflowers are the colour of sunshine. I wish that you too are blessed with sunshine in your lives, not just today and through our current crisis but throughout your lives.
I know that I have, in the name of my ‘Bestie Thespie’ Claire Wilson.

I miss you darling girl.

Stay safe,

Joy xxx

https://vimeo.com/419405449

Life on the Coronacoaster

Here we are at the end of week seven in the UK Lockdown.

As always my routine during my COVID Blogs is to write my reflections on a Sunday Morning and despite the brilliant sunshine of our Bank Holiday Weekend it is at present, slightly overcast although the sun is beginning to peek through.

This week I continue to ride the highs and lows and the lyrics Ronan Keating once sang seem to be incredibly poignant and the inspiration for the title of this weeks blog. Not my words I hasten to add but some clever person with a penchant for puns.

Something else I also do every week when writing is listen to the radio, I always write with music in the background. My radio is on throughout the day when I am at home, from the moment I wake up until early evening and of late when I stop, like many to watch and listen to the Daily Briefing.

I am a BBC Radio 2 girl and Good Morning Sunday with the Reverend Kate Bottley (from the TV programme Gogglebox) and Jason Mohammed is something I love listening to. I like their guests, the stories and discussions and I love the fact that they compliment their different faiths.

The one thing I have noticed is that there has been a lack of religious hatred being reported in the media. Not that it isn’t happening but that the harbingers have been focused on promoting other avenues of hate. Now the media are fixated with images of those not following the social distancing rules and false alarmist headlines to increase our fear and anxiety.

Like most people when I see these photographs I am worried and scared, scared of a second peek, scared of folks seeming ignorance, scared to step into our new normal. I am fed up with the constant similarity of questions asked by the media at every briefing and it doesn’t matter how many synonyms they use, they are still asking the same questions. I know I am not the only one to think this, my family and friends are all echoing the same sentiment.

Until later today when we await the Prime Minster’s speech and the government’s plans, it is all supposition and even then I do not think we will have complete clarity. I believe it is a waiting game and my patience which I have always been told I have in abundance is wearing thin, in respect of others lack of this ability. We currently need this in abundance we have a long road ahead made even longer, if rules are not followed.

I think perhaps I should have entitled this blog ‘The Morning Rant’ but it always helps me to write my thoughts down. Sometimes I do this in a letter I do not send, although more often in poetry. I have mentioned this to several friends recently, that it doesn’t matter whether anyone reads it or not, the act of putting pen to paper or in my case the tip-tapping of laptop keys this morning can make you feel better. I also like to imagine people reading and nodding in agreement and that helps too, to think or hear that others are on the same page.

This week the coaster has been in full swing, disaster struck after my run on Monday and I developed ‘Jogger’s Knee.’ My running guru has advised me that this is due to not warming up and stretching correctly (I didn’t) and this has resulted in having to rest and and buy online a Knee Compression Sleeve I have to say this has really helped.

So apart from my Gilead shopping trip, I haven’t been out for a walk or exercising as my knee has been swollen and painful. I am so missing jogging, how did that happen?

It feels comfortable now I think, to go for a walk rather than a run which I will do later today and (after warming and stretching correctly) in a couple of days if the walk goes well, I will begin to try a gentle jog/run combination. I really have been missing watching the butterflies, the fields and my thinking solitude.

This Friday saw our little Island celebrating 75 Years of VE Day and on my social media sites I saw various celebrations; in back gardens, front gardens, union jack bunting and of course, our Queen gave us a thoughtful speech of memory and time.

I felt mixed emotions, my corner of the world was fairly quiet, living back in your childhood home due to circumstance brings strange feelings. The community I now live in is very different to the one I left. There are tiny remnants of that world, my immediate neighbours have the same spirit I grew up with and on a Thursday Evening when we pay our grateful respects, we both stand outside our gates to clap and bang tin pots and pans. Another neighbour on the corner has also been there from the outset but we seem to be the only constant. I do not know their names but we now wave and smile, connections of a bygone lifetime.

These celebrations reminded me of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, I was fourteen years old. I remember my Mother paying into a club each week organised by a neighbour ‘Maureen’ for a street party she and others were orchestrating for the children in our street. My Father then worked for Fords in Dagenham at a time of strikes and lack of wages, money being tight not just for us, but almost everyone in our little cul de sac, the weekly clubs were a regular occurrence for various events in our neighbourhood.

We were the council estate kids, not many had bought their houses yet, in fact my Father was still a council tenant until fairly recently, when I had the need to move back. This celebration was full of trestle tables, paper tablecloths, flags, hats, paper plates, ham and cheese sandwiches, music and pop.

I remember being that awkward age, it all feeling very uncool yet pleased I was a part of it. I remember dancing with one of my childhood friends Laraine and our friend Karen had been invited to join our party too despite her living in another street and we kids were all dressed in red, white, and blue. We were also all given a commemorative coin and although we were not celebrating the end of a war in Europe and remembering their incredible, selfless, sacrifice, this, was the memory it conjured for me.

I have been beginning like all of us to appreciate different aspects of life so much more. I will be the first to admit I felt detached from my current surroundings, having left at nineteen and returning over thirty years later, life has very much changed.

The estate I currently live in was given various names regarding it’s appearance when first built. We moved in when it was still a building site, at the time it’s architecture was seen as the modern solution to the East End over spill, it is still is very much of it’s time. The real locals back then, seeing it as out of step with the village it surrounds.

This strange time has made me and others I’m sure see things in a different way. When I was a teenager I found the lack of amenities stifling, I also had quite a strict upbringing and I wasn’t allowed to go to some of the exciting places (to a teenager) that my friends were.

Our lives are all about perspective, my friend Julie who lived in the old part of the village thought our estate was posh as we had central heating and indoor toilets, one downstairs, one upstairs. Her then outside toilet meant that she would have wait until the Morning, being young and scared of the dark. The point of view being that to her, these modern houses were “amazing!”

I have begun too, to finally understand. Living with my Dad of course is something to be treasured. I really am a social butterfly, so flitting here and there means I have not had the reflection time perhaps I needed. Now that my wings like all of us have been clipped, I am discovering all sorts of things that I should have noticed before but didn’t.

The poem at the bottom of the page includes the adjectives the original villagers used to describe the ‘The New Estate’ the second stanza describes how I felt growing up and the last line my present feelings.

I hope you too have found a connection this week of unexpected beauty or poignant realisation that has made you stop, listen to your head and more importantly your heart.

Stay safe,

Joy xxx

(Goldfinger was an architect credited with designing modern concrete buildings in the 60’s and 70’s of note)

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The One With Windmills, Metaphors, Rebels and Kate Bush

It is the end of week six and this morning is not sunny but chilly, in fact the weather has felt a little unsettled all week. There has been sunshine in the mornings, rain in the afternoon and vice versa; Mother Nature seemingly unsure of herself, very much like all of us.

I feel as a world we are on the beach, there are those who feel content to lay in the sun, those unsure dipping toes with caution and then there are those who ride the waves, experiencing every high and low.

This week I have been the surfer, the waves have been my friends (hence the title for those who also fell in love, with Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, Chandler, Ross and Joey).

I am still jogging, I still look like a runner on the last leg of a marathon, I am still enjoying it.

I have found myself thinking so much during this time, my creative gene seems to be at the forefront. I have felt both darkness and light and I have penned four poems, one of sadness although I think it holds beauty, two of past yet present memories, one of age and one that has been swirling around in my brain for months but the words hidden.

Running seems to clear my mind and allows me to dream and wander, metaphors seem to be my shooting stars in this strange, current, galaxy.

My students tell me that metaphors are difficult to write and understand, it is perhaps why I love them so much. I always tell them that we live in a world of metaphors.

How many of us say when asked “I’m fine?”

We say this because we are in too much of a hurry to explain our complex feelings or we think that person is just asking out of courtesy which really, is most often the case.

Our close friends however, are the ones who notice, our families too but we are adept at hiding those, love makes us shield and protect.

Friends are important, the phrase “Friends are the family we choose” no matter how cliche is pretty much spot on.

My jogging route takes me to my childhood and friendship memories and although the fields I run through are almost unchanged there is a huge landmark of my youth missing.
The Windmill.

I grew up in an age of ‘Windy Miller’ a character in the children’s television programme ‘Trumpton’ (a metaphor in itself) a predecessor no doubt to ‘Wallace and Gromit.’ I think this is where my love of windmills began, for me they are magical and beautiful.

As a child the sight of this local wonder was special and unique. It featured regularly on aged postcards of the area, a comforting and reassuring stalwart of life.

This is linked with one of my childhood best friends she has her own special memories, her Great-Grandfather being born in that very windmill.

It’s crumbling frame was demolished, unrestored, discarded, thoughts which make me so very sad. There is now in its place a wind turbine and though while I agree with its principle, it is ugly and mechanical without the soul or romance of age.

So, this week in particular my friends have helped me glide through the highs and waves of lows.

One of my amazing friends wrote and recorded a poem about me, which made me laugh and cry happy tears, one line that would make no sense to anyone but ourselves. At the end of the poem she signed off with the nickname we once gained and kept. These names came from another memory, one filled with life and laughter.

My WhatsApp groups pop in and out, messages from family and close friends, Messenger too has been in full swing. All these notes of love are special.

I don’t think anyone would call me a rebel, I will always follow the straight and narrow path. However, every now and then tiny moments happen. Not earth shattering but just enough to make you smile. One that made me laugh out loud this week especially when I found out I wasn’t the only one involved as I previously thought. There were in fact four in the end who joined the rebel gang!

We need these silly sprinkles of joy, we are dealing with something beyond anything we have ever known. It is important to remember these moments as the world continues to battle.

I have been missing the ‘Red Admirals’ on my run it seemed the ‘Cabbage Whites’ were the only butterflies following me on my journey.

On Friday the butterfly I had been seeking rejoined. The reason I had missed this creature is because it is so beautiful, as human beings we seem to be drawn to the dazzling and delicate perhaps because we seek this in ourselves.

But while I watched the cabbage whites flutter and follow I realised that they were equally beautiful, the world has finally replaced the dazzling and discovered another beauty. These butterflies too have alabaster wings their appendages are made of blue gossamer and they wrestle an unseen foe, their beauty far more worthy than the elusive, sparkling, red butterflies.

When we have our red admiral days, when we don’t feel quite good enough, it is friends and family that help us to shine and realise our cabbage white worth.

The little messages, the giggles from videos and memes passed. The one line message ‘You ok?’
Shall we ‘Zoom?’ The new phenomenon many of us never knew existed until now…

Which leads me neatly into ‘The Quiz’ (it also makes me think I could be a presenter) something it seems our world is having so much fun in participating.
My family quiz and my work family quiz, seeing those faces you realise you have missed, so very much.

So many too have been dressing up for these occasions and with nowhere to go it gives us the chance to be creative with whatever we have to hand. Last week my family quiz’s theme was Disney this week it was pop stars and I didn’t go for the easy obvious choice that I knew my family were expecting I did however stay in the same decade. You can take the girl out of the eighties but you can’t take…

This next week remember how blessed we are to have family and friends, no matter how sad or fed up with the tragic and scary side of life we are all currently sharing.

Stay safe,

Joy xxx

🦋 (I couldn’t find a white one but blue seems perfect)

If only I had her scatter cushion lips ❤️

'The Unvarnished Truth'

This morning I should not be here, I should not be sitting in front of my computer on an early sunny Sunday morning just as I have for the past five weeks since I started the ‘COVID Blogs’ (yes, I decided, heaven help me I would be ‘that’ pretentious twit).

This morning as I write, I should be in my car and driving to meet my fellow amateur thespians. I should be helping to clear away the debris of the post show party and helping to take down the set.

This part of the process is the one I dislike the most as it always feel like the end of Christmas when you take down the decorations, the hard work and excitement disappeared into the void and everything feels like it didn’t really happen.

We chat about all the funny things, missed or rearranged lines, props that refused to behave themselves, technical gremlins and the lines we didn’t expect the audience to laugh at or that someone in the audience who laughs so loudly you almost lose concentration because laughter is infectious and you want to laugh too.

Our production isn’t cancelled just postponed, although like the world right now, we are unsure when that will be.

I do know that I cannot wait to hug my buddies, something that as lovies, we are most inclined to do. One of my favourite moments being, when the curtain closes after that first night and we all hug each other; it is hard to explain just how special that is and I have found myself feeling incredibly emotional as I write and suddenly realise how much I miss my wonderful, talented, and quirky thespian family.

So I thought I would post one of my favourite images from one of our popular farce plays. I have so very many and I have not chosen the one that perhaps those who know me well would expect. The reason for this is that it would require another blog which I do intend to write at some point but my emotions are already high and it will be difficult and not yet the right time.

So instead, I will add an image that makes me smile, the memories are of a moment, when this particular cast was complete and a production that at times, made me laugh so much, I thought I would burst.

I had two spray tans during this production as there was rather a lot of flesh on show and my pasty white physique was something no one needed to see. I have also chosen this picture as like many, I have no idea how long it will be before I have another chance to wear those glorious heels!

“Look No Hans!” By John Chapman and Michael Pertwee

Our next production is called “The Untarnished Truth” by Royce Ryton (hence the blog title).

Missing those events as we all are, means we have all been adapting to new experiences, I have read in the news that people are reading far more, watching online events, online videos (thank you to those who have been following my poetry videos on Vimeo) and the most common of all, we as a nation, have began to worship the ‘E’ word.

Yes ‘that’ word which if I’m honest, does not really feature highly in my vocabulary that was, until now.

I too like many others, are finding new facets of their psyche and as such have now re-joined the exercise gang.

I have always dipped in and out to be fair, aerobics, yoga, jogging and most recently Joe Wicks but then gave up!

I am far from a gym bunny type (think Lands End to John O’ Groats) and as I grow older I have felt even less inclined, despite a little nagging voice that is well intentioned but I have consciously chosen to ignore.

However, with time on my hands and like many others I have finally taken notice, taken heed and ta-dah!

I have started running.

I use the this term lightly, more jogging like I am at the end of a marathon, spent and on my last legs but I am doing it and I’m a little bit proud of myself, I downloaded the app and I have a printed sheet for the ‘Couch to 5k.’

I have ditched them both.

Instead, I am doing my own thing which I call the ‘Lamppost and Tree Method’ this started with a brisk walk to said lamppost then a jog to the next. My routine then advanced to two lampposts and a brisk walk in-between. The trees then became involved when I ran out of lampposts as I jogged around fields.

These timber friends are less reliable and spaced far wider and quite challenging markers but they are enabling me to increase my fitness albeit quite tauntingly. The revelation being, that I am sort of enjoying it (some elements more than others) but yes, I am.

I even ordered the arm thingy to put my iPhone in so I could listen to music, but here’s the rub, apart from taking my phone to take photos, I haven’t used it.

Instead, I am listening to the sounds of the world, birdsong, the buzzing of insects and the solitude of my inner thoughts. It is however, a blessing that no one is around as I have found myself speaking to insects and nature which, I am pretty sure, is Beatrix Potter’s fault.

I have said aloud “Hello Mr Red Admiral, you are beautiful!” “Good Morning Mr Bee” and indignantly rebuked a tree “Really?”

So, I guess for me there has been all sorts of connections; nature, inner thoughts, a re-connection with exercise and goals, the next being three lampposts.

The highlight of this new regime?

When a younger and far fitter fellow jogger gave ‘me’ the ‘Joggers Nod.’

What he didn’t see as he carried on his 12k run was that I stopped two minutes later loudly panting and gasping for breath, but for a few fabulous seconds, I felt like I was some sort of recongnised athletic type.

So probably further than two lampposts to reach the ‘Really?’ tree.

I hope you too have found new or re-visited experiences; these connections that make this heartbreaking situation a little more bearable for us all.

Stay home and stay safe,

Joy xxx

A New Normal

We live in a world of routine, our routines:

For the past three weeks I have written this blog on a Sunday morning and it has felt that even nature has been following suit. I awoke to an overcast sky but now the sun is streaming through the windows and once again I hear the sound of birdsong.

When I began to write I had a vague idea of the connections I wanted to share with you but have found myself veering in another direction completely. I think we have all being doing that a little.

I found myself thinking of family and friends and memories that perhaps I haven’t for some time. I think it is because we are missing tiny pieces.

Remembering helps us to connect to normality and we need that now.

I finally felt brave enough and posted a video online of my performance poetry and have been overwhelmed by the response and in doing so it made me think of another memory, as the poem I posted is really about love and time. Time is something we all have so much of now and yet time still seems to pass more quickly than expected, it is time that connects us.

A memory came flooding back of my Mother, who once told me when she was in her late seventies, that when looking in the mirror “she couldn’t see herself” something which I think is so sorrowful yet so beautifully poetic.

My Mother was talking about time, how nature cruelly ages our bodies yet leaves us internally as before. That inside she still felt like a young girl with the same thoughts and feelings.

When I discover a new line or wrinkle it feels so very poignant as I stand at the top of that metaphorical hill and understand how precious time is, time we so often squander when we are young.

Perhaps though, one of the lessons this will teach us all is how we should seize every moment, it is an honour that so many in our world have so recently been denied.

I am also becoming increasingly worried that when it is eventually safe and ‘time’ to hold my Daughters and my Grandchildren, I may require a restraining order to actually let them go.

Something else that is a little disturbing, is how quickly we have all adapted to our ‘new normal’ that is until we step outside our home and comfort zone. When doing so, our current life becomes startlingly real and memories seem (at least for me) to flood, of our past ‘normal’ world.

As someone who is used to rushing around and constantly running out of time, dashing here and there this little verb is a favourite of mine:

“I’m just popping to my friends” “Do you fancy popping in for coffee?” (I know that sounds like a euphemism in a romantic comedy) and my absolute go to phrase “I’m just popping to the shops.”

Except, we can’t.

We cannot just 'pop’ anywhere, to a friends for coffee and especially to the shops. I live in a village, a much bigger village than it once was but a village of sorts. In which there is a very handy ‘Tesco Extra Garage’ that so many of us use to ‘pop’ in. The usual reason I nip in, is that I am right in the middle of making a cake and have run out of icing sugar.

It is normally late, I have visited at various times and as late as 11.45pm, just in time to grab the last bag of icing sugar before they shut so I can finish that birthday cake for the next day.

This week I needed to buy milk, it was the afternoon and I didn’t need lots of shopping, I like everyone have been trying to limit my supermarket visits. So I thought I would just pop to the shop but…

I haven’t that privilege anymore, we haven’t and it is a privilege, one that we have taken for granted.

Now that our blindfolds have been forcibly taken off perhaps we will all be a little kinder to those less fortunate than ourselves, having experienced just a tiny taste of how it feels to not have something that we see as so basic.

Instead, I stood in a now familiar queue and my five minute jaunt became forty minutes, observing new rules and regulations.

While I stood there, memories returned:

Amongst the sadness this week there have been so many positives the biggest in our little island being our new national treasure ‘Captain Tom Moore’ who set himself the goal of walking a 100 lengths of his back garden before his 100th Birthday and by doing so, hoped to raise £1000 for the NHS.

Not in his wildest dreams do I imagine he would have expected to raised over 25 million and still counting. His amazing feat making now a memory for us all and I can only imagine how proud his family must be feeling!

Hold on to those positives and those memories that I hope will help to shape our world, when it finally begins to heal.

Stay home and stay safe,

Joy xxx

Faith, Love, and Toilet Seats

For the past three weeks I have written my blog with sunshine and birdsong around me. It seems to be a constant ritual. I would like to believe that the current climate will stay to raise our spirits, but I fear my faith in the British weather is far from strong.

I have begun to call these blogs (in my head) ‘The COVID-19 Blogs’ I have three trains of thought for this:

1. It is the current climate I am writing in.

2. The title sounds like am a writer of note (this could not be further from the truth).

3. I sound like a pretentious twit.

I fear the third option is far nearer the truth and therefore, I will keep these musings in my head where perhaps they really need to stay and maybe this phrase will be far too overused anyway, once we emerge from the apocalyptic world we find ourselves in.

Today is Easter Sunday and despite having little faith in the weather, I do have a faith. I have friends of the same faith, of different faiths and friends who have none.

I do think we all need something to believe in and whatever it is, be it faith in nature, in humanity, in each other, I hope it helps in these troubled times.

I have never been one to preach to others, although I know most of my Christian friends will completely disagree.

I however, have always felt incredibly uncomfortable doing so, this being said, when people ask me and they often do, I will happily explain my reasons why.

This brings me to the events of Good Friday and the ‘Toilet Seat.’

Last year I attended a service in church, an hour in which bible readings are given and after each reading, a time of solitude with your own thoughts and prayers. This day and these thoughts are incredibly meaningful for me, although my thoughts often begin to start wandering, which is why silence is really important.

Good Friday last year was again a beautiful sunny day, the church door was left open; the sounds of spring, the buzzing of insects and the sounds of children’s joy. The reason for this, being the close proximity of the church to the park.

Then there was the ice cream van.

While in church, the familiar tune of a childhood nursery rhyme sent my thoughts to my favourite iced delights, Rossi’s ice cream with a flake and my friends and I asking our Mum’s if we could have an ice cream from the van and the almost constant answer of “No, there are ice pops in the freezer!”

They never tasted the same though, did they?

My thoughts tangled in those memories, memories of love. This then dawned on me that it didn’t matter, because my thoughts were of ‘love’ and the very reason for me, why I was in church.

This year was different, I like many others could not sit in a familiar church with those who shared my faith.

As someone that does not count technology as my ‘best’ friend I concede that my feelings have now changed for without it, I could not have joined in with the live online service and it was comforting to see the well-known names of my fellow watchers.

My Dad for those of you who have read my ‘About Me’ page will know, lives with me. My Dad does not share the same depth of faith and had tuned in to watch his favourite soaps on the TV via headphones, as he is very deaf and much to my constant aggravation does not wear his hearing aids as much as he should.

This being the situation, I thought it was safe to watch the service sitting at the kitchen table on my iPhone in silence.

Pah!

So, the first thing while I sat in contemplation after the first reading, was my Dad asking for me to turn the sub-titles on as he couldn’t remember how? This then ended with me having to loudly explain what I was currently trying to do, while showing him how, he then couldn’t hear my explanation and so phase one had gone askew.

I then decided to go upstairs to my bedroom, being such a glorious day even when I shut my window I could still hear the wonderful music and laughter from various gardens.

There was only one place I could think of that would be quiet, which was the bathroom. My bathroom does not have a window and therefore silent.

I sat on the toilet seat lid, my iPhone on the bathroom floor with a cup of coffee (controversial I know) and in partial darkness. I did not turn the light on, as this starts the fan working and yet more noise.

Somehow though, this ridiculous situation (I admit, it did make me laugh out loud ) made me somehow feel closer to my God, who knew?

So, however you spend this Easter, whether you have a similar faith, a different faith, or no faith at all, I hope you are safe and well and socially distancing!

Easter Blessings,

Joy xxx

‘Gilead’

It is Sunday morning and again the sun is shining, it is quiet.

It has only been seven days since I last posted my blog, yet so much has happened in our world.

We are all beginning to adjust to this new way of life, the first week of lockdown here in England and a week of reading, listening and watching the news; alerts on our smartphones, the daily briefings from our government and our emotions, that seem to emerge in various forms and guises and take us daily by surprise.

I am learning to adapt to the technical challenges of online teaching. I have cussed and burst into tears at various points due to my ineptitude to navigate it seems, the most basic of tasks.

I was born into a world without text digits and I still type phone messages with one finger, much to the eternal dismay of my two daughters, who were both born into this technological life.

However, this being said, I have learnt several new skills and my laptop and I ( which incidentally sounds like the name of film) have began to tolerate each other. We are not quite at the ‘friends’ stage but I’m hopeful.

I, like everyone have now discovered the ‘art’ of food shopping, although not the supermarket shop we are all so used to experiencing.

I am sure I am not the only one, to notice the similarities between Margaret Atwood’s novel ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ set in the dystopian ‘State of Gilead’ plagued with environmental disasters and our current crisis.

This shopping trip felt like I had truly been plunged into her world.

At first, which really was completely ludicrous and irrational, I felt that I couldn’t look at anyone. This was not because I thought I would contract the virus but because it might imply that everything was normal and that perhaps I was not taking the situation seriously enough and therefore judged by society.

Knowing the outcome for such crimes in Gilead, may of course added to this.

Eventually, my commonsense took over and I had a lovely chat with the lady in the grey cardigan in front of me. This journey into the supermarket being so long and taking such time, that we are now going on holiday together when this blows over!

I enjoy writing this little blog and sharing life’s connections with you all, yet after I posted my blog last week I had a little moment in which I was completely, emotionally, overwhelmed.

My phone alerted me to the heart-breaking news that another frontline NHS worker had passed due to the virus and this selfless event for me, suddenly compounded the enormity of this pandemic.

Of course I know that all over the world, humanity is suffering the most henious loss of life. I think my heart at that point just ‘crashed’ with all the sadness.

I think we will all be touched by these moments, it is after all what makes us human.

I have always found solace in words and it was such a weird day. The weather seemed to mirror every emotion, a day of bright sunshine in Essex and then snow!

So, that being said I began to write and encapsulate everything I was feeling.

The poem is entitled ‘Lockdown: End of Week One.’

I have been very fortunate in that BBC Essex, are going to air a voice recording of said poem, on Monday 6th April around 6.15pm on their “Your Essex” show.

I also believe I am to be interviewed by the presenter but my contact at the BBC and I, ironically (considering we both have nowhere to go) keep missing each others calls. The details are slightly sketchy on the voicemails we seem to both be leaving but I think that’s roughly the gist.

As another week approaches, I hope the wonderful stories of hope and kindness of which there are so many, raise your spirits.

We really are, all in this together.

For your FYI: I am obviously not going on holiday with the lady in the grey cardigan but I do think we will all begin to feel much closer to each other as humans beings so, who knows!

Until next time; stay home, stay safe and always remember, we just might be…

“ Under his eye” 😉

Joy xx

‘I'm Struggling’

I write this blog from the perspective of a very different world.

It is Sunday morning, the sun is shining, birds are singing, it is quiet and peaceful. Nothing ordinarily strange, it is early and the day young, except…

My blog’s intention has always been about connecting, never before has this been so important in our world. We have witnessed an extraordinary week in England: There have been stories of both the wonder and hideousness of humanity.

Like so many, I have various titles; Daughter, Mother, Grandma, Teacher, Human Being.
Each name I am proud to own, yet each of these appellations have made me weep at various intervals of solitude this week.

It seems incredulous that Friday the 20th of March 2020 was only a week ago, when so much has already changed.

This date was the day my school shut it’s gates to the vast majority of our pupils. I use the personal pronoun ‘our’ because it is personal, these young people are our community.

I am angry that COVID-19 has taken away the chance for our ‘Class of 2020’ to say their goodbyes properly, to their peers and their teachers. They have been deprived of their ‘Final Assembly’ their ‘Prom’ and their chance to say a meaningful goodbye.

I make cupcakes, I have made cupcakes for every class I have taught, to be shared in our final lesson. The last unit we studied being the play ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ I wanted to make cupcakes and to stamp the fondant icing with the immortal words “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
However, I was unable to buys eggs due to the selfishness of others and therefore robbed of the chance, to hear them moan and groan at such a cliché, knowing that deep down, they were secretly smiling.

I have tried making eggless cupcakes, they sucked.

One of my pupils said “Miss we didn’t have time, but I know you like these.” He then produced a packet of chocolate buttons and my heart broke a little.

As a Mother and a Human Being, it has been really difficult. I hug my girls constantly and I tell them that I love them all the time, not having that physical contact is so tough.

I have been sent videos and photos of my grandchildren, we have Face Timed and I have had the privilege of seeing and hearing my eldest grandchild Oliver read his school book. Oliver is only five years old and already shares a love of reading, hearing him sound out each word made me beam with pride.

Not being able to hug them tight is overwhelming.

I write this with my eyes full of tears and my arms aching, knowing that this feeling of wanting to hold our loved ones close, when they are so far, encompasses us all.

Despite this (to quote our Queen) “annus horribilis’ (it feels longer than a week) there have been some amazing and awesome stories of kindness, love and the best of humanity.

One being the event that took place on Thursday Evening in the UK, to hear the claps and cheers for the incredible and life saving work that every member of the NHS are tirelessly undertaking, made my heart sing.

I wept on the first clap.

The rainbows posted in windows, the out pouring of love from family, friends, colleagues and extended family.

The memes and jokes that have made me laugh when I really want to cry.

All of this has helped me, us, to cope with this surreal and deplorable situation we find ourselves in.

I have currently been posting my poetry on social media; twitter@joymlouisa and Instagram@joytugs but not the poem I am about to share.

As a teacher, it is strange to be posting lessons online and receiving messages by email and our home learning platform. I miss their faces, I miss the funny things they say, I even miss telling them to be quiet!

I was inspired by one my pupils messages, a lovely young man who finds English tricky, however after a little help he always produces wonderful work.

It was so hard not to be able to help him physically, his statement and the title of my poem, hurt my heart.

The lack of punctuation is the title is intentional, it is as the original message (for those reading in other parts of our globe and haven’t seen him on YouTube, Joe Wicks is a fitness instructor giving the nation P.E. lessons every weekday morning).

So, stay safe, positive, and indoors.

Please remember, no matter how sad you are feeling, somewhere in the world, someone feels exactly the same way as you.

There is a positive reason for this, it is because we are family, the family of mankind.

With Love,

Joy

‘Bambi’

As always my blogs are about connections. This one is tinged with a little sadness. I do however feel the need to write about it, the connection between nature and life.

I like to think I have been fairly lucky so far, in avoiding wildlife who have no internal navigational skills when crossing busy roads, until now.

It was over a week ago when driving back home from a shopping trip that my heartbreaking incident occurred.

It was dark and raining and I wasn’t going fast, I was driving downhill and approaching a roundabout when something jumped from the trees onto the road and I had no time to react. I knew it felt too big to be a fox and my immediate thought was that I’d hit a dog.

My first reaction is always to pray and cry (usually simultaneously) this was no exception. I have to date killed two pigeons when they flew into my windscreen, although not at the same time I hasten to add.
The first time, I felt wherever I went pigeons were following me. I imagined there was some secret code in which they sent messages in pigeon speak to alert their community that the ‘Pigeon Killer’ was in the vicinity.

However, this was different. I pulled over in a bus lay-by and began to climb up the hill. I sobbed at the thought that I may have killed someone’s beloved pet and my prayers and tears became more frantic with each step.

As I moved nearer I thought at first I had hit a badger until I saw clearly; a gentle, tiny, deer.

I felt sick and sad and everything in between. I knew logically I had not had time to brake and perhaps if I had, she would be dying in agony instead of the lifeless body I was staring at.

So, I sobbed (loudly) and prayed again.

For her, for my forgiveness and for the fact I had just killed Bambi.

It has troubled me for days and so I did the one thing I hope, to honour her:

I think I just need to avoid Disney for a while!

Unexpected Connections

The end of the year is upon us and social media is in full swing. Memories posted, good wishes for the ‘New Year’ an outpouring of kindness which to me seems to have been missing in our world.

The month of December has seen a general election in our privileged (we have choice) democratic society. Slander was thrown in all directions from every side and the word ‘Brexit’ used as a pawn in a never ending game of cat and mouse.

Every now and then I lose faith, not in God (although we do fall out now and then) but in humanity.
Somehow though just when my heart feels heavy, I find it.
Sometimes it’s nature that nudges and reminds me the world is still beautiful.

I listened to radio reports as I was driving home of anti-semitism, first in New York and then in London on the same day it seemed. Man’s inhumanity first made me angry and then incredibly sad.
As I drove along the country lanes, the sky turned orange and despite the ugliness, it’s beauty filled me with hope, so much, that I pulled over to capture its essence.

A very special lady once told me that there are no such things as coincidences just ‘Godincidences’ something I choose to believe. Others may believe it as fate or serendipity but whatever it is, whatever you choose to believe in or call it, one thing is true, it is indeed wonderful when it happens.

Today was such a day…

As I was driving to Eltham to see my grandchildren on a misty, damp, cold ‘New Years Eve’ and I was reminded of Frost’s poem ‘The Darkling Thrush’ the poem I always think of at this time of year.
The day really was as Hardy described ‘spectre grey.’

After a few hours, my grandchildren decided they wanted to go to the park. If I’m honest I didn’t relish the thought, as it was so miserable and I was a little reluctant when asked if I would go but, as always their cuteness won.
So, wrapped up warmly, myself and my son-in-law and two excited children, headed towards an empty playground.

On route a little boy carrying a lightsaber stopped to talk to my grandson Oliver, who is five and he too carried his own lightsaber in the form of a packet of of Top Trumps (the dinosaur variety).
Oliver had insisted he took them despite his father and I being sure he wouldn’t need them.

The little boy asked if he was going to the park and instantly they were friends, it seemed we were clearly wrong about the Top Trumps.

The little boy’s name was Uri, he was four and very sweet.

We arrived at a deserted, chilly, damp, park. My granddaughter Elizabeth ran off to the swings with her daddy and I stayed with Olivier and Uri and the two Grandmothers who had accompanied him.

So began a conversation between us, three Grandmothers albeit from different countries; Ukraine, Slovakia and England.

It was an encounter unlike any other and a meeting I think that will stay with me for a very long time.

We talked about so many different things; Christmas traditions, life, war, and hope. I did not ask their names and they did not ask mine. It was not important yet we all shared a little something of ourselves.

The Grandmother who was visiting from Ukraine was a retired university lecturer of psychology. I asked about her home and saw magic dance in her eyes, as she described her childhood at Christmas. A Christmas of sleigh rides and snow and bells, memories of a country she loves. Where she now lives she explained, is a place of peace but it’s borders harbour unrest and sadness.

The other Grandmother from Slovakia also talked of unrest. I asked about her life and she told me she lives here with her family and explained how different her life is now and I understood without words that ‘different’ had a deeper meaning. She told me how kind people are in England, something which surprised me, something I haven’t witnessed particularly in the media during these past few months towards fellow human beings from other parts of ‘our’ world.

We spoke about how the world is changing and together we exchanged a united thought, how we failed to understand why people can be unkind and cruel to each other.

I am so glad I was dragged to the park, I wouldn’t have met these two women who I feel were more extraordinary than I will ever know.

We parted wishing each other a ‘Happy New Year.’ I left feeling richer, sharing something special, a renewed faith in humanity.

Countries and experiences apart, we are the same.

Oliver waved goodbye to Uri. Two little boys had shared a game of Top Trumps and perhaps that will be all they ever share. I however, feel I have shared so much more.

So like that little thrush in the poem, I too left with a little hope for a new year and a better world.
I will try to remember when hope wanes (which I know it will) of this unique encounter.

I wish you all a ‘Godincidence’ (or whatever it is you believe in) of your own for 2020 as they really are quite wonderful.

Peace, Love, and Happiness to you all,

Joy xxx

The Uninvited Poet

My first ‘Joyful Connection’ blog was about my very first solo adventure to foreign climes. I also shared the fact that I wanted write about things that are important to me, the things I am passionate about. Most especially the connections we feel as human beings.

We live in a time of change, when the world seems upside down and makes very little sense. One thing however, which has always made sense to me, is poetry.

My mum was a huge fan of poetry, which is really where my passion began. My mum hailing from Scotland, loved poetry written in the vernacular which when I was little, sounded absolutely bonkers.

However, there was something in her delivery when read aloud that helped me understand. The poem below was one of her favourites. It is about a toad who boasts how wonderful he is to anyone who will listen.

Just as he finishes waffling about his brilliance, a heron flys by and eats him!

Like most young children growing up in Britain in the 70’s I watched ‘Opportunity Knocks’ (one of the first talent shows in Britain) with my parents. This was probably the first time I discovered the ‘Spoken Word’ in the form of Pam Ayers and her comedic stanzas of rhyme.

I recently listened to her in an interview, in which she said she didn’t see herself as a ‘Performance Poet’ I beg to differ, even as a child I could see the profound effect she had on an audience and my parents.

Later in life I had the privilege of watching three Performance Poets at the age of seventeen.
I had no idea of their greatness at the time, they were just three scary guys who came on as the interval entertainment during a ‘Ska Music’ gig in Camden.

Introduced as ‘The Ranting Poets’ Lyndon Kwasi Johnson, Benjamin Zephaniah, and John Cooper Clarke. They were terrifying and amazing in equal measure, in a time of racial intolerance and ‘Thatchers Britain.’ Even though I didn’t fully understand everything they said I didn’t forget how their words made me feel.

I recently met Benjamin Zephaniah (at one of his performances) and told him that he had terrified me, he laughed and asked if he was ranting about ‘Thatcher’ when I explained he was, he said it was because he was so angry.

That’s why I love poetry, it is an expression of how we feel, connecting through language to convey those thoughts.

Benjamin Zephaniah, I was so in awe!

I have written poetry for as long as I can remember but only recently began to perform my poetry to strangers.

The reason for this is that I had written a poem about the loss of one of my best friends. Someone too young, who was extraordinary.

I think I needed to make sense of it all and validate her life because it had ended far too soon. I needed to share it with the world, to confirm that she was here and that she mattered.

I knew I needed to do this on my own and I really was worried that it just wasn’t good enough or that it wouldn’t justify her existence.

I had seen an advert for a local Folk Festival in Leigh On Sea in Essex, which included a spoken word evening in one of the local churches and so nervously, I went along.

I signed up and sat down at a table with another lady sitting on her own. We chatted and introduced ourselves. The lady’s name was Lillian, she wasn’t a poet but she told me that she loved listening to poetry and shared her love of the arts.

Lillian was such a lovely soul, I explained it was my first time. The connection with this lady was so special and something I won’t forget as her kindness about my poetry made me feel ten feet tall which is really something, for a vertically challenged squirt like me.

The comments from others and their reactions to my poem, cemented for me, that my poetry is meant to be performed and heard.

A very clever poet called Adrian Mitchell once said:

“Most People ignore most poetry because most poetry ignores most people”

That is exactly the type of poetry I want to write and perform, poetry for everyone. It is also the poetry that most people respond to when I perform.

I attend lots of ‘Spoken Word’ performances and everyone is so very supportive. There is so much talent out there, both young and old and every time, it takes my breath away.

So, when I recently attended a poetry event in Kings Cross in London to celebrate ‘Women Poets’ albeit famous ones, I expected to be exhilarated. However, I felt the opposite, as if I didn’t belong.

Of course the writing was incredible although the poem which had the biggest reaction was the simplest poem of the evening, by acclaimed poet Gillian Clarke. A poem about life in the form of a pebble. An audible sigh in the audience (myself included) for the poem’s last line confirmed that everyone had felt a connection.

The other poets really had an absurd effect on me, their words making me feel that my poetry wouldn’t ever be good enough. I’ve never felt that deflated before, whenever I’ve been to see a recognised poet I usually leave inspired and full of admiration. Maybe it was the learned way they were introduced that made me feel so inferior.

I really did not expect my reaction which made me feel both angry and sad. I do know it runs deep for me, having been accused of plagiarism at the tender age of fifteen by an English teacher. This relating to a poem we were asked to write for homework.

It was the fact that she believed I would hand in someone else’s work, that knocked me for six. Especially when I was so very proud of it, I still am.

So, I had a word with myself and told myself how ridiculously I was reacting and I remembered that ‘anyone’ who writes a poem is a poet, recognised or not and that it doesn’t matter where you were educated. If the words are written from your heart, it is indeed poetry.

I would like to think all poets feel and believe this, no matter who they are. 💗

So here is my retort:

Women of Poetry

A Radio 2 listener in a room of Radio 4

Words beyond measure

Iridescent, intellectual, eloquence

Her lexicon of thought, felt crude and insignificant

Oxford and Cambridge

Platinum and crystal

She is aluminium and glass and earth

Doubting worth and abandoning why?

Imposter breath invades her lungs

Resurgence of ambiguity fills a new found void

Until the timid roar, growls

Her uncertainty, clear

She has a place

In smiles of unfamiliar faces

In tears that reach the soul

Flesh and bone

She is, the same

Joy M Louisa

I apologise for the huge spacing, I tried to change it but not being computer savvy, I failed miserably.

I would like to add that I’ve nothing really against Radio 4 and I do tune in occasionally when there is an interview I particularly want to hear, but essentially I’m a Radio 2 kind of a girl.

So there you have it, a connection I thought I would have but didn’t and I then found.

One final thing to note, when I arrived back at Upminster Station in Essex after the oddest evening, a peculiar Dickensian figure (in as much as he looked like Fagin in a Parker with missing teeth) spoke to me like I was in a Victorian novel:

“Long night Miss?”

I swear he tugged at his forelock.

Such a strange night …

A Greek Love Affair

My final day in Corfu had arrived. I set my alarm to watch one last sunrise. It was very beautiful but not as spectacular as the first. The morning was cloudy and slightly overcast.

Perhaps Greece too, was feeling a little sad.

The clouds gradually drifted away and then the sun shone brightly as it had every morning since I arrived.

With everything packed except my bag for the day, I took once last look around at my ‘Perfect’ apartment and with a heavy heart removed my jacket from it’s home.

I dropped my suitcase off at Teo and Tina’s house and they asked me about my plans for the day. I told them I intended to visit ‘The Achilleon Palace’ and they gave directions to the shortcut through the ‘forest.’

I say ‘forest’ more like a lethal trek up a huge hill with trees, made only slightly easier by the foliage, which provided much needed shade. Each time I thought I’d reached the top, there was another bend!

If you have ever been in a Disneyland queue, it was very similar. Snaking around each corner feeling sure you are at the start of the ride, only to find there is another line and another. This felt exactly the same, just without the music and the mouse.

I eventually reached the top to be met with a winding track of uphill road. Not at anytime did it feel like a ‘shortcut!’

I was just beginning to think I was lost again, but as I turned the corner, I saw lots of parked cars and I guessed the Palace must be near (despite the distinct lack of signs).

Teo had mentioned the name of a cafe at the top which I then saw, and happily confirmed I was where I was meant to be.

I was however once again, a sweaty, knackered, mess. If I haven’t lost weight this holiday I will not be happy!

I paid my 10 euros and entered ‘The Achellion Palace’ I was so glad it was cool inside. I then queued for my audio guide.

Something Teo hadn’t told me, was that I needed ID to get one. My passport was of course, back at the ranch!

After I explained my predicament, the lady behind the counter said she would take a credit card as security. I then duly handed this over. She wrote my name and telephone number in a book (she did this with everyone) then joked she was off to go shopping! At least I hoped she was joking.

I absolutely loved ‘The Achellion Palace’ and I was really glad I’d left it to the last day, as it finished my love affair with Greece perfectly.

Fabulous!

It was absolutely stunning, as were the gardens.

The audio commentary was unintentionally hilarious in parts, this being due to the brutal translation in English of its history. This really made me laugh and I then walked around with a ridiculous grin on my face.

I finished my tour, handed back my audio guide and collected my credit card. I then stopped on my way back at the cafe. Coffee and ice cream, why not?

The view was breathtaking, so was the ice cream ‘Lemon and Biscuits!’

On my way back down I was met with a familiar terrifying sign, which I hadn’t noticed on the way up, mainly because I was struggling for breath.

I found the ‘forest’ trail and began my descent. This photo does not depict how steep it was.

I also saw Pegasus on the way, hiding his wings.

When I found my way back to the apartments I decided to spend my last hour at the beach. My beach, my beach at the bottom of the stairs.

My daughters and I, whenever we are sunbathing and wherever we are in the world, play the game ‘Hot Dogs or Legs?’ We then send each other a photo.

So it seemed apt to send my offering and final photo to them, at that moment.

The answer came back; 100% Hot Dogs 💗

I then said my goodbyes to the beach. I would be lying if I said I didn’t shed a tear. And then, for one final time, I climbed the 60 stairs.

I was greeted warmly at Teo and Tina’s house, offered coffee and asked if I would like to use their bathroom.

Then we sat and chatted, they asked if I had enjoyed my stay and we each shared stories about our lives. I learned that Teo was born in Thessaloniki and he thought that the Greeks in this area were not as friendly, not just to tourists but to himself too. So maybe I was right.

I discovered he liked ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ and that Tina didn’t like big cities. We really did talk about all sorts of things!

My blogsite is entitled ‘A Joyful Connection’ we were three strangers, who did just that.

When I said goodbye to Tina, I hugged her, I did this because it felt right. Her response was to squeeze me very tightly, which made me incredibly emotional.

When Teo dropped me off at the airport we hugged too. Not once on the journey to the airport was there an awkward silence, we talked constantly, he telling me about his childhood.

The journey that I had previously worried so very much about.

My first ever solo holiday has come to an end and I am back in Blighty with it’s grey skies.

The current, sharp, memory of Greece that dwells within me will fade, but the feeling that I can and will do this again, will not.

The last photo I will share in this blog is the selfie I took that I previously said had captured a moment but really, it is more than that.

I have no make up on, I am not worried that it shows my wrinkles, or my double chin, because I’m far from perfect, but this holiday has been.

I think that this photo shows the joy in my eyes, the joy of someone, who at that moment, felt the love and the wonder of life!

I hope you have enjoyed reading my first ‘Joyful Connection’ as much as I have enjoyed sharing it with you.

Joy

xxx

‘I say Corfu and you say Korfu’

Like any large town or city it is always hotter due to increased bodies, architecture and geography. Corfu was no exception.

Teo had pre-warned me to buy my bus tickets rather than pay on the actual bus, as fares change from driver to driver.

This was not as easy as he made it seem. I did try to pre-buy these at the supermarket (where he told me to purchase them) but they didn’t seem to sell them and in any case, the ranging fares were still cheaper than back home, so I wasn’t too fussed.

The journey didn’t take very long and it was interesting to see the different views along the route.

When we arrived in Corfu everyone seemed to pour out at one stop, but it didn’t seem an obvious choice to me, so I stayed on the bus. The driver was not happy I had stayed, when everyone else had left. I have no idea what he said but I don’t think it was flattering.

At this point I turned into an Italian, waved my arms around and huffed. I then went back to being British and obviously apologised for not knowing that I should have got off the stop before!

I really had no idea where I was going so I just followed the crowd and eventually found myself in shiny, cobbled, streets, littered with life. I saw a sign that said ‘Old Fortress’ and headed in that direction. I knew this was somewhere I wanted to visit, so I rocked up and paid my 6 euros to enter.

One of the first things I looked at were mosaic tiles and religious artefacts. If the dog outside was supposed to be guarding these treasures, I think someone needed to remind him of the job description.

The great thing about this room wasn’t just the interesting objects but the fact it was air conditioned. It was such an incredibly hot day.

The name given to this next photo of a religious icon:

‘Unidentified Saint’

Brilliant!

Answers on a postcard please…

I then, in the blazing heat and in true ‘Dora the Explorer’ fashion, climbed the fortress, right to the top where the cross sits.

If I thought the blind bends on the walk to Benitses was bad, it was nothing compared to this madness.

I had trainer type shoes on with a decent grip but the slippery smooth stone, was horrendous. I’d already watched a young guy grabbing the handrail as he slid down three steps in his flip flops. The handrail being metal and boiling hot in the heat did not help his situation. I’m guessing there were several expletives he shouted in the air, even though I didn’t understand his accent.

However, despite all obstacles, I made it, and the view was fabulous.

By the time I came down, I’d like to say I was perspiring slightly, except that wouldn’t be the truth. I was a hot, knackered, sweaty, mess!

I then found a lovely place to have lunch in the square opposite and I must have looked dire because the young waitress led me to a table at the back, where she said the breeze “would help.”

I had a really tasty Salmon and Apple Salad (who knew?) You can see from the photo that it was so hot the phone lens had now steamed up.

Afterwards, I wandered around for a while until I came to this church:

As you can see the door is shut. It wasn’t when I first went in, this was taken after I was thrown out!

Yep, I had gone in to have a look around, I wanted to light a candle and say prayers for a few friends who I know are dealing with some really difficult things at the moment. I couldn’t find any candles to light although I did see two glass coffins containing two small wrapped bodies.

I’m not sure who they both were but there was an awful lot of genuflecting going on around them, so I was guessing they had once been someone very important.

It was beautiful inside and I took a bit of time looking around. I then sat down to pray and have a chat with the ’Big Guy’ when I was aware that a man was very loudly ushering me away “Come, come, we close.”

So that was a first.

I got lost for a little while, bought myself an ice cream, which I then immediately dropped. Luckily, I was taken pity on and it was kindly replaced.

I also saw an advert for a photographic exhibition about ‘The Durrells’ a behind the scenes look at the recent ITV series. Unfortunately it was closed but I have now since taken a trip back to see it!

Seriously, is every Grecian male called Spiros?

There was a visitors comment book in which I wrote a little note to the exhibitor. I say note but it was more in the style of an essay as I just wanted him to know how much I enjoyed looking at his work.

So…

This blog has always been a few days behind, mainly because I didn’t want to bore everyone by blogging everyday.

What I didn’t realise, until all the lovely comments was that I should have been. This being the reason that this penultimate blog is a little longer.

I really have been having the best time, but one of the drawbacks of sailing solo is that you don’t appear in any of your photos. Which is why I bought and brought a ‘Selfie Stick’ with me.

The only thing is, I really am the absolute pants at taking selfies! I read online that you could use your mobile phone headphones to help you (the volume button acts as a shutter in camera mode).

The concept works, just not for the person taking them. These are my results:

This next one is probably the best of a bad bunch.

If I was marking this, it would say; requires improvement.

I have managed to take one photo of myself that’s ok. It isn’t brilliant but there’s something about the image that makes me smile and for me, sums up a moment in time. I intend to save that one for my final blog.

There has been so much to share with you, that I could go on forever. My bat watch every evening (I love bats) not to mention the little connections I have observed between friends, families, and lovers.

My time on this island is now coming to an end. I wasn’t sure how I would feel on my first solo holiday and so I booked just 7 nights. I hoped to leave wishing I had booked more.

I leave with my wish granted.

Today is my final day.

Teo and Tina have kindly extended my check out time from 11am to 1pm. They will then look after my case as my flight is not until this evening.

I have already planned my day. I intend to visit The Achillion Palace built by Kaiser Wilhelm II. The information Teo gave me was that there wasn’t much to see, but you are given an audio guide and the story is really good!

Teo also told me that there is a short cut at the back of the apartments to the palace, through a forest.

So of course I’m going to use it. What’s life without adventure!

As long as I’m back for my flight all will be well.

Talking of the Kaiser, the hotel just along the road is called ‘The Kaiser Bridge’ which I think sounds like the title of a carry on film.

Now, the sun has risen and I am just going to bask; In the glory of this last, beautiful, incredible, morning…

'Vivre la Vie'

Having woken late on my first morning, I decided to set my alarm for the sunrise which actually isn’t that early here, according to my iPhone app. Sunrise is noted as 6.50am but I set my alarm for 6am to make sure.

I had read that the sunrise was something to behold and I wasn’t disappointed. It really is something truly spectacular, in fact so special, it made me cry.

At that moment I felt so incredibly lucky, grateful, and blessed:

This sweet little guy joined me at sunrise for a brief moment, but ran off very quickly. I have decided to call him Gizmo, as his ears seem far too big for his tiny body and he reminds me of the furry character in the film ‘Gremlins.’

I was looking forward to a day on the beach, swimming, sunbathing, reading and soaking in the atmosphere. I had brought a small cool bag with me, a reusable ice block and an inflatable’ Lilo Lounger’ I’d ordered cheaply on Amazon, that I could leave for the next person if it survived.

I made myself lunch and filled up my Chilly Bottle (other bottles are available, I just love these ones) with cold water and ice cubes (I had also bought my small silicone CB ice cube tray with me). These items have been brilliant, the bottle invaluable in keeping water cold in the scorching heat and the ice cubes surprisingly whole for long periods of time.

Arriving at the beach (five minutes away) I was immediately pleased with myself that I had the foresight to bring a lilo, as it is a pebble beach. Think Brighton with sun.

I am completely contented with this, as let’s face it, sand looks beautiful next to clear water and it feels incredibly romantic, as it lays gently caressed by the golden, shimmering, sun, but it’s not practical!

Sand gets in your food and it causes acute discomfort. Who hasn’t felt the pain of sore toes when sand rubs between them, when you ‘eventually’ manage to put your sandy wet flip flops back on after swimming? Not to mention the nooks and crannies it gets in on your person. No, pebble beach for the win!

Although I have to admit there were two little hiccups to my beach day. The first being, that pebbles make an exit very tricky, more fairy elephant than graceful gazelle. I have now invented a manoeuvre which makes it slightly better. The Corfu Bum Shuffle, which means I basically shuffle my bum as far as I can along the pebbles in the sea before emerging. I still look ridiculously ungainly but for a shorter amount of time.

The second which actually felt more like an epic fail on my part was forgetting the spoon for my Greek yoghurt. Epic because I was really looking forward to eating it, especially as it would have been sand free.

I had a lovely day in the sun. The Adriatic sea was calm and cooling and not once did I feel alone.

So, having learned my lesson, when I returned late afternoon to the apartment, I showered, changed, and headed into Benitses. It was around 5.30pm, I had a pleasant walk and followed The Green Cross Code so as not to endanger my life anymore than was necessary. I was again beeped and heckled and have been every early evening walking to Benitses. There is a difference now, it being light, it doesn’t faze me, it annoys me that as women it is something we are subjected to, but like an irritating fly, I swot it and move on.

Finally, my first dinner in Greece! There was always going to be one first choice for me, my favourite Greek dish which I make at home (not as well) is Moussaka. I absolutely adore it. When I saw the open air Taverna with the following name, it was a no brainer for me:

I was fourteen years old sitting in Mr Jones’ English lesson when I read ‘My Family and Other Animals’ by Gerald Durrell. I remember thinking that one day I would experience the magic that he felt.

Oddly, I imagined myself alone there. I have always remembered the enchanting description of Corfu:

“The sea lifted blue muscles of wave as it stirred in the dawn light, and the foam of our wake spread gently behind us like a white peacock’s tail, glinting with bubbles.”

‘Spiro Hakiaopulos’ is a central character in the novel. So eating at this spot was perfect, as was the Moussaka.

I do not have a problem eating alone, it seems to me it’s only others that do.

I have always thought that older French women are the epitome of strength and independency and that they embody life. However, the fact that I was dinning alone seemed to irritate the mature lady on the opposite table. My very poor French allowed me to understand that she was commenting disapprovingly on my solo dinning. I smiled but she did not smile back. You win some, you lose some.

Dinning alone in Greece is very different to dinning alone in England, something I do quite often. In England waiters and waitresses seem far more helpful and attentive, in Greece, I am largely ignored. In some ways this is wonderful as I really don’t want to be hassled but in others a little disappointing.

Before this trip many friends and colleagues have told me how hospitable and friendly the Greek people are. For me, this has not been the case. I have however witnessed this when families are present, the waiters are charming and interested. It is so strange how you see such a different perspective looking from the outside in.

I am not saying that people have been completely aloof, I have been met with Grecian smiles and perhaps they are just respecting my privacy when eating. It’s just when they do engage, it is not what I expected.

Nevertheless, each day I am falling a little more in love with Greece.

Tomorrow I shall visit Corfu Town, I wonder what awaits?

"Of Mice and Men"

My first full day in Greece started late. I think the excitement of the night before had taken its toll.

I woke up around 10.30 am (which would make it 8.30am in England) and having then marvelled at the view several times over, I began to unpack.

I had already been sent through a list of sundry food items to purchase ready for arrival should I choose (I chose) and these had been ready and waiting the night I arrived.

On a side note, how fabulous is the word ‘sundry’ why do we say various when we can use ‘sundry’ I shall try and make a conscious effort to use it more often!

I digress…

I had already brought coffee, cereal, and breakfast biscuits with me and I had ordered water and milk for my arrival. I did this so I knew I would be able to have breakfast before I needed to go anywhere to stock up with essentials.

I was overjoyed to find a kettle in the apartment as the Airbnb reviews had remarked that there wasn’t one. That alone made my morning. I hung a few things up and faffed about. That’s the lovely thing, as someone who is a serial faffer, when you are solo there is absolutely no one, to tell you to hurry up!

Teo had already told me there were supermarkets in Benitses (the nearest town/village) he said it was better to walk, as the bus was silly expensive for the short journey of 20mins by foot. What he didn’t mention was how perilous parts of that journey would be!

It was magical just walking and taking in the sights, the sea so clear, the sky so blue, just beautiful.

These are the sixty steps that lead down to the beach and road to Benitses. I haven’t counted them, it’s one of the many things Teo told me (that I did remember) on the way from the airport. The following photos are the views along the way:

At this point there is no path, you are just walking along the road. Having said this, the oncoming traffic can see you, so all is well. That is, until you are faced with this…

A blind spot! No path, no way of the oncoming traffic seeing you. You are literally taking your life in your hands, but there is a knack.

Just before you start walking around the corner, you remember your Green Cross Code!

For those too young to know, it goes like this; Stop, Look, Listen.

As soon as the traffic is silent, you stick your head around the corner which means you can see if anything is coming then when all is clear you run really quickly, as there is another bit of path directly after.

Then immeditely after that is the next treacherous bend…

Again, the trick is to listen, stand on the second step, and when quiet, check to see if anything is coming then proceed quickly with caution.

After that it’s plain sailing as there is then a proper path to Benitsis although I use the term ‘proper' lightly.

This is the sign that then faced me, and made me laugh the most!

Why would the horrifying image of a shark who clearly wants to eat you, entice you to visit that shell museum?

I had made a list of things I needed. I love food shopping in other countries and I really loved the way I had to guess what certain things were as it was “All Greek to me” I’m sorry, but I had to get that pun in somewhere.

I almost bought myself some fish but decided against it as I thought I would go out for dinner, but I really should have.

The journey back was still tricky with the added bonus of carrying shopping but easier, as the traffic is behind you. There is no point in walking on the other side of the road as there is no path whatsoever.

I had already made the conscious decision of eating early and returning to the apartment before it got dark, as I knew, that was when I would feel most vulnerable and I also knew I would be quite happy sitting on the balcony watching the sun go down.

So I put my shopping away, made a sandwich, sunbathed and read. Time had run away with me. I knew that my first day would be about getting my bearings, supplies and deciding where to go and what to do.

I’d also caught up with Teo and managed to pay for my journey and met his wife Clementina (Tina) who is lovely and from Italy. I used the only Italian word I could remember which was ‘Grazie’ and now say ‘Ciao’ whenever I see her.

I showered and got myself ready to go out. It is very hot here, 96 in old money 36 in new. I then walked down the 60 steps heading towards a Taverna that Teo had recommended in the other direction.

It was getting quite late and the sun had now set. I wasn’t really sure how far the Taverna was, although thankfully this outing was complete with a path.

I was wearing knee length denim shorts and a flowy top which showed nothing but my arms, not that it should matter what I was wearing but I wish to make a point.

There are scooters everywhere here and they bib constantly to warn people as they approach bends without paths.
However, I was on a straight path without a bend when I was bibbed and heckled.

I really was taken aback because I just didn’t expect it. Yes, it has happened to me before but I was much younger and it made me so angry and sad that we as women are still so sexualized. I am sure if I was a man on my own I would not have had the same reaction.

I have recently attended a four day ‘Positive Psychology’ course and we were shown a video of a woman in her late twenties/early thirties dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket walking through New York. There had been a hidden camera recording her journey. She was constantly whistled at, heckled and some men were verbally abusive “Hey sexy, why aren’t you talking to me?” One guy walked right next to her for an alarming amount of time.
Not once did she make eye contact with anyone, she was just walking.

The guy who was running the course then asked the women in the room if there was any one of us that hadn’t experienced on any level, this type of behaviour in our lives.
There were women of all ages in that room and sadly not one of us could say yes.

This is when I was really disappointed in my feminist self, I wasn’t sure where I was going and I felt like I had walked an awful long way with no sign of the Taverna and it was now dusk.

So, I turned and walked back. I knew by the time I reached anywhere it would be dark once I’d eaten.

Teo was barbequing (outside their house which is next to the apartments) when I arrived back. “You finished quickly!” I Iied “Yes.”

I lied because I was embarrassed and I felt stupid. I was also very annoyed at myself for letting something so silly unnerve me.

So, you live and you learn.

I was just glad I like sandwiches…

'Yassou Greece'

Now, the one thing my family, friends and colleagues will tell you I was apprehensive about, was getting to and from the apartment I had booked. I think perhaps it was the one thing I felt I had no control over. I had read comments about how lovely the hosts were ‘Clementina and Teo’ who own the Airbnb apartments but being on my own, somehow just made the thought of this journey feel a little uneasy for me.

I think the reason for this is that I had an unnerving experience during a photoshoot for ‘Prima’ magazine. I realise that sounds terribly pretentious, it is I would like to add, the only photoshoot I have ever done for a magazine.

A freelance journalist had contacted me through Twitter as she was looking for women who had gone back to a lost hobby after a long period of time, and having read online about my ‘Calendar Girls’ debut, thought that I may fit the bill.

I saw it as a chance to plug my book “Will it grow back Mummy?” (Amazon) and hopefully make a little money for the two cancer charities the book benefits.

After the photoshoot, the magazine had ordered an Uber to take me back to the station paid for by themselves. It was on this journey, back towards Fenchurch Street Station in London, that something strange (at least to me) happened.

We had stopped at traffic lights and the driver who had not yet really spoken, despite my first greeting when he picked me up, automatically locked the doors. This really scared me, I had no idea why? Or even how far away we were from the station? The fare had been paid for, so this made no sense to me.

The driver then proceeded to talk about how small the streets were in England and that back home when new streets are made, they are always wider. I wasn’t sure where back home was, and I didn’t ask because I was too busy imagining myself being brutally attacked and murdered!

However, I ended up talking about Victorian England and the streets being built for horse and carriages, not once did I ask why he had locked the doors?!

After a few minutes I saw a sign for Fenchurch Street and my panic subsided. He unlocked the door and I then ‘thanked him’ for the terrifying journey.

I later found out it is common practice for several drivers to lock their car doors in our city, when approaching traffic lights near to an intended destination. This being, that certain customers have a nasty habit of leaping out and ‘doing a runner’ thus having a free ride!

Perhaps it was force of habit that he locked the doors, despite the fact that my ride had already been paid for. This incident being the reason I was so fretful about my journey to and from the apartment in Greece.

So, I nervously and excitedly spied my name (as previously said) in large letters on a white squared piece of paper. Holding this was Teo, co-owner (the other being his wife Tina) of said apartments ‘Spiti Kritikos’ near Gaustori in Corfu.

Teo has kind eyes and a strong, warm, handshake, something my Mother swore by. “If a man has a strong, firm, handshake then it says a lot about good character.” There was something about him that made me feel safe, he constantly chatted the whole way, bombarding me with useful information, half of which I have already forgotten.

The streets were busy and noisy and full of life as we whizzed along the winding, strange, and makeshift roads towards the apartments. It was quite dark when we arrived, Teo carried my case and led me to my apartment, gave me my key and refused to be paid for the journey. “Later, later, is no hurry!” Those words confirmed my instincts.

It was too dark to see the view, the apartment I could tell was and is cosy, not beautiful or modern or designer fabulous.

In fact I have just one adjective to describe how it feels for me, that word being ‘perfect.’

So this is the view I woke up to:

I have not stopped smiling, every now and then I just smile, the island is already working it’s magic. The photo below I just like, I’m not sure why I like the image of my jacket and hat hanging in my current abode, I think it’s because they look like they belong.

I already know I will be sad to remove said jacket from It’s peg, because it will mean I will be heading home.

For now though, there are adventures that await.

My first full day in Greece…

,

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‘Shirley Valentine’

I have had this site for sometime and with all good intentions apart for setting up my information I have written nothing!

I have two special women to thank for this, my daughter Claire whose amazing IT skills far surpass mine and a wonderful artist I have the pleasure to work with, Heather. She designed my beautiful sunflower ring as sunflowers are incredibly special for me.

So here is my first blog the first of many I hope, my intention is to reveal much more as the months roll by.

I guess I am a storyteller, I believe we all are, whenever I regale my tales I am quite often told I must write them down. A blog seems perfect for this. I have recently acquired the nickname “The coolest kid in town” which makes me smile as (A) the person calling me this is far cooler than I’ll ever be and (B) at age 55 to be referred to as this, makes my heart sing, especially as I don’t feel I have ever in my whole life been ‘cool.’

So, I thought I would start with my first solo adventure, this wouldn’t normally be anything unusual for me as I have many solo adventures except for the fact that this time, is the first time, I am travelling solo to a distant land.

I haven’t been abroad for five years, the last time was with a group of girlfriends to celebrate our fiftieth year on this planet in Spain. I have flown on my own to meet friends but never completely alone on holiday with me, myself and I.

There’s a first time for everything right?

I love airports and planes, I really think I could be the geek (sorry plane spotters) with the pad, pencil, flask, and cheese sandwiches at an airport watching the planes take off and land.

Where I am currently staying is on the flight path to the airport, for some this may be irritating, but for me, heaven. I have already downloaded the flight app you point at with your camera phone to tell you where the plane is headed and masses of information about the plane. I am totally embracing my inner geekiness.

So it seems apt to start with my flying journey to Corfu in Greece.

Of course I’ve seen and read Shirley Valentine (I have the playscript) I adore Willy Russell and I think he connects with women like no other writer. I too connect with Shirley, I think we all do.

I arrived at the airport, I stood in a very long queue listening to excited and bickering families. I found when travelling on your own, people give you far more attention. The lady from Jet 2 helped me with my case and it became a little easier than I expected.

I mooched around the airport and bought a cheap watch as I had left mine at home and I really didn’t want to leave my iPhone on the beach while swimming. My thoughts being that a £20 watch is far easier to replace than my iPhone (to tell me the time) while away.

I had dinner at the airport, there was a young guy next to me on his own and I concocted the story in my head that he was obviously, a young DJ off to Ibiza.

When I boarded the plane a young Irish Air Steward noted my name and said “You’re Becky’s family aren’t you? We have been told to take good care of you.” My niece Rebecca is an Air Hostess for Jet 2 in Belfast but I hadn’t expected her to mention me. That made me immediately emotional. You will discover that it is something that happens to me constantly (being emotional I mean) especially when confronted by kindness.

I found my seat which was an aisle seat, my travelling companions were an older gentleman who sat next to me and then next to him, I think, was his teenage Grandaughter.

After an hour or so the aforementioned Air Steward came to say that Becky had left instructions for a drink to be sent to my seat, cue happy tears.

I almost felt like superstar, such a sweet thing to do.

Although, I had almost finished my drink when the gentleman next to me, ask me to move and in one foul swoop I managed to spill the remaining wine all over him. In true British fashion he was incredibly nice about it, even though I had soaked most of his leg!

To be fair it wouldn’t have been me if the journey hadn’t been without incident.

I read for most of the flight, a book I have now finished. Not a remarkable book but interesting ‘A Street Cat Named Bob.’ from the film of the same name.

We landed safely and smoothly and I found my suitcase remarkably quickly.
I emerged from arrivals and saw my full name on a white piece of paper.

Silly I know, but something I have always dreamed of.

Now I really did feel like a superstar…