Top 'o the marning to ya',
Or at least that's what they say in Ireland. Haha. Anyhoo I hope all is well and good with everyone and it is safe to say that I am fully recovered and rejuvenated from my adventures of the lactose variety. I am now back home safe and sound and ready for a fresh new chapter ahead. Well Kinda!
So after I left the House of Cheese last Sunday I whizzed back home, up my apartment stairs still dressed in the outfit from the night before, suspenders and all and rallied around my penthouse for my bag and all the other bits I would be taking away with me to Ireland. After making several trips up and down those god awful stairs many more times as a result of leaving something important behind I finally left in good time to make my train and grab a good old Starbucks before heading to the departure lounge. I was hoping to find a nice Irish fellow, maybe works in something fun like marketing or advertising to chat with on the journey. Maybe we would fall in love and he would invite me to stay in Dublin for ever and ever and live happily ever after under the shadows of the Guinness factory. Alas though this was not the case and after taking off late due to a delay I began to feel nauseous. Maybe my last night of passion had caught up with me? Nevertheless I tucked into my hearty breakfast bap from Starbs and let the oxygenated air knock me out for six.
Landing in Dublin I knew I was already going to be pushed for time catching my coach from the airport to the village closest to my Aunt and Uncles cottage in Callan, County Kilkenny. Rushing past fellow flyer's and nearly pushing a small Spanish boy onto the luggage carousel in a mad dash to get through security I managed to get outside into the Irish air but missed my coach by mere minutes. 'Damn Spanish kids' I thought to myself as I begged for a Irish driver to detour and take me to where I needed to go. Thankfully a nice man let me on his bus and I headed for the city centre hoping I could make my connection there. As the city lit up with the evenings lights under a dark rain cloud it began to pour and the heavens opened over the home of the leprechaun. Just as I thought it was too late my trusty bus driver pulled into the coach yard and yelled at the now leaving coach bound for what I would call home for the next week or so to stop and allow me to board. The luck of the Irish 'eh?
After a long and winding journey through the Irish hills that seemed to roll on forever and countless attempts to get my phone to work in what appeared to be a completely foreign country (Thanks T-Mobile) I finally arrived at my destination. A local farmer friend of the family came to collect me and we made small talk most of the journey home. Letting myself into the small cottage I breathed a sigh of relief as I took in the sights that had comforted me so many times before. Somehow I always feel like I am at home in Ireland.
Settling in I unpacked and threw on some pyjamas in the hope that there might be something decent on TV like a film or such. Casting my phone aside and telling myself that I would deal with it tomorrow I flopped into the leather couch and prepared for my first night alone. In the middle of nowhere. Miles from the nearest neighbour. Where you can scream and no one will hear you. With no protection other than a blunt letter opener. 'Yes, I think I fancy watching My Little Pony tonight!' I thought to myself as I made sure that the front door was locked. Luckily I didn't have too long to enjoy my own company as I was joined the following morning by my Aunt and Uncle's dogs arriving back from the kennels. I was hoping that maybe now would be my chance to meet a handsome Irish man. No. This one I am sad to say was old and had a white beard to rival Captain Bird's Eye. Taking hold of the leads the large dogs, one a Pitbull type and the other a slobbery Dog Bordeaux, I could feel how strong they were. Pulling on the chains I shoved them into the house whilst I waved off my only communication for that day and collected the rest of the dog stuff.
Snuggled up on the leather settee was where myself and my furry friends spent most of the next few days, watching reruns of Friends (In which I had never really seen before but now I am hooked and feel I now need to spend the next few weeks catching up on everything between 1994 and 2004). I did however venture out most days, oddly going for a run a couple of times. I know - I must have been bored. I did venture into the city of Kilkenny one day to see the sights and to have a cheeky shop in the knowledge that my bags had plenty more room to fill with clothes and shoes. Sad to say though by this point (Tuesday Afternoon I might add) I was already missing work and so this reflected in my shopping habits with me picking up several new shirts and a pencil skirt I shall no doubt return once home. Exhausted I headed for a bearded gentleman manning the information desk to call me a cab back home since my driver was unavailable for the week. After dialling for a taxi and trying with no avail to tell him where I needed to go I sat in the back of the large silver tin can hoping and praying that he wouldn't turn down a dirt track and try to grope me.
Thankfully I made it home in one piece although robbed of forty-euros for the cab fare. The cheek! Apparently I found out at a later date that the journey in total shouldn't have cost no more than about twenty but how was a pretty little English girl to know that? Disregarding the incident I went about my usual duties for the week feeding all the animals on my Aunties increasingly growing collection of farm yard creatures. In total I was sharing my Irish retreat with four goats - One of them pregnant, a horse, several chickens, a rooster, a couple of guinea fowl and three dogs. Snuggling down under the blankets and with the warmth of the hounds we watched a film and then headed to bed. Soon enough though the weekend was upon us and I was greeted by the local farmer again offering to take me to the local pub up the road for a proper Irish knees up and a few pints. Obviously I obliged but had to clear myself of dog hair and the smell of oats.
Donning my boots and 'Big-Boob-Bra' I headed out for a night out with the local lads. Lads however may have been an extreme use of the word. I think maybe the phrase I was looking for was of the more mature variety. Stepping into the quaint little public house I could tell how it once used to be someones front room. Warm and cosy though I stood at the bar and soaked up the surroundings. It was far from busy and I took shelter with my 'date' for the evening until I found some company. Looking around my thoughts were confirmed. I was not only the youngest in the joint but also the only female! Now most people would have thought 'Oh dear god no! They will harass me and try all there best 1974 chat-up lines on me?!' but not me. I revelled in the conversation about cow's and farming, even dropping in about my blog once or twice. 'I knew I would be a hit' I thought to myself as I spurred out all the old tales of bad dates and naughty escapades of a younger, less informed self. Rounding off the night I thought I might have to carry my farmer friend home but thankfully his wonderful wife came to collect us and saved me from a good four-mile trek home in the scary darkness of the Irish wilderness.
Being woken up at the crack of dawn by the rooster "Cock-a-doodle-dooing" is something I shall never become accustomed to however on the morning following the Irish night out my head was craving for more time with the pillow. I reluctantly rolled out of bed, fixed my curls into pigtails and began the feeding of horse, goats and poultry. I did fancy picking one of the chickens up and just whispering to it "Nando's" but I thought that would just make me hungry so went back inside to find the CoCo Pops. Rounding off my week away I rose early this morning to make sure that all the animals were fed and watered and that the dog man collected the pooches before I headed off back to Dublin and to catch my flight later on that afternoon. And after all my in-vain searching for an Irish fellow I finally found one in the Kennel-boy.
Pulling up in the silver van I could hear the Pitbull and Dog Bordeaux going mental. Not evening thinking twice I nearly ran outside to see what all the commotion was all about minus my top. Bare breasts to the guy that collects Mutts for a living is not the best first impression to give someone not to mention probably making the poor boy vomit and causing mental scarring. Huffing on a vest and joining the barking two-some outside I could see what they were barking at ... Woof Woof! Talk with wispy curly hair and a thick Southern Irish accent and I was sold. On top of all that (Yes please!) he worked with dogs for a living so no more bow-wow bashing. Handing them over to him I thought about crawling into the cages next to them and asking the young chap to take me for a walk!
After watching my Irish farmer boy drive off up the lanes I waited next for my carriage to whisk me away to Kilkenny so I could grab a much needed coffee and some breakfast before boarding the coach again back to Dublin. Waiting at the station I helped out a African man struggling with a folding bike, unbeknown to me however it turns out I had made a friend. When questions surrounding my love-life arose I remembered how Mr. Cheese had said that African men always see a girl with no ring on her finger as a potential wife. Reacting quickly and not wanting my love-life to seem as tragic as it actually is I made up a story that I was engaged and that my fiancée whom I have lived with for several years after meeting at University in London, was buying the ring this weekend. It seemed to throw him off but left me feeling deflated and wondering when or even if I will ever get to that point in life.
Trundling through the city streets of Dublin flooded my head with wondrous fantasies about one day living over there. Not permanently of course, I can barely leave my Tweedles for a week let alone a lifetime! No maybe just a year or less. You know, living in a hostel, working in a bar, making new friends and chatting up nice Irish men! What could be better. It got me thinking and I am now seriously considering a sabbatical from work to live out an Green Isle adventure. Finally connecting to Airport WiFi I completely miss read the departure gate for my flight and instead of being at gate 107 I was at 307. 'Im not going to Manchester?' I thought. Then it hit me and my Caramel Frappachino like a tonne of bricks - 'Shiiiiiiiiiiiit!'
Running through the airport as they were making the call for final boarding I realised that not only do I probably look like a twat running but that I may become one of the disgruntled passengers I always laugh at on my favourite TV programme of all time 'Airline'. Finally arriving at the correct gate I flew through the check in and boarded the plane home. And so here I am now. At my trusty window in my apartment writing to you fine people! Safe to say though that my feet themselves will barely be touching the ground this week as I have to go into work tomorrow to sort some stuff out, I have the UnDate that we spoke of that I may have to reschedule as well as all the washing and packing for the weekend ahead. Weekend ahead you ask? Well I most certainly will not be going to Tiffany's to pick out an engagement ring with my future husband (Or maybe I will?!) No I will be crowning myself as an Indian Chief and getting down and dirty with the best of them. Mallet, mud-fights and cagoule at the ready - Next weekend is Reading Festival 2014!
'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Lies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lies. Show all posts
Monday, 18 August 2014
Monday, 24 March 2014
A Mothers Love: Part I
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com :) xx
Evening everyone,
Parents. You can't choose them can you. Once young people themselves they become known to you only as Mom or Dad. And every year we take forty-eight hours out of the year to celebrate and appreciate them as the people who taught us everything we know now. As some of you may know I love my father till the ends of the earth, but what many of you probably don't know and have maybe wondered why my mother is hardly mentioned. Well now I feel is the right time to tell you why; And just in time for Mothers Day!
The year was 1991. The first Starbucks opened in LA, the World Wide Web is announced to the world and Ötzi the Iceman is found in the Alps. But over eight-hundred miles away from the mountain region that would soon bear my initials a little miracle was happening and at just gone lunch time at a busy maternity ward in Bedfordshire a baby girl arrived. I was born to a soldier and his wife, and as I was handed to my first-time parents I opened my tiny eyes to the world making my father cry with joy. And to think that he nearly missed my late arrival for a bacon sandwich! Growing up was as to be expected in a military family and I always knew from a young age that things weren't like other families. My father would be away for long periods of time often missing important events like Birthdays and Christmas'. But I knew that he was needed elsewhere, helping out in war zones like Northern Ireland and the first Gulf war of the early 1990's and then again in later years when dictatorship in the Middle East ruled again. This left me alone with my mother alot of the time to which the majority of the time was pleasant but certainly not a time where I would look forward to being in her constant company as I always felt inside that there wasn't anything special shared between us.
The arrival of my brother in early summer of 1994 was a welcomed edition to our little family and as a result we moved to a larger family home in the quiet suburbs, close to family and soon to be life-long friends. With my fair hair and porcelain skin I was the apple of my fathers eye and a cutie no grandma could refuse, but with a new baby boy in the family I felt a little cast out and with this the feelings of discontent my mother emulated started to breed. Even as we got older, I knew that something wasn't right, the way she bonded with my baby brother was different to my experiences. As my Dad was away alot on weekends with the Army, he was always under the impression that the wife had something wonderful planned for the children whilst Daddy was away. On numerous Friday evenings my Dad was fed plans of girlie shopping trips and mother-daughter craft days before he went away and on numerous Sunday afternoon's he would be served up lies of what never happened. Instead, Mother would always take my brother shopping or on a trip out somewhere to visit friends for coffee whilst I was left at home alone, watching TV or browsing that new thing called The Internet!
Approaching adult-hood hormones ravaged my pre-teenage body and I became more aware of myself and my personality. I started listening to rock music, experimenting with fashion, make-up and hair-styles and generally rebelling against my Christian upbringing. At times I found myself completely intolerable to my mothers attitude, her mood swings and her manipulative games. As a teenager I found solace in music and socialising with friends but even that she tried to snuff out always cementing unreasonable curfews for no reason and finding constant chores to do around the house. Looking back I can see no reason for her acting in this way but what I do recall is the readiness for an confrontation and the argumentative streak. So many times my mom would promise me a weekend of fun and activities to bond over and so many times there would be a reason not to follow through. One day I think I just gave up hope and as a result stopped believing what I was told. Starting secondary school a hatred began a slow simmer.
I came home from one of my first weeks of middle school to find my mother home from work, crying and screaming at me to watch the TV. In a panic and not wanting to upset her further I sat on the floor of my childhood living room. It was the first moment I think we had spent together in a while and we watched silently, both captivated by what we were witnessing unfolding. The horror that we saw, the devastation that it caused and the inevitable consequences it would have on our family. The date was September eleventh 2001. I was less than a fortnight away from my eleventh birthday.
A year or so later, a crisp, brown envelope landed on our door mat that was to alter life as I knew it forever. The second Gulf war had been in progress for a few years but now with Saddam Hussain's power growing by the minute, Great Britain stepped in and after nearly all his working life in training for this moment my Dad left for war. People ask me all the time what it was like. Truth is I was accustom to it already. He had never been there on my birthday as long as I can remember apart from maybe one or two and had always been away for military exercises and camps so for me as a girl with a father in the Army I knew that someday the time would come that all the practise he had done in preparing for war would finally happen. Standing there at the huge green gates of my school with my beloved old man crouched in front of me in his combats a crowd of excited school children gathered a few yards behind me desperate to get a glimpse of my hero's attire. Without saying anything of importance I was told that he loved me and then left. Back to my classmates, I sobbed silent tears knowing that I might not ever see my father alive again and that all to easily he could come home dressed in nothing more than a white bag and dog-tags.
With my strong maternal instinct and a personality I hoped would brighten the darkness we were all in as a family but to no avail as my mother sunk into a fast and heavy depression leaving her completely incapable of caring for her young children and leaving me to step into the shoes. I cooked and cleaned, sorted out the washing and made sure that my brother was always dressed ready for school with a full packed-lunch for the day ahead. I ironed the clothes and sorted the bills into piles of ones that could wait and ones that could not. Looking back I feel that this is where I taught myself to create a facade of perfection, despite the distance from truth it was. After dealing with depression at the time and also later on in my life, those memories are one of the fewer things I don't begrudge my mother for. I can't imagine how hard it must have been however I feel that despite all of that the role of a parent should always take centre-stage and for motherhood never to be put on a back burner. It wasn't until a few years later after speaking to friends and family that not only was my mother in a dark place but I too was in the grips of my first ever experience with depression without even realising it. Shut off from family and friends I think it was during that time I left my childhood behind and became who I am today.
After nearly a years tour a man returned home to his family, a mere shell of what he once was. After a few hours with him snuggled on his lap as I always had, I knew he would never be the same man who left me at the school gates. Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder had stolen life from him as he knew it constantly keeping him on edge. I remember once being in the car driving with him when a swift crack of a passing branch caught one of the window's. Without thinking my Dad frantically started searching for something, patting down the doors and the area around the drivers seat. He was looking for something. He was looking for his gun. War had turned my beloved Papa into a nervous wreck jumping at any crack, pop or bang. They talk of the hundred-mile stare and even to this day I can catch my Dad doing it. Just thinking, remembering, haunting himself with images of war and conflict. He has never spoken about what he saw or experienced but I cannot imagine that there would be much good to tell.
Life deteriorated after that and as a family we separated, going off to do our own thing and only meeting around a dinner table at night for dinner whereby nothing of much importance would be said. Laughter rarely happened during those years and as the frequency of arguments between my parents escalated I was aware that their marriage would never last. At twelve I started to notice a huge distance between my mother and father. My mother had a new lease of life and a bounce in her step. I started to notice that mother would spend longer looking in the mirror; Prettying herself, doing her make-up, sorting her hair and generally making more of an effort. But this was not for my Dad's pleasure. No. She would venture out of an evening starting off once a week, only to be increased as the years passed by, to go for coffee or drinks with friends, to go to meetings that never existed and see friends she hardly ever saw. Watching helplessly as my Dad slipped deeper into PTSD but desperately clinging onto the marriage by bring gifts of chocolate, flowers and other romantic gestures to the table that was otherwise empty apart from himself. It was clear how much my father loved his wife of over a decade but it seemed she had other things in her sights, including men.
For a few years whilst I was at high school my parents tried to put a brave face on and pretend but the cracks were still there and the gaps were getting bigger. By the time I had finished my exams and graduated from compulsory education it was plain to see that it was the beginning of the end. The torture of watching my dad struggle with the uncertain faithfulness of his wife was sometimes unbearable for me also and being old enough to understand and listen and watch the story unfold was all the more eye-opening for me as a teenager. Although life and boys had somewhat passed me by it wouldn't be long before I was attracting the affections of a Rugby playing High school student now know as Mr. Ginge, my first ever proper boyfriend! But less than a week into what would be a year long relationship with Mr. Ginge I was told the news no child wants to hear.
In true Mother style I found out about my parents divorce in the car during a blazing argument with her. Turned out my father had an affair when I was nine and the marriage had never recovered although I have always said that the affair was not the only thing that contributed to the marriage's demise but also the fact that we were a military family whereby my father was away alot and also went to war, coupled with my mother's fleeting mid-week escapades all contributed towards the broken home statistic I found myself in. I still remember her screaming to me in her shrill tones and then quietening her voice just enough to make the impact of her words all the more earth-shattering. "Well your father and I are getting a divorce!" She said matter-of-factly in a abnormally calm voice. It was then that my world crumbled. Without my father there I knew life would not be worth living. What was I going to do without him to take the edge of her cruel demeanour? Who was going to save me from her wrath? But they were the least of my worries as the divorce lawyers and solicitors were rallied up the evil was only getting started.
Evening everyone,
Parents. You can't choose them can you. Once young people themselves they become known to you only as Mom or Dad. And every year we take forty-eight hours out of the year to celebrate and appreciate them as the people who taught us everything we know now. As some of you may know I love my father till the ends of the earth, but what many of you probably don't know and have maybe wondered why my mother is hardly mentioned. Well now I feel is the right time to tell you why; And just in time for Mothers Day!
The year was 1991. The first Starbucks opened in LA, the World Wide Web is announced to the world and Ötzi the Iceman is found in the Alps. But over eight-hundred miles away from the mountain region that would soon bear my initials a little miracle was happening and at just gone lunch time at a busy maternity ward in Bedfordshire a baby girl arrived. I was born to a soldier and his wife, and as I was handed to my first-time parents I opened my tiny eyes to the world making my father cry with joy. And to think that he nearly missed my late arrival for a bacon sandwich! Growing up was as to be expected in a military family and I always knew from a young age that things weren't like other families. My father would be away for long periods of time often missing important events like Birthdays and Christmas'. But I knew that he was needed elsewhere, helping out in war zones like Northern Ireland and the first Gulf war of the early 1990's and then again in later years when dictatorship in the Middle East ruled again. This left me alone with my mother alot of the time to which the majority of the time was pleasant but certainly not a time where I would look forward to being in her constant company as I always felt inside that there wasn't anything special shared between us.
The arrival of my brother in early summer of 1994 was a welcomed edition to our little family and as a result we moved to a larger family home in the quiet suburbs, close to family and soon to be life-long friends. With my fair hair and porcelain skin I was the apple of my fathers eye and a cutie no grandma could refuse, but with a new baby boy in the family I felt a little cast out and with this the feelings of discontent my mother emulated started to breed. Even as we got older, I knew that something wasn't right, the way she bonded with my baby brother was different to my experiences. As my Dad was away alot on weekends with the Army, he was always under the impression that the wife had something wonderful planned for the children whilst Daddy was away. On numerous Friday evenings my Dad was fed plans of girlie shopping trips and mother-daughter craft days before he went away and on numerous Sunday afternoon's he would be served up lies of what never happened. Instead, Mother would always take my brother shopping or on a trip out somewhere to visit friends for coffee whilst I was left at home alone, watching TV or browsing that new thing called The Internet!
Approaching adult-hood hormones ravaged my pre-teenage body and I became more aware of myself and my personality. I started listening to rock music, experimenting with fashion, make-up and hair-styles and generally rebelling against my Christian upbringing. At times I found myself completely intolerable to my mothers attitude, her mood swings and her manipulative games. As a teenager I found solace in music and socialising with friends but even that she tried to snuff out always cementing unreasonable curfews for no reason and finding constant chores to do around the house. Looking back I can see no reason for her acting in this way but what I do recall is the readiness for an confrontation and the argumentative streak. So many times my mom would promise me a weekend of fun and activities to bond over and so many times there would be a reason not to follow through. One day I think I just gave up hope and as a result stopped believing what I was told. Starting secondary school a hatred began a slow simmer.
I came home from one of my first weeks of middle school to find my mother home from work, crying and screaming at me to watch the TV. In a panic and not wanting to upset her further I sat on the floor of my childhood living room. It was the first moment I think we had spent together in a while and we watched silently, both captivated by what we were witnessing unfolding. The horror that we saw, the devastation that it caused and the inevitable consequences it would have on our family. The date was September eleventh 2001. I was less than a fortnight away from my eleventh birthday.
A year or so later, a crisp, brown envelope landed on our door mat that was to alter life as I knew it forever. The second Gulf war had been in progress for a few years but now with Saddam Hussain's power growing by the minute, Great Britain stepped in and after nearly all his working life in training for this moment my Dad left for war. People ask me all the time what it was like. Truth is I was accustom to it already. He had never been there on my birthday as long as I can remember apart from maybe one or two and had always been away for military exercises and camps so for me as a girl with a father in the Army I knew that someday the time would come that all the practise he had done in preparing for war would finally happen. Standing there at the huge green gates of my school with my beloved old man crouched in front of me in his combats a crowd of excited school children gathered a few yards behind me desperate to get a glimpse of my hero's attire. Without saying anything of importance I was told that he loved me and then left. Back to my classmates, I sobbed silent tears knowing that I might not ever see my father alive again and that all to easily he could come home dressed in nothing more than a white bag and dog-tags.
With my strong maternal instinct and a personality I hoped would brighten the darkness we were all in as a family but to no avail as my mother sunk into a fast and heavy depression leaving her completely incapable of caring for her young children and leaving me to step into the shoes. I cooked and cleaned, sorted out the washing and made sure that my brother was always dressed ready for school with a full packed-lunch for the day ahead. I ironed the clothes and sorted the bills into piles of ones that could wait and ones that could not. Looking back I feel that this is where I taught myself to create a facade of perfection, despite the distance from truth it was. After dealing with depression at the time and also later on in my life, those memories are one of the fewer things I don't begrudge my mother for. I can't imagine how hard it must have been however I feel that despite all of that the role of a parent should always take centre-stage and for motherhood never to be put on a back burner. It wasn't until a few years later after speaking to friends and family that not only was my mother in a dark place but I too was in the grips of my first ever experience with depression without even realising it. Shut off from family and friends I think it was during that time I left my childhood behind and became who I am today.
After nearly a years tour a man returned home to his family, a mere shell of what he once was. After a few hours with him snuggled on his lap as I always had, I knew he would never be the same man who left me at the school gates. Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder had stolen life from him as he knew it constantly keeping him on edge. I remember once being in the car driving with him when a swift crack of a passing branch caught one of the window's. Without thinking my Dad frantically started searching for something, patting down the doors and the area around the drivers seat. He was looking for something. He was looking for his gun. War had turned my beloved Papa into a nervous wreck jumping at any crack, pop or bang. They talk of the hundred-mile stare and even to this day I can catch my Dad doing it. Just thinking, remembering, haunting himself with images of war and conflict. He has never spoken about what he saw or experienced but I cannot imagine that there would be much good to tell.
Life deteriorated after that and as a family we separated, going off to do our own thing and only meeting around a dinner table at night for dinner whereby nothing of much importance would be said. Laughter rarely happened during those years and as the frequency of arguments between my parents escalated I was aware that their marriage would never last. At twelve I started to notice a huge distance between my mother and father. My mother had a new lease of life and a bounce in her step. I started to notice that mother would spend longer looking in the mirror; Prettying herself, doing her make-up, sorting her hair and generally making more of an effort. But this was not for my Dad's pleasure. No. She would venture out of an evening starting off once a week, only to be increased as the years passed by, to go for coffee or drinks with friends, to go to meetings that never existed and see friends she hardly ever saw. Watching helplessly as my Dad slipped deeper into PTSD but desperately clinging onto the marriage by bring gifts of chocolate, flowers and other romantic gestures to the table that was otherwise empty apart from himself. It was clear how much my father loved his wife of over a decade but it seemed she had other things in her sights, including men.
For a few years whilst I was at high school my parents tried to put a brave face on and pretend but the cracks were still there and the gaps were getting bigger. By the time I had finished my exams and graduated from compulsory education it was plain to see that it was the beginning of the end. The torture of watching my dad struggle with the uncertain faithfulness of his wife was sometimes unbearable for me also and being old enough to understand and listen and watch the story unfold was all the more eye-opening for me as a teenager. Although life and boys had somewhat passed me by it wouldn't be long before I was attracting the affections of a Rugby playing High school student now know as Mr. Ginge, my first ever proper boyfriend! But less than a week into what would be a year long relationship with Mr. Ginge I was told the news no child wants to hear.
In true Mother style I found out about my parents divorce in the car during a blazing argument with her. Turned out my father had an affair when I was nine and the marriage had never recovered although I have always said that the affair was not the only thing that contributed to the marriage's demise but also the fact that we were a military family whereby my father was away alot and also went to war, coupled with my mother's fleeting mid-week escapades all contributed towards the broken home statistic I found myself in. I still remember her screaming to me in her shrill tones and then quietening her voice just enough to make the impact of her words all the more earth-shattering. "Well your father and I are getting a divorce!" She said matter-of-factly in a abnormally calm voice. It was then that my world crumbled. Without my father there I knew life would not be worth living. What was I going to do without him to take the edge of her cruel demeanour? Who was going to save me from her wrath? But they were the least of my worries as the divorce lawyers and solicitors were rallied up the evil was only getting started.
* * *
To Be Continued ...
* * *
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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