A New Leaf

I am applying for a new role. In the Army. You’re probably thinking that it’s not so different to the TA. It is. This means that I have to change the way I think about myself and actually knuckle down and achieve some of my goals just to do the application.

Goal 1 – Give up smoking – I can proudly say that after 10 years of smoking, I am now on day 11 of being a non-smoker. It’s no easy feat, a few times already I have wanted to quit quitting but I’m keeping in mind my targets of wanting to get a lot healthier and growing old disgracefully

Goal 2 – Improve fitness – this one is going hand-in-hand with the first because I know that the Phase 1 training is going to be tough, I need to know that I am going to stand a really good chance of getting in

Goal 3 – Get off the Citalopram – I’m ready to start taking the steps I need to withdraw from this now

None of these goals are unachievable. In fact, I am going to the doctor later to discuss getting off the medication; my life is more settled, I know where I want to take it and I am getting back on track slowly. I am under no illusions; depression is not something you can recover from overnight but I am more than willing to put in the graft and the effort… having a focus of joining the Army is going to help me. I’m not rushing it,  I’m doing it all logically and I’m doing my homework.

I have spoken to my boyfriend and he is backing me. I’ve spoken to some of my relatives and they are also behind me so I know that I have a safety net if I need it. I’ve researched the potential roles in the forces, I am using the TA as a safe place to push myself physically and mentally and it seems to be having positive results. They are seeing me take more responsibility, not only for myself but for those more junior than me too. They think it’s something to do with the impending promotion board.

Hmm… got me there! It is something to do with that, but I looked over my reports recently and they have all shown improvement from the last, so I want the best report of my career this year. I’m not the fittest, strongest, toughest soldier but I’m the most resilient, the most determined and willing to make the most improvement.

I’ve been thinking about what to do with my son when I go on training. I’m not sure what’s going to happen there yet. I’m working on it. This career move will mean that he gets a much better quality of life, so it’s worth doing and isn’t completely selfish of me. I guess I’ll have to have a proper sit-down with the family and work out a strategy when the time comes. In all honesty I should have done all of this yers ago but I don’t think I was mature enough at the age of 18 to sit down and work out what I truly wanted to do. It’s taken me 7 years to get this bloody far and figure out that the concurrent activities in the background (e.g. the Territorial Army) should have been what’s going on in the foreground the whole time!

I’ll admit it, I’m more dedicated to the military than I ever have been to a civilian job. Is it not about time that I did something about that rather than waiting until I’m too old and regretting it for the rest of my life? If you never try, you never know.

Training weekend

This weekend has pushed me to the limit, both mentally and physically. After I had packed my kit for a weekend in the field, I decided to go home for a couple of hours. It was nice just to chill out at home for a while without having to worry about any timings. My Dad picke my son up from nursery for me so I got to see him for an hour. It was lovely. Just what I needed to cheer me up before spending a weekend in the middle of nowhere, getting shouted at in the rain.

It was only when I left to go to the TA centre, that the pangs of guilt set in again. I nearly turned back, but I pressed on and forced the feelings out of my system, replacing them with an (annoyingly) sunny disposition instead. By the time I’d got there I had forgotten why I had felt so bad; this is what I am trained to do and this is what I enjoy doing so I should try and make the most of every opportunity to learn something additional to that and have some fun. I think my morale must have been so high that the guys probably thought I had taken something naughty. All I had done was to realise that I will see my son in a few short days and that I will be happy as larry when he and I get to have some quality time together. It was my motivation.

When we eventually got to the training area it was a case of unpack your bedding and go to sleep. Fortunately the staff had put us into a large building, so at least we were protected from the rain more or less (there were holes in the roof and we were huddled tightly together to avoid the massive puddles on the floor). Trying to sleep for me was a nightmare. I’m always like that on a first night somewhere different; most of the others were snoring (loudly), someone was moving around in their sleeping bag, which had a waterproof cover on so that kept disturbing me and for a reason unbeknownst to me, the training area was situated next to a very busy, high speed railway line. But I was not going to let it get to me.

The first day was spent mainly in lessons involving the throwing of “grenades” (or rocks as was the case for most of it – trust me to find the biggest ones in the place and wonder why I couldn’t hit the target!), working in pairs around the assault course (hard work as we were fully kitted up and trying to squeeze through very small gaps) and learning how to assault buildings (cue embarrassing moments where I had gone head-first through an entry-point and not stopped until I hit the floor; being shorter than most of the lads can sometimes be a bit of a curse). It was gruelling but I loved it.

At night we went for a little walkabout to see if we could get any information on our “enemy” (one of the other Squadrons volunteered some of their lads to come over to help us train) but were quickly spotted and had to get out of there as soon as we could. For the most part of this I was embedded in nettles and thornbushes… still pulling the remnants out of my skin now.

The following day we launched into our attack. We all trundled around to a good place to attack from, keeping our eyes open for anything weird and wonderful, trying not to snap twigs under our feet and desperately trying to stay out of puddles. We needn’t have worried about that; the Boss decided (after this first attack) to take us all through a stream. At first that was fine, the water wasn’t even at my ankles, but it very quickly got deeper and deeper until all I could do was wade through it (couldn’t go fast because the water was so heavy against my legs, couldn’t go slow as there was a lot of silt at the bottom which my feet were sinking into). I had visions of falling flat on my face into the dirty, muddy, stinking water. Luckily I didn’t. We got out and my section ran to their position, a few minutes later, we learned of a couple of casualties at the location of the other section and I was one of those tasked to replace. Back into the stream I went, the water got deeper still, it stank even more and I was trying not to heave as something that looked very similar to excrement bobbed past my legs. Again we got out, joined another member and launched into another wave of attack.

This time I got to dive through a hole and landed on my arm, followed by my head. I saw the Boss behind me, belly laughing as I considered whether or not my arm was broken. Fortunately for me, it wasn’t but I remained in that room for the rest of the attack as a precautionary measure.

Having since inspected the damage, my arm is fine, just a big bruise on my elbow and a lot of neck strain, but I can handle that. I am covered head to foot with cuts, grazes, scratches, bruises, nettle rash and thorn-splinters. BUT I have to say it was a fantastic weekend, which didn’t involve much hanging  around. I was bouncing around, smiling, laughing and joking throughout… a few years ago I would have hated it, but I can hand on heart say that I loved it.

Tattoo Taboo

I have been saving up this piece for a while, but now feel so irritated that I have to get it out. Over recent weeks and months it has been brought to my attention that tattoos still have this massively out-dated stigma attached to them. Why should this be the case?

I’ve been doing a bit of homework about the history of tattooing and the truth may surprise many of you. Tattooing is as old as the human species themselves. If you look at the rock carvings of Northern Africa, North America, Mesopotamia, Asia and Australia there are human figures with what appears to be tattoos and body modifications on them. It is commonplace all over the world for tribe-members to be adorned with jewellery, piercings and tattoos. It was only truly discovered by the British when travelling overseas in around the 1700s to colonise as many areas as possible.

These sailors often kept journals detailing images of these heavily-tattooed peoples. Many of which also decided that either to earn the trust of the locals or by way of understanding their cultures better, they would be tattooed themselves. Let’s please bear in mind that it would have taken months if not years to sail to the furthest points of the earth at this time, so therefore once the sailors arrived, they would be there for a long time. Once they arrived back on the shores of their homelands, their findings would be taken to all those concerned (generally the aristocratic social structure of the time). Some of these aristocrats thought the body modifications to be “exotic” as they were more often than not intricate, structured pieces which represented kinship and/or rank within a tribe (look at the Maui and Polynesian tattoos of today for a good example of this). It was a way for these people to show that they were interested in the far corners of the world and they would either travel to get tattooed or would employ someone to apply a tattoo of similar style to them. Either way, it was considered to be a luxury and extremely expensive.

Over time, tattoos in the Western world became more popular. People literally took this idea of kinship to heart and this is where, presumably, the idea of criminal and gang tattooing would come into play. In some parts of the world this is still commonplace, particularly in places such as Russia which has a large criminal subculture. Tattoos that you may see on flash sheets in studios and think nothing of tend to have a totally different and more sinister meaning. Whilst some may argue that there is still a large number of law breakers who are heavily tattooed, may we also consider that those sent to concentration camps during the Second World War were also tattooed with their numbers.

Tattoos are not always seen in the same light as how I see them. Ideas and views on tattoos have changed considerably, in a relatively short space of time. Once upon a time they were for sailors and travellers, then viewed upon as exotic, then they gained some sort of criminal tag, then they belonged to the sailors and the travellers again, the Armed Forces in particular and now they are for everyone. The most important aspect to think about is that throughout the ages and in all cultures, tattoos are done through choice.

If you do not want a tattoo because it is not your personal preference, please don’t hold that view against someone who does want one or wears one. Thankfully we live in a world where free-choice operates, where we can do as we please as long as it harms none.

Not too long ago, a new tattoo studio opened in the town that I live in. To say that where I live is very conservative coul be the biggest understatement that I have made to date; they don’t seem to like anything that is a bit different, unless it is culturally acceptible. It is a very small town but has upteen hairdressing studios, a premium supermarket (not just one that everyone can afford to shop in), a load of pubs and restuarants all competing against each other for business, tea rooms, and, well… you get the idea. So for a tattoo studio to open sent many of the residents up in arms.

The residents who tried to oppose this viable business from opening sent out petitions, appealed to the local council, reported it to the Health and Safety Executive, went on a flyering campaign of negative propaganda and failed miserably. The studio now has a very strong and very resilient client base. The opinions of these few, meant that a woman’s reputation in the tattoo-world could well have been put at stake, but they didn’t care because they didn’t want “that image” in “their town”. What image? That all tattooed people are yobs and criminals? I have never committed a crime in my life, I spend my spare time serving the community in which I live, I don’t have a shaved head (OK I drink pints as opposed to delicate lady-sized drinks with a swizzle-stick and a straw) and I am generally an all-round good person who would do anything for anyone.

These residents seem to think that all the children in the local area will be flocking to the shop to get tattooed underage, or that some kind of Pied Piper will be prancing down the street, mesmerising children into following them into the place and having the staff pop a brand mark on them. It doesn’t work like that. There are laws and rules, no one under 18 in the UK can get a tattoo, even with their parents’ permission. No one would ever force anyone to have a tattoo in today’s society because we don’t live in a concentration camp. As for the stereotypical views on who has tattoos, OK you have me there; there are still those who have tattoos out of a kinship towards what they believe in or their choice of lifestyle, but that isn’t everyone. I have a tattoo of a cluster of poppies on my right wrist so that I can pay respect to the fallen soldiers properly in my own way. It shows my affinity with the Armed Forces, but that is part of me. I thought the point of a tattoo is to say something about yourself, where you’re from, what you stand for, what type of art inspires you.

And if anyone says that tattooing is not an art-form, they are simply deluded. There are thousands of artists out there who choose skin as a medium. Many of these have international acclaim and have come from humble beginnings. You have the likes of Ed Hardy, Sailor Jerry, Johnny Two Thumbs, then there are your modern artists such as Xoil, Michael Rose, Victor Portugal, Filip Leu, Jason Stephan, Henrik Gallon, Chris Garcia and Niccku Hori to name but a few. Most of these guys would laugh in your face if you tried to tell them that getting a tattoo was “wrong” or embracing a social subculture. I have met Michael Rose in the flesh, I have been to his studio on the outskirts of North London and it is a fantastic experience. It is clean, it is warm and inviting and above all else, it is professional. Gone are the days of the backstreet tattooist in Britain. The public have demanded proper studios, with hygiene certificates, properly trained apprentices and morals. What I cannot fathom out is why this negative image of tattooing and the tattooed has stuck.

What irritates me even more than the narrow-minded few that clearly know nothing about the craft (and most likely do not wish to know anything about it) is this idea that tattoos can look unprofessional in the workplace. Not too long ago I was looking for work and thought to look at the website for a well-known holiday park which is opening a resort near me. I failed to gain access to the application page because I have a small tattoo (the poppies). While I appreciate that image in this type of employment is very important, I don’t believe that the customers of this holiday company would be particularly bothered if a member of staff was covered head to foot in tattoos as long as they gave excellent customer service and had a permanent smile glued on their face. If anything it gives a lot of people a talking point. Plus many of the customers are likely to have a tattoo themselves so why would anyone take offence to it. I mean, obviously if it was some kind of anti-semitic design or a naked woman with her legs akimbo then, alright I can see how that wouldn’t be appropriate in a place like that, but really?

I know that I have gone on a bit with my argument against the Tattoo Taboo so I will try and keep these last few paragraphs brief; is that people watch these TV shows about tattooing and think that they know everything that there is to know. Ami James (founder of Miami and New York Ink) will tell you himself that the shows are edited, they don’t show people HOW to tattoo and if they mess up one take (e.g. someone swears by accident or whatever) they will take the shoot again.

Hats off to Mr. James and the producers of the show as you have opened the door for many people who never thought that they would actually get a tattoo. Interest in the craft has increased ten-fold, whenever I happen to pass a studio, even in these times of great financial hardship, it is rare to see it empty (unless of course it is closed). It has broadened many horizons in terms of the type of artist available. But on the other hand, there are those trying to make a quick couple of quid off the back of it; “teaching” themselves how to tattoo, or attending a one day course and thinking that they have the skills to tattoo anyone. Again, it doesn’t work like that. Tattooing is a craft, crafts take a long time to learn. Even the most established tattoo artist will tell you that they are learning something new every day.

The first electric tattoo machine was patented in 1891 and would have been really advanced at the time, but now if a tattoo began to apply a design with one, any self-respecting customer would run hard and fast in the opposite direction.  There are those companies out there that will tailor a machine to the artist’s needs, or an artist can buy a standard pre-built machine. Some tattoo artists still prefer to build their own machines (this is something that was commonplace from around the 1940s onwards) – generally the members of the Old School variety, the ones that have had many now very well-known names under their rooves, sweeping the floors and making the brews. There are also “machine building” companies cashing in, selling cheap machines with parts that will rust and cause a risk of septicaemia to whoever runs the gauntlet of allowing a tattoo to be applied with one.

So to sum all of this up:

To those who have an obvious dislike for tattoos, think they are vile and repulsive and only serve those from a less-privileged background – GET A LIFE AND GET ON WITH IT – people have been and will always get tattoos, whether it is by compass and ballpoint pen while bored in a maths lesson, whether they have been or still are members of the Armed Forces, whether they are members of some kind of gang or whether they just want to… it is their choice as much as it is yours not to approve. But when a legitimate business comes into your hometown, please for crying out loud do some research before expressing your opinions.

Legimitate studios will always have the appropriate approvals and documentation to support it.

And to all those thinking about getting a tattoo – I suggest again to do some homework, come up with a design that means something to you and go to someone reputable to get it. The result will look incredible on your skin, you can get advice as to how to keep it looking good and you will be much happier than if you buy a cheap kit online and try to do it yourself. Ask the artist if they think your design will work, they will know what looks best as they have years of training behind them and can help you tweak it if need be. Different artists offer different styles and if you have to wait for a booking slot then so be it; there’s a waiting list for a reason. It’s relatively cheap to get a tattoo when you compare it to how much it costs to have one removed.

To be honest, I am not currently feeling that bad about leaving my son behind at the moment. I had a word with my Dad yesterday when he and my Step-Mum came over as he would often leave us with babysitters when he had to go to work (if he couldn’t take my brother and I with him) and he just told me that he did whatever he could and it was a case of “feel guilty or not eat”. Plus, from all the updates my Step-Mum is giving me either online, by text or phone call I know that he is having a great time so that reassures me a lot. In fact, he’s having the time of his life and my Step-Mum has told me that this morning he knew what time he had to go to nursery as he took his shoes to Nanna and wanted her to put them on his feet. I am very grateful that I have set him a routine otherwise it would be total chaos for her.

As for the manic rush to get out of the door and get here, I’m not sure why I bothered getting so stressed. They were grateful just to see someone turn up to give them a hand with the Handover/Takeover process. This whole place is being kitted out for the Army, as it has always been an RAF base. A lot of the real hard graft has already been done, but there is still a lot to do. But they seem to be very relaxed, as long as the work gets done properly and safely they don’t mind how long it takes. As of today, there will be 3 of us doing the main bulk of the lifting and shifting.

I also don’t have to worry about restraining myself from the bar – there isn’t one. Last night, I found myself wondering what to do. I walked t0 the shop, not because I needed anything in particular, but because I wanted to see what the camp is like and it kept me amused for half an hour. Evenings are indeed going to be the most difficult part of this. Fortunately I have brought some reading material with me, but I don’t think it will last me the duration. I am going to have to go in search of a charity shop and buy some books – at least I can donate them to the chapel afterwards so I don’t have to take them home with me.

The accomodation is basic, but at least I can say that I have stayed in an Officers Mess. I’m guessing that the grander rooms have been given to actual officers, because it seems that it is all junior ranks where I am staying. I am not ungrateful. It is lovely to have your own room (which is bigger than my bedroom at home), it has what it needs; a bed, a desk, a very uncomfortable armchair, wardrobes, a sink and the heating on permanently. I can’t complain about it, but it does get very warm. The bathrooms are communal but so far I haven’t seen any other life on my floor so that’s OK. You have to pick your times carefully if you want a hot shower. Nice to see some things are Triservice issues. And I have found a washing machine that doesn’t cost you an eyewatering £4 a load.

So the only issue is how I am going to fill my time up in the evenings. I found myself thinking of home last night when I climbed into bed. I couldn’t sleep for a while as is usually the case for me, thinking about my son going through his bedtime routine, knowing that he would be sound asleep, thinking about my boyfriend and how he’d have popped by for a couple of hours just to compare our days. But you know what? It didn’t make me feel sad or guilty. I remembered what my Dad had told me earlier in the day and I felt good about myself. At least I am not relying on State Benefits, I am paying my own way and there are sacrifices that you have to make. It’s not as if I work away from home all the time, and it is about time I had a chance to make a difference to our lives. The positives of this outweigh the negatives considerably. If I earn my bonus that means that I can pay off a chunk of the outstanding bills and have enough left over to treat my son, my boyfriend, my family and me. It also means that I will be eligible for promotion as there would be no “black mark” against my name, which in turn means that I am able to do a more versatile package of weekend courses, which again influences the promotion and payscale. Why should I feel guilty about that? Yes, I miss a small piece of my civilian life, yes I miss out on seeing my son and seeing my boyfriend but I know they are both still there waiting for me and it will be lovely to catch up properly when I get home. I don’t do this all the time. It is a requirement but it’s not a permanent feature of my life.

My Dad mentioned that I should be leaving the reserves. I’m sorry Dad, but I have to argue against this. My son is and always will be my number 1 priority but this is part of who I am now. If I left the military, I actually would not know what to do with myself. It has taught me a great deal about myself, it has improved my qualifications and my employability. I am not planning on going overseas to serve until my son is much older and can understand better the situation. Every parent needs a break and this is how I get mine. I am a workhorse, I am well-aware of that but this is not something I can do all the time and I have always put my little boy first. This is my hobby, this is what I enjoy doing. I have always been one to push myself to the limit and the military allows me to do that in a secure environment. It reminds me that my input is as important as the next person’s and I wouldn’t be half the person I am today without it. It gives me a chance to breathe, to take something home to my son whether that be financial, a story to tell or a lesson that I am going to teach him so that he can find the right path for himself to take. It is not me being selfish, this is me trying to find that balance between what is right for both of us. I know I have to rely on family to help  me do this at the moment, but it won’t always be like this.

Busy times ahead

Living the dream comes with consequences. Today I am preparing my house so that I can go away and play soldiers. I have the childcare in place, am stocking up the fridge, am cleaning the house from top to bottom and have nearly completed a huge stack of ironing. It sounds mundane but all I can say is that I am stressed out. This is all in an effort to achieve the yearly bonus that I get for giving my time to the reserve forces. This weekend is going to be jam-packed with prep so that I can leave it all behind for a couple of weeks to work alongside the Regular Army.

As of Monday, I will be on an Army base in the middle of nowhere helping with their admin work. In order to make sure I get my bonus, I will also be spending my weekend off in the middle completing a field exercise which I am really looking forward to as it’s a chance of being able to prove myself not only as a soldier but as an infanteer. The trucks are being left at home. It is going to be manic, fast and furious with plenty of shouting (both me shouting at the lads and the lads shouting at me). I am looking at it as an opportunity to show them all that I can take charge and that I am deserving of promotion.

I am going to miss my little boy. My weekends are really the only quality time I get to spend with him. But I have to get my priorities straight; we need this cash to put towards bills, to put some away for our upcoming holiday (I haven’t been away without my green kit for years and it will be my son’s first holiday ever, so I have to make it brilliant for us). My boyfriend, friends and family have been really supportive and understanding; they know how much this all means to me. But it is not going to be easy. Ii have never left my son’s side for more than a couple of days, to spend two weeks away from him is going to be really tough. But I know he’ll be in good hands and he will love it.

My plan is to phone home every night that I can and find out what he has been up to. My Step-Mum has been totally amazing and is moving in for a week, for which I am eternally grateful. She’s not been having a great time of it lately and I am hugely impressed that she is willing to give up her time to come and help me. The way I figure it is that I will give her a lovely place to come and stay, so that she doesn’t have to worry so much about what is going on in her world and she actually has a bit of a break from the normality. I am going to leave her with enough money to do with what she pleases and so that my son isn’t pulled out of nursery for a week. It’s all about keeping the routine in place. My Dad is obviously going to be supporting her with all of this as much as possible, but I know that he can’t afford to refuse work at the moment.

My boyfriend will be taking over the following week. Again, I am impressed by this. I have nothing but good to say about it. The sign of a good man is someone who will give up their time to assist someone who needs it. I am however a little concerned as he’s not a great cook and am half expecting them to live on sandwiches for a week, but the sentiment is there. I am so happy that I have finally found someone who would do for me what  I would do for him. And without question.

Everyone knows how hard I’m finding managing my finances so I am grateful that they are allowing me this opportunity to do something about it. Plus, I’m getting the chance to throw myself into my work and do something positive. I am planning on taking a stack of books with me and my sketch pad and drawing materials so that I don’t get lonesome in the evenings, as I know that this will be the hardest time of all. I am not planning on taking a lot of money with me as it burns in my pocket and I know that I will find myself in the bar every night. That’s not the point of the exercise here. Yes, it is a chance to escape but I am making the conscious decision to get some work done. I do not want to be considered unfit for duty. Besides, I still have a lot of books that I have bought and not read, maybe it will help me sleep better.

I’ve been having awful nightmares lately. I am feeling really really guilty for going away and leaving my son behind. I don’t know if this is something that all parents who have to work away from home feel or if it’s just me? This is the first time I’ve had to do it. I keep getting thoughts that something terrible is going to happen, but I can only brush them to one side as I know it’s in my head and that nothing will come of it. These dreams are nasty, violent and keep my awake most nights. The closer I get to going away, the worse they get. I guess it’s my subconscious making itself known to me. I know I shouldn’t worry, but sometimes anxiety gets the better of me. Perhaps I’m scared that I won’t have control? I don’t know. But control has always been a big thing in my life. I give myself a routine, I have set up boundaries for myself so that I don’t trip up. I have stumbled many times but the one thing that I hate the most is not having control over a situation. If I don’t know what’s going on I panic, I can’t think straight. I need to learn to let go of this but sometimes easier said than done.

However, I AM going to make the most of this. I am going to make sure that my family are OK back at home and I am going to get on and do what I need to do as it’s not all for me. It seems like a selfish act to leave your family behind to work, but in truth I am not viewing it as such because the benefits outweigh the negatives here. As a parent, you do what you need to do to get by and for your children to be able to have a comfortable and happy life. I am not thinking of this as martyrdom as being a reserve is part of my life and has been since before I had my son. I am trying not to make this all about the money too; although it plays a massive part of it. I just think that at some stage everyone needs to be able to concentrate on something else so that they don’t spend their lives worrying about things that are outside of their control. It’s a chance to bob along to someone else’s tune and focus on the task in hand rather than “how am I going to pay the bills this month?” or “When will I get that tax rebate I’m owed as I need to get the car fixed?” so on and so forth. I can say to myself “right I’ve done what they’ve asked me to do this morning, what shall I have for lunch?” It’s a chance not to focus on the issues of my personal life and overanalyse them but to do something different.

In all honesty, I want to prove to myself that I have what it takes to concentrate all my energy into work, as this will stand my in good stead for university. And if I can earn my bonus from doing that then I will be happy. Also, it means that I can spoil my son and all those I care about a bit later on. I won’t forget what they are enabling me to do.

Baby Bird – 08 April 2012

If you knew of someone struggling would you stand idly by and watch or would you help them do something about it? I know what I would do.

I have a family-friend (well I am friends with members of his family), I’ll call him Little Starling. Little Starling is having a lot of problems at the moment; he moved into a home to look after one of his parents who is extremely unwell. Said parent is now in hospital and Little Starling is left at home to pick up the pieces. He has done well in caring for his parent, bearing in mind he has no experience and could only rely on what he thought best.

Anyway Little Starling is a teenager, has left school to care for his parent and has done all he can. He knows that his parent is in the best possible hands but that side of the situation is not looking positive. But LS is trying to get on with things but is having difficulty in dealing with everything that he will need to arrange very shortly.

He has had a lot of support from the family members that I know. They are trying to get him into some kind of a routine which will help him cope. We all fear that LS is very unwell himself. Asking a teenager to look after a dying parent is no easy feat. But he has done it and he has taken it on the chin. He has forgotten about taking care of himself and what he needs.

LS’s parent will not be returning from hospital; they will be going to a hospice. LS lives in a house rented from the local council and is soon to find himself without a home. As he is too old to go into care and his family are unable to offer him somewhere to live, he is finding himself having to find his own feet for the first time in his life.

LS lives on takeaway food as his cooker doesn’t work and the house he lives in looks like an admin bomb bounced off of every wall before going off. LS himself is finding it difficult to get the motivation to clean up, to get the house and himself looking presentable despite his relatives pleaing with him, helping him to get tasks done and helping to prepare him for the near future.

Where do I come into this? LS goes to see his parent in the hospital every day, however there has been an epidemic spread of “the s**ts” across the ward so he has not been able to go. He was on his own this weekend. I demanded my friend to tell me where LS lives, my boyfriend and I went to collect him. No one should have to worry about getting a decent meal, especially when everyone else they know will be sharing big feasts with their families on easter weekend.

I have mentioned it before, I am not a Christian, therefore I am not a good samaritan. I am Pagan and believe that if I can offer someone help then I should and I was always taught as a child growing up in a non-religious household that you should always help someone in need and that there are always those out-there in a worse position than yourself.

As soon as he opened the door (he knew we were coming) I told him to get some clean clothes together and that he was coming to my house for tea. I am not in the habit of taking in waifs and strays but LS obliged. It took him half an hour to find clean trousers. My boyfriend and I couldn’t help ourselves but to look around the yard, eventually I dared to enter the house.

It was filthy. I knew I had to assess the situation for myself. There was food packing everywhere, dirty duvets (not even with a cover on) on the living room floor and as for the cooker? You couldn’t get anywhere near it never mind use it.

I am of the opinion that LS needs some sort of intervention from Social Services. He needs a regular social worker to come and visit, help him plan out all the forms he needs to complete, put in a routine whereby he can look for work and get the house in order. It doesn’t matter if he is to be kicked out of the house; he has no idea how long he is likely to stay there for. I’d been told by my friend that he doesn’t qualify for any help. This really upset me.

LS came to my house, I ran him a bath and he sat in that for about an hour. I told him to make use of anything he needs in the bathroom (what else could I do?) and I prepared dinner. When he came downstairs in clean clothes he sat with my boyfriend and chatted. I could hear them laughing and joking. That made me smile.

I asked my boyfriend to have a word with him about the way LS is living. He laid the groundwork for me. I served up the first full roast that LS had eaten in TWO YEARS! It was like having a family guest at the table. It was great to see LS with a smile on his face in a clean atmosphere feeling like he could take part in everything going on around him without having to worry.

As my boyfriend got my little one ready for bed, I sat and had a conversation with Little Starling. I told him to take a look around him and see what I have in my house. I told him that I had been in a similar (albeit less severe) situation to him, but I was homeless, I was put in a hostel and eventually I got my beautiful home. I told him that I hadn’t got it the way I wanted to yet; there’s a lot of stuff I have put off doing, but I have to keep the house clean for the sake of my child and for my health too. I empathised with him and reassured him that he could make the changes in his mind that he needed to make. I then cut a deal with him.

The deal is to:

1) Ask for help if he needs it (much easier said than done but his family are there to help him, as is myself and my boyfriend, but he has to tell us otherwise we won’t know)

2) Get all the legal paperwork out of the way, filled in and sent off so that he can start moving in the right direction

3) Clean the house from top to bottom (in stages) and maintain it.

In return I would help him (when asked) with learning how to cook; I’m happy to teach him how to survive using fresh ingredients and that I would help him clear the garden of rubbish. I even told him that if he kept up his end of the bargain then he could come around to mine, spend some time with us and I would make sure that he got a good meal.

I asked his relatives to come over and we all agreed on this arrangement; in order to receive help, Little Starling would have to do something to improve his circumstances and it had to be visible to all of us. He was warned by his relatives that if he doesn’t play by the rules that he would face the consequences and was assured that I am a woman of my word. He agreed to work with us.

To be honest, I don’t know how much of it he took in. If he doesn’t take heed of what we have said to him that is his choice, but he will find himself at the bottom of a very slippery slope and very quickly. If the authorities won’t help him, it is down to those around him, however if he doesn’t want to help himself then that it up to him.

I am hoping that Little Starling took what we had to say into serious consideration because he really needs to learn how to fly. I can’t do that without

Revelation – 27/3/12

It’s not often that my Dad gets me thinking about things, but what he said tonight was extremely interesting. See, he’d been babysitting while I was out doing my thing in uniform so when I got home, we got chatting. He said that he knew that my boyfriend makes me happy. I thought this was some kind of trick statement to get me to gauge my response. He continued by saying that even when my boyfriend and I are sat together, not smiling just talking that he could tell I am smiling inside.

That means a lot to me.

He then added “You’ll be hard-pushed to find someone better than him.”

This is all a bit odd to me. My Dad does not give a seal of approval. Ever. If anyone can find even the smallest fault in something (including boyfriends) he will make sure that the WORLD knows about it – Dad if you are reading this I would like to remind you of how few restuarants we can take you to because the food is a) cold b) out of a packet or c) “s***e”. My Dad has even been known to bar himself from the local pub because he found a major flaw in the landlord of the time. It was probably wise, the landlord nearly found the floor himself, Dad was very close to guiding him to it with his fist. Dad has also commented on boyfriends-past, only for me not to take any notice and to get hurt anyway. My Dad only ever comments when he believes he is right. He’s not ALWAYS right, but he usually has a pretty good idea. I have inherited this trait from my father.

Dad has been watching the progress of my boyfriend and I from a distance (not literally – that would be a little too Scarface for my liking) but he has reserved judgment. Believe me, my Dad has punched boyfriends before (needless to say I didn’t get any phone calls after that particular incident) for dropping my home half an hour after my curfew – I was 18 at the time; old enough to drink, old enough to vote, apparently not old enough to enter the house after midnight. So I am taking his enthusiasm as a huge compliment. It’s nice to know that despite our differences (and similarities) my old Dad is still there for me. I am also glad in many respects that I don’t live with him any more as being a 25 year old with a curfew (for those extremely rare nights off) wouldn’t be much fun.

This all begs the question in my mind of “does Dad finally think of me as a grown woman?” We all know the answer to that is no. No daughter is ever grown up in the eyes of her Daddy. Or have I realised that sometimes it is wise to consider the views of your elders?

It has taken me a long time to find my boyfriend. I have kissed many frogs along the way. Most of them were exactly as my Dad told me they were. As the best friend of my best friend’s fiancee, my man has been floating around for some time, without me really taking much notice (if I’m honest). I liked him as a person, but I didn’t like everything I knew. I am not saying that he is in any way a bad person – he is the best – but it took me a long time to realise that where he is quiet and considered, I am bossy and direct. Eventually I realised that I liked him (pretended I didn’t to anyone that asked – don’t know if it convinced anyone) but then didn’t know how to go about it. I resorted to being bossy and direct. It worked for me! But it hasn’t always been in my favour.

A few years ago, all I craved was attention. That is the first time I have admitted it publicly. Those who know me will already know this about me; it took me a while to address it. I literally threw myself at guys, I had a really bad reputation but in my mind I was never as bad as everyone made out. I would like to apologise for my behaviour in the past, I hurt a lot of people and then acted as if I didn’t care. I thought I could have it all and would magically find the man of my dreams and then live happily ever after. Only it didn’t work, it made me feel worse about myself and then it all came full-circle again and again and AGAIN. I didn’t learn from my mistakes. I didn’t learn from hurting those around me. I had absolutely no self-respect. I’m not sure if I was even a very nice person. I’m not proud of what I became but I’m not going to that place again.

There were a lot of things about me that I chose to ignore. At one point, I truly believed that I was both absolutely amazing and invincible. I had my head right up my backside – I realise that now. I even gave myself an alter-ego. I now realise that it was a cry for help. I was so desperate for people to take notice of me that I created this “other person” who could get away with anything and therefore do anything to get people interested. Stupid. It was intended as a means of being able to be a bit wreckless, a bit mischievious and a bit naughty. Everyone knew me as this good-as-gold little girl who always did as she was told so I wanted an excuse to let my rebellious side out. The lines quickly blurred. I was creating a monster.

Thesedays the other person does not exist. I did learn many valuable lessons from my rebellion, like I am in charge of my own destiny but I have also learned that whatever I do, I have to face up to the consequences. Had I have got together with my boyfriend back then, I would have blown it with him. I’m glad I’m with him now as I have grown up enough to realise when I am onto a good thing.

I have more confidence in myself than what I have done for many years. I don’t want to revert back to that person I once was, I am totally different now. I am loved and can give love for who I am and what I stand for now. Reality has hit me like a steamroller and I’ve learnt that I can’t force things. It’s great to know that other people are noticing the change in me too and how that is making my life significantly better.

21 March 2012

I haven’t been online of late because I have been completely exhausted. Some kind person seems to have thought that sharing really is caring and gave me their nasty cough/cold/sore throat/headache/etc. I haven’t been sleeping at all well but I have been a trooper and tried to carry on as best I can. Still not at 100% but I am feeling a lot better. Even the cat seemed to be concerned enough to stare at me upon waking in the middle of the night. Either that or, until a coughing fit, she had been very comfortable and was cursing me for moving and waking her up.

The weekend was good too. We did go to London on Saturday. I got to see Tate Britain, even if the boyfriend had decided it would be hilarious to put his “artistic opinion” across about everything – “oh look at these ladders, their arrangement is exquisite” they were constructing a new exhibition. There was a moment where we were both convinced that there was a statue in the hallway that looked ever so lifelike, then realised that in fact it was just a man sleeping on a bench because he was clearly as impressed with the place as my boyfriend was. The baby was pretty well behaved until he decided that he wanted to play with the exhibitions. Put him straight back in his pushchair following a near miss with a giant magnet and a pendulum hanging from the ceiling. The boyfriend also thought it amusing to take the mickey out of a young couple who had sat, staring at an image for over half an hour. It wouldn’t have been so funny except the image was a huge piece that took over the whole of one wall which had stripes on it of different colours. They were musing over whether the lines were in fact the same width and what the symbology of it was. I could tell from the other end of the room that, yes, the lines were the same width and that didn’t take me 40 minutes to decide… more like 40 seconds. If that. Then there were “those” people. The ones making sketches of the landscape paintings. Just why? You want to see what the artist’s inspiration was? Get your butt out of the gallery and outside. Inspiration done.

Of course, this was part of my voyage of inspiration. Out of all the weird and wonderful, what I took back with me was that I would like to look at more mixed media artwork (there were some images that I liked, that had a really strong message, which included almost a wallpaper of photocopies of the same image and they had been stained over and painted over to show about how the fat cat always wins. It was by a London-based artist whose roots were in the tower block estate culture and you could see it as clear as day. I loved it) and that I would like to do more linework images and build these up into something. So I need to do a lot more observational drawing and quick sketching, which is something I have never really been able to do.

My idea of life drawing is to take forever in doing it, getting every line as near perfect as possible. Perhaps that is what I have been doing in other areas of my life – trying too hard to get things right. Not such a bad idea to go to Tate afterall.

We went for a wander around Westminster too. It wasn’t a planned walk, but we couldn’t find a Tube station and the one we had come from had been awful with the pushchair so we had decided not to use that one again. We took in the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, The Senotaph, we saw a protest about the NHS cuts which boyfriend was very tempted to join in with – I would have done too except it looked like it was about to explode and that’s not a good thing for a baby to be involved with. We offered our support as we walked around the edges of the building crowd. Wwe also saw Trafalgar Square, walked the length of The Mall (a lot longer than it looks), got to see Buckingham Palace – the Queen was in as the flag was up – we thought it a little rude to knock the door as there were so many people there that she clearly wouldn’t allow in, so we did a lap around the walls and ended up at Marble Arch. Back into the Tube and off we went to Notting Hill.

The baby loved being carried up and down all the stairs and escalators and seemed to think that everyone on the trains was there for his entertainment. He was quite content in “chatting” to almost everyone he met, waved at them all and got a lot of smiles in return. Great seeing as no one talks to anyone on those things let alone looks at anyone else. As they’re all looking at the floor trying to avoid each others’ gaze, there’s my little boy looking back up at them with a big smile on his face and treating it like it’s just one big party. Even the biggest, toughest looking men and women couldn’t help but crack a smile. For me and the boyfriend though (especially the boyfriend, being the chivalrous kind of a bloke that he is) getting that little man on and off the trains and up and down the stairs, etc was exhausting.

I had never been to Notting Hill before Saturday. I fell in LOVE with Portobello Market, even though it was shutting down by the time we got there. To me, it had a completely different atmosphere to most of the other places in London I have visited. I didn’t spend any money, I had a good old peruse of the stalls that were still there and will go back minus baby and boyfriend to buy all things vintage. This doesn’t mean there was a lot of old tat on sale. Oh no! The place was full of odd antiquities, fabulous vintage jewellery, clothes and just about anything you could think of. I love vintage, upcycling, recycling, etc. A lot of my wardrobe has come from my Mum or a charity shop or is vintage in style. I am a nostalgic person and I cling onto sentimental things that may not make much sense to anyone else and have decided to style my home around that theme. Not junk, just good quality old things or old looking things that I can enjoy alongside my modern bits and bobs. That’s just me.

bAdmin – 16/3/12

I’ve taken the morning off work – mainly because I had a doctors appointment, partly because there were some things I needed to get sorted before going into work that I couldn’t do after.

I had to go back to the doctor to have another smear test done. I’d had my first in September (Happy Birthday, now you’re a grown up let’s swab you with a mini comb) but the results came back as “borderline abnormal”. Well, of course I KNOW that I am borderline abnormal,  I thought it rude for them to tell me that! But I guess they weren’t talking about my personality. So another test was booked for 6 months later, which was today. I have to wait 2-3 weeks for the results.

Perhaps I should have told a friend or a relative about it, but I didn’t want to worry anyone, plus I don’t want to face up to being ill if I’m actually not. I would rather wait for them to tell me than worry about something I might not have. I’m trying to stop myself from worrying too much but I think it’s time that people knew. As I say it could be absolutely nothing and I don’t want a big fuss made of me whether it’s good or bad news on my results. The joys of reaching 25 and being a woman! The nurse did advise in September that because it had only been 9 months since my son had been born, that could be what causes an abnormality; it takes a long time for your cervix to recover. I am holding on to the hope that she is right.

In other news, I have been to the council office, got yet another Housing Benefit and Council Tax form (turns out that they have cancelled my claim due to a lack of information – information that I thought they were still processing as I had emailed them with all the details they requested in February) and I am going to fill that out tonight and give them my payslips, etc. Hopefully they won’t lose them but I will keep photocopies at home just in case. It’s always your most personal information that seems to go walkabout these days. AND I have finally sorted out my council tax arrears which I have been putting off. I may not be able to eat but at least I am doing something.

I have also found the time to do a spot of reading this week! I picked up a magazine called Psychologies while I was in the supermarket the other day and am finding it difficult to put down for any length of time. OK, it’s aimed at women and has more make-up adverts in it than articles and is more self-help than actually showing studies of Psychology but it has given me lots of food for thought. For example, there’s a big section in it about stress-relief from craft. This has inspired me a little bit. I am good at drawing (never have time to do it), can turn my hand to painting (again, time consuming) and am generally pretty good with anything that requires a bit of imagination but it was saying that you don’t have to be amazing at something to try it out and find a passion. It said that if you have a hobby that you can get totally emersed in, even if that is out in the garden, or sitting with a sketchpad for an hour, etc, you are probably better able to deal with stress and stressful situations. My interpretation of this is that you need to find time to do something calming. It doesn’t matter what the result is but human beings are resourceful creatures and art has survived throughout the millenia so I guess there’s something in that. So, as well as my little book of notes, I have found a handbag sized sketchbook which I will also be carrying around with me everywhere. I’ll be collecting up little ideas and hopefully transforming them into something more visual. It will help me, my boyfriend and the baby to get out of the house and go to different places too, as the articles suggested that by going to the same places and doing the same thing all the time, it sort of blocks your mindset and can actually make you less creative because you’re stuck in a rut. By going somewhere that you wouldn’t normally, you’re opening your eyes to another corner of the world and therefore inviting in new things to take inspiration from.

We are going to London tomorrow. I’m not sure of exactly what we are going to do when we get there but I am hoping to take a stroll around the Tate or similar. If it’s a nice day, I’m sure we’ll find somewhere for a little alfresco dining and just see what the city has to offer. It’s been ages since I’ve been to London for an actual day out (considering it’s only 40 minutes on the train you would have thought I’d get into the city more often) and I’m looking forward to it. It’s an adventure for us.

One Born…

I am watching One Born Every Minute and I hate to say it because birth is a very personal experience but sometimes it just makes me wonder why some women go through pregnancy at all. At the end of the day, the baby has to come out somewhere so why should it be such a surprise that the midwives want to do examinations (that blooming hurt) and that contractions and passing a baby through your vagina should hurt?

Everyone’s experiences are different which I know is the point of the programme but mine are different to a lot of those shown on the show. For one thing, if I had had a man in the room I think he would have been throttled. If he says something like “the pain’s only for a minute” etc I would have put all my energy in making sure he bloody well knew how much it hurt… even for a minute. I have been through giving birth once and my experiences are enough to put anyone else off for life. Yet I find myself getting more and more broody. I have relatives who have got lots of children and you just wonder how they have done it time and time again. The way I had it set in my mind was that birth is only the beginning.

My little boy is 14 months old now and watching things like this and with Mothers Day coming up makes me feel so grateful for having him. He is truly remarkable. What may have been what I thought was a small achievement pre-babies, like watching my nieces grow and develop into little girls seems like a massive achievement now I’m witnessing it first-hand with my own child. Not that he’s turning into a little girl but it’s more that I am watching my nieces grow up from a distance and they seem to have a new string to the bow every time I see them. Whereas with my little man, I am seeing the new things every single day. They can be really subtle accomplishments for him, like he’s getting quicker to climb up the stairs and now he stands on the bottom step, says “Up” and off he goes. Whenever he stops, I tell him “Up,” he says “Up” with a hand in the air (like he’s pointing) and he starts climbing again.

I hate to say it but when I watch this programme I often find myself thinking that maybe the midwives kept the ladies in hospital for too long (I was sent home 4 times even though there were potential complications). I ate two meat samosas which I insisted on collecting from the Indian restuarant next door to get me out of the house, a carrot and a piece of gammon over the period of 2 and a half days and I threw that back up. I peed myself more than once, my family had to change my pajama bottoms for me as I was in so much pain. Once in the bath, I couldn’t move for an hour because it hurt so much only to go to the hospital to be told that I wasn’t far enough dialated and be sent home again. I camped on the sofa for what felt like forever, drinking endless glasses of water.

Eventually my boy was born by forceps as we were both so tired. His spine had been against mine making for a long labour and no sleep. He was worth every bit of pain and still is, but it has put me off having more babies for a long time.

Now, I am applying for university and have THREE unconditional offers (i.e. those courses are mine if I want them) and am waiting to hear back about two more. Then I have to choose just one out of all of those. All of the courses are 3 years long and I want at least a year’s experience in a related job before I even think about children again. My other half knows this and has been very good about it (he is naturally a very broody man), I can’t help but run away with my imagination about that time but I am forcing myself not to allow it just yet. My little boy was not planned and I love him to bits and could not live without him now, but it hasn’t come without it’s hardships as well. In truth, I’m scared that there will be a reoccurring pattern and that fear is unfounded which is why I am making sure that a next baby (if indeed there will be one) doesn’t go through the same thing. I want to wait, see how the relationship with my boyfriend evolves and then look at the situation again.

There was never a relationship with my son’s father and it is only recently that he has unblocked my phone number. He didn’t answer the call I made to him yesterday (as I am thinking about visiting friends in the town he lives in and thought that he might like to see his son – although I’m not sure – always good to ask – saves fuel) but this is progress. In a funny, ironic kind of a way. I won’t tell you the lengths that I have gone to to achieve that one. I won’t let that drop – my son deserves to see his father. My boyfriend of 2 and a half months is more of a father than his biological one is but I still will not let it go. I know that perhaps I should but I just can’t do it. It would be me going against my principles. My son deserves to know his real father – but does my son’s real father deserve to know his son? That is a decision that I cannot make – that is up to my little boy to decide when he’s older.

Seeing this programme tonight has made me reassess being a mother. My son and I have a close link; we have had to have a close link. I only hope that he doesn’t think that I’m over-the-top when he wants some freedom and when I am teaching him about girls and babies and families. I will always support him no matter what he decides to do with his life but I need him to know what both me and his father have been through in him being here and I want him to respect that.

Until then flowers and chocolates will do. I know he loves my boyfriend and I want them to be really close. But I often think about him meeting his father. Until such a time, I have to take charge like I have done so far and allow my boyfriend the opportunities to be a fantastic Daddy, as he has the potential to do it.