Brogues - May have a slight Madonnaesque vibe

Kitten, louis, platform heel

A ballet shoe is my ideal

There's no chance that I can lose

When I'm stood in comfy shoes

Doctors Scholl and Marten know

A flat soled shoe is how to go

They have style, they have clout

Clarks have shoes to shout about

Pumps and brogues and converse too

Kristen Stewart, we love you

Annie Hall is now in vogue

Diane Keaton wears good brogue

Susan Calman, Sandy too.  

Don't need that extra inch or two

Despite not reaching 5 foot 4

They've shown those high heels to the door

Ladies listen to my prayer

Throw those platforms over there

Emma Thompson made the call

Chucked her shoes into the stalls

Bleeding heels and blistered toes

There's nothing cool about tortured soles

Dance the night away in pumps

Then walk home with a skip and jump

Don't just stand there

Let's get to it

Strike a pose there's nothing to it

Brogues

A damsel in distress

And it came to pass that the marital home was sold and your very favourite intermittent blogger was suddenly without portfolio. The scientist had already proffered his home to Saga and me, but I wasn't quite ready for him to discover that I did not in fact fart rainbows and poop strawberries. A few panicky days followed where I cajoled begged and pleased with landlords and tenants alike, but the beast was deemed canis non grata. And eventually I found a room in a shared home on Airbnb.

Are you aware of Airbnb? It’s an online community of people who have spare rooms that they don’t mind weird strangers kipping in. This was in a less salubrious part of town than I was used to, but it had great reviews, plenty of other people and most importantly it welcomed dogs.

I duly turned up and whilst a little odd, it was do-able for the 3 to 4 weeks until my new house would be ready. It was a smaller room than I had expected and not as clean as it could be, but Saga was made very welcome and the other guests seemed charming. The host was a "lively" drinker going through at least one large bottle of vodka a day - Something that perturbed me but I could always hide in my room. 

After an uneventful week, said host and most of the guests left for a week in Barcelona. I was left alone in the house with instructions on welcoming new guests (!)

I took the opportunity to clean the fridge (hint: cucumber is not a liquid), the bathroom and the kitchen. I explained to each new arrival that I wasn’t the host, but a guest just like them!

A middle of the night appearance by one the host's boyfriends, high as a kite and belligerent as only the extremely drunk and stupid can be, was a bit of a spoiler. There was a knock at the door. It was 3 am but I assumed a late guest was arriving. I opened the door to a young man, eyes glazed slurring at me. He pushed past me and tried to enter s guest room. I was fearless. I blocked his path and directed him to the kitchen. Where he shouted, swore, threatened and tried to grab me.

Me: You have to leave

Him: Wha’re you gonna do abou it you shtupid bitch?

Me: I’ll call the police

Him: No you won’ - Call ‘em then..

Redo from start

So I called the police and they were marvellous. Young man took himself off when he realised I was actually speaking with someone. And after he'd gone, I cried and cried and cried. I sent an ‘unhappy’ text to the host, who didn’t bother to reply. However vague messages were received via the other guests.

Whilst wondering around the house that night, I noticed that the back door didn’t shut properly and anyone could in fact walk in. I piled up furniture against it and sat shaking in the kitchen.

Cue a call the next day to the scientist, who never even said I told you so which I felt was admirable. That night Saga and I took a taxi ride over to his apartment, with all our stuff in tow and he gave me chocolate and a hug. 

The reason I bring up this whole miserable tale is because of how long it then took to get any kind of response out of Airbnb. 3 months of emails, phone calls, going over the details again and again, sending the police report, photographs etc. All they cared about was that the room I had wasn’t the room I had booked – Apparently being threatened in your home and not having any kind of lock on the door is AOK with them.

And then as I was finally getting somewhere and I was told they would refund my money the next day, they did instead take yet more money from me. And I was on that phone like billyo dropping in words like “steal” and “fraud” and "legal advice".

It took another 2 weeks to get that money back. But bless the adviser, he gave me a voucher for £80 off my “next Airbnb booking” because apparently he wanted me to have  good experience with them!

The scientist put us up (put up with us?) for 2 ½ weeks which was marvellous of him and I think I’ve still managed to persuade him that I do not in fact fart but instead extrude rose scented air gently from my body.

An ending and a beginning

They say as one door closes another opens and I believe it. I believe the universe has a planned pathway and if you exist in harmony with that way you will find life sweet. If you challenge and fight then life will be bitter.

I know, I'm paraphrasing The Way of the Tao and using the Vinegar Tasters to help with my analogy. I'm not that philosophical or deep on my own. 

Last year was a year of change. Characters have left the stage and new ones made their entrance. As with my first post, I shall introduce them to you

Exeunt: Bear, now known as The Ex who has chosen to leave the tale and start a new path. 

Dana and Juno - my darling girls. Who needed more than either he or I could give individually and have found happiness with a new family. 

Dramatis Personae II

Saga aka The Beast. A fearsome warrior whose tales shall be told in The Saga Saga. 

The Scientist. A gentleman and a scholar. 

And of course yours truly, the strange little girl herself. Still making her way through the world and trying to find joy in everything. 

So my dear readers, 2016 has drawn to a close and 2017 is already half way though. Let's choose not to remember 2016 as the year just about everyone great died. Let's instead choose to think of all the wonderful new beginnings that have begun and the green shoots pushing up through the earth. Let's think of Rio de Janeiro. Let's think of the no longer endangered manatee population.  Let's think of Pokémon Go. No. Let's not think of Pokémon Go. For as King Arthur did say "'Tis a silly place." I have missed blogging here and I have some tales to tell so are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin....

Say no more to the walk of shame and hello to the Stride of Pride!

So there I was, 7:15 in the morning, in the centre of town. Black patent heels in hand (ballet pumps on), short evening dress looking a tad rumpled, hair which had been described by the gentleman I had left in his bed, as "bedded"; when I realised with a start, I was doing the walk of shame. Here I was forty mumble mumble, and I was in Manchester city centre doing the Walk of Shame. But I wasn’t ashamed. I was smiling. In fact I was grinning at every 'suitably' dressed person I saw. Why yes, my smile wanted to say, I did have sex last night. Yes it was amazing. Oh yes, and this morning. How kind of you to notice. Went to the bus stop. Queue of business attire and me. Brilliant. Oh are you all going to work? I smiled. I'm just going home… I was on that bus proud as punch. I was in fact doing the Stride of Pride.

Why a walk of shame? Is it because if we are leaving early in the morning, something is amiss? Is the assumption that we will never see this person again? Is it because we are in last night's clothes, we obviously didn’t 'plan' this escapade so it is some how tainted?

Nowadays we all have commitments and mine included having to be back at my house early. I only wanted to take an evening bag out with me so an entire outfit change was just not possible. And at my age skulking in the shadows isn't really a 'thing'. And besides I am a newly separated middle aged woman who apparently has not lost it after all. I embraced my early morning appearance as denizen of the night and strode with my head held high.

A much younger colleague mentioned that she had taken a very expensive taxi once to avoid doing the "walk of shame" and she was amazed that I had taken a bus. I can only put this down to age experience. Perhaps when you are young you want to be seen as pure, innocent. At my age you want people to know!

We live in a world where we have more sexual liberty than ever before. And yet we still use phrases that denigrate us for being sexually active - S/he's a tart, a tramp, a slut. Doing the walk of shame is just another way of putting you down for the choices you make. Well I say no more! If you were lucky enough to find someone who you wanted to see naked and who wanted to see you naked then good on you both! I hope you both had a great time. And if one of you has to leave early for some reason then remember: you are not ashamed. You are not doing a walk of shame. You are proud! You are doing the Stride of Pride! And more power to you!

Theme: I Just Had Sex - The Lonely Island

0 to psycho in 12 hours

I've joined an online dating site

The trouble is that there

Are too many gentleman searching

So some of them have to share. 

It seems a shame

It's not the same

But still it has to be

Some ladies have to multi date

One of them is me

So as you may remember I had decided on the guardian as my dating pool of choice and so a couple of weeks ago I decided to sign up. I found a pic that wasn't too dreadful, and started the long form that is your internet profile. 

There are free text fields in this thing - about you and what your looking for. And that's harder than it seems. So obviously you want to present yourself in the best light and at the same time appear modest and approachable. I'm still editing mine from time to time. 

Profile set up, you surf the waves of available chaps seeking someone that might appeal.

I was happily awaiting my Mr Guardian-reading Charming when a colleague told me about a different site called Plenty of Fish. Less quiet more Oh Boys!

I was bored one night so I signed up. First impressions? There are a lot more men on pof than ladies. Within minutes my box was filled (pun intended) with saucy messages, declarations and invites for cocktails. 

So what do you get when you pof (yes it's a verb)? 

The younger slightly geeky lad, looking for true love but struggling to talk to women. Comfortable and certainly no threat. But also not a potential snugglebunny. 

At this point I'm going to break off to mention a question I was asked when I said I didn't want to see a date without his clothes...

"Is that still important after you've been married?"

So for anyone still wondering the answer is YES! I'm middle aged, I'm not dead!

And back to the men

A number of obscene suggestions, strange young male torsos with no head (yes they made the joke) and one young man who wanted to worship my behind, (I've reserved the right should I ever be in Bradford, and so inclined, to message him with a hotel name & room number 😈) 

Then the vicar turned up. Well the ex vicar. Nice guy. Experimenting with dating. I'm not supposed to talk about him much as his colleagues would not approve of him dating someone like me ("Witch!" "Heathen!") 

So whilst lunch was nice, I wasn't the one for him. 

Meanwhile I had spotted someone chez guardian that I liked the look of. I drafted a short witty note and sent it off. Alas no response. 

10 days later I decided to try again. Armed with Oscar Wilde references and tongue firmly in cheek, I messaged again. Success! A reply! And a date. And that's all I want to say about that just now.  (Life might well be like a box of chocolates but you usually get the nougat)

I rejected one chap having looked at his profile. He was a tad miffed and sent me some rather grumpy messages saying I wasn't all that and was he too old for a 27 year old. I replied that if they might want to date his child, they were probably out. And... BLOCK!!!

And then, well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. T'other day a chap started messaging me. We shared many interests, we liked the same movies, liked the same music, liked the same jokes. It all sounded fabulous. A date was set. And then the red flags started

1. When I mentioned liking a film because of the chaps, he responded angrily and frankly pretty jealously. 
2. He mentioned that he didn't approve of social housing at all
3. When I said I was talking in fact with other guys, he became angry and positively aggressive. 

Date cancelled, chap blocked. I'm afraid you don't get to be possessive BEFORE you've met me. 

By the way Mr Guardian and I messaged for a while. We set a date. We met. He was kind, attentive, looked like his pic, wore a tweed jacket, everything a girl could want. At he end of the night we kissed. And my knees did go to jelly. I walked home grinning like a schoolgirl. 

A text asking if I fancied a second date. I did. And then the following morning, a message declaring no spark between us. No spark for him it seemed. My jellied knees not withstanding. 

It's a bit of a blow to the old ego to meet someone you think could be someone and then have them turn you down. But as my dad always said "if you don't feel the thing then you don't feel the thing". 

I was terribly adult about the whole thing. And, as Cecily Cardew would have done, I immediately broke off our engagement. 

Couple of weeks in and I have to say I'm started to get a little jaded and tired with this already. Poffing is exhausting if you don't like ignoring people who've made the effort. And a bit depressing at times too. The guardian definitely brings with it a better class of opportunities for beaux. But maybe I should lower my hopes and up my standards. 

 

A change is nowhere near as good as a rest.

Maintaining stability in the world of bipolar requires stability elsewhere. When you're trying to keep emotionally level, it really helps if your life is also consistent. No surprises here please. Plans are preferred.

I have managed to maintain a little constancy at work by flying in the face of tradition and having my own desk with my drawers and my stuff. Even though we "hot desk" my colleagues know I'm "funny" about that. As Sheldon Cooper would say "You're in my spot". 

The last six months have been nothing but change and the cracks are starting to show. For those of you not up to date with the current affairs of Lillekat, here is a summary:

• The man and I have separated
• 2 of my thinking brain dogs have had to leave me
• My house is for sale and I have to move
• My company is no longer following the plans I like so many other bought into for the future but is currently "exploring options"
• And the other day I found out that my office is closing and I will have to move to another building. 

Too much change for one mentally challenged girl. 

And today has not gone well. I was late up. Saga picked up on my mood and promptly piddled on the floor. Then the buses were all full. Then of course Saga was scared by all the people. When I finally got home, put on the pc and nothing. Had to do a full reboot to get the bloody thing working. 

Each individual thing only small. And each change in that list probably manageable in its own.  But when you're tethered to normality by a string, and things just keep swiping away at that string, eventually one final swipe will leave you floating away into the nothingness. 

I'm stressed, scared and sad. What I want to do is to hide in my bed until it all Goes Away. And eat chocolate and chips. And cry. And get off the world for a while.

Luckily I have Saga still. My little bundle of comfort. Who needs me to get up and be a human being. And that then encourages other good behaviours. Exercise. Getting washed and dressed. Making proper food because I'm hungry and so is she. I am lucky enough to be "out" at work so I have said I shall work from home for a couple of days as I am "not myself" (why yes, that is a euphemism). 

Things are still not good but I am working through it one day at a time. I still feel lost but I can see you all so if you could just keep the light on I'm trying to get home.  

Change is inevitable. There's nothing that can be done about that. But how we approach change and how we deal with things that bother us can make all the difference. We can also look at how we are with our colleagues friends and family.  If you think someone's over reacting to what seems like a small thing, maybe their string has finally broken and they are alone and scared in the wilderness of their own mind. Reach out. Give them a hug or a manly pat on the shoulder. Let them know that you see them. Give them your hand to get them back on the ground. And leave the light on. 

I wanna tell you a story

I've got my best Max Bygraves cardi on and look! There's a rocking chair. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. 

Once upon a time a Jewish couple, escaping the Polish pogroms, ended up in Liverpool. There they took the name of the ship captain who had brought them to this new world and stayed in Liverpool until the birth of their first son. They then moved to Glasgow where a second son was born. They were never well off, living on the poverty line which inspired both boys in their future lives.

 

The younger, M, grew up to be a thorn in the side of every government as leader of the NUT and a member of the communist party and became notorious enough to be on America's Not Welcome list. 

Meanwhile J had gone to medical school and become a doctor. It is thanks to J that we understand the link between exercise and heart conditions. He remembered his own childhood and was one of the first to look at the social effects on health. His influence on public health has spread far and wide. 

He married another immigrant, a Russian who was also involved in the health service. After the war, they adopted a French Jewish orphaned refugee, and later 2 babies from Europe. 

To care for these 2 babies a Danish au pair was hired. Another immigrant into this motley crew.

The refugee grew up to be a talented engineer and linguist. He fell in love with the au pair and they married. He started his own business and became a successful business man, employing British people and paying British taxes. His wife became a teacher, educating young children for many years. 

The refugee and the au pair had 2 children, girls, the first to be born in the U.K. The elder followed her calling and became a nurse and has nursed London her whole adult life. The younger is less wholesome but spends her days trying to make sure people are paid appropriately and fairly. They also pay their taxes and are what is known as Members of Society.  They younger also has a tendency to blog dramatically but we can overlook that just this once. 

Without immigration it is unlikely J would have been able to go to university and our public health system would be the poorer; there wouldn't be people making Danish Christmas decorations all over London after being shown by their teacher; and perhaps most importantly yours truly would never have existed. 

Britain has always been a melting pot of cultures and we are stronger and better for it. It would be very sad for us to lose that and become insular and probably sickly. Immigration isn't the issue, complacency is.